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Despite the crumbling walls and overgrown weeds, Garreg Mach was as beautiful as ever to Ashe. The buildings around him seemed to mirror his own feelings after rejoining his old schoolmates from the Golden Deer house and, to his surprise and delight, the professor. He was tired and worn from grief and battle, unsure if it was worth it to begin stitching up the spiritual scars left by the death and destruction he had witnessed already in this war when even more violence lurked just around the corner – but he was still standing, and his foundational belief in protecting the people of Fódlan kept him moving forward.
Despite his exhaustion upon returning to the monastery, Ashe had agreed to join the professor in the dining hall before turning in for what would hopefully be a long rest. The professor had, in their quiet way, informed him that his old room was free should he wish to use it again. They had then invited Ashe to lunch, saying they would meet him shortly, after changing out of their battle garb. The thought of sharing meals with the professor once again was already making him feel at home. He wondered if the kitchen still stocked mint tea, thinking that otherwise his parched throat might never recover from the scorching heat of Ailell, where they had just returned from.
Ashe decided to take the slightly longer way to the hall so that he could swing by his old room and check how the gardens had fared over the last five years. After dropping off his bags in a room seemingly untouched by the passage of time, Ashe headed towards the greenhouse. He was just about to enter when he heard a soft voice call out,
“Ashe? Is that you?”
He turned, and saw Linhardt blinking sleepily up at him from where he sat on the small patch of lawn in front of the garden. A few leaves were sticking out of his hair.
“Linhardt!” Ashe exclaimed, extending a hand to help him to his feet. They hadn’t been particularly close at school, but Ashe was overjoyed to see his old classmate all the same. He was a little surprised to find that someone from the Empire had returned to the monastery, but certainly not disappointed. “I didn’t know that you would be here.”
“Well, here I am,” Linhardt responded, dry as ever.
“And I’m glad to see it, “Ashe responded, with a genuine smile. “Is there anyone else from the Empire here?”
“A few people. Not all of us were enthused by the bloody path Edelgard laid out for us. Petra is here, and Ferdinand and of course–“
“Ashe!? Is that really – hold on – I can’t believe – oh sh-“
Ashe was still looking around trying to locate the source of the voice, when suddenly there was a loud splash.
Linhardt sighed.
“…and Caspar,” he finished flatly. When Ashe continued looking puzzled, Linhardt simply tilted his chin in the direction of the pond.
Ashe whipped his head around just in time to see his old friend emerge from the water and begin swimming in their direction. His first thought was what in the eternal flames is he doing in the pond and his second was holy Seiros, where is his shirt?
Caspar reached the edge of the pond and stood up in the shallows. As Ashe watched, time seemed to slow. Caspar threw his head back and shook the water from his hair, running his hands through it to keep it from falling into his eyes.
That’s new, thought Ashe, appreciating the way the undercut accentuated a jawline that was decidedly less boyish than the last time Ashe had seen it, over five years ago. He was suddenly grateful for the superb eyesight which had allowed him to become an effective sniper, as his eyes were drawn to a drop of water that had managed to escape Caspar’s hair and was now ever so slowly winding its way down a very chiseled chest and over the ridges of well-defined abdominals.
Those are definitely new, thought Ashe, eyebrows skyrocketing. Ailell was transformed into a cool and refreshing glade in Ashe’s memory, as his face became suffused with heat at the sight in front of him.
“Guh,” he croaked, intelligently.
“I know, right?”
Cringing in mortification, Ashe thought, Seiros help me, this must be the real valley of torment.
Ashe had completely forgotten that Linhardt was standing next to him. He quickly realized that he had no cause for concern though, as Linhardt was also gazing towards the pond with a self-satisfied smirk, glancing at Ashe conspiratorially for moment before turning back.
He continued, smugly, “Someone told him that the rubble at the bottom of the pond was impacting the fish population or some such nonsense. He’s been in there every day this week clearing it out.”
He was also now emerging from the pond, biceps flexing as he hoisted himself up and out.
“Oh. Well. That’s…very nice of him, I suppose,” Ashe responded, weakly. Linhardt only laughed.
Oh, thank the goddess. He’s putting his shirt back on.
Ashe’s soon noticed that he may have been to quick to give thanks. In fact, the goddess was surely mocking him right now. Caspar, barefoot and in breeches which were soaked through and therefore even more snug than usual, struggled to pull the loose white shirt over his head as he strode toward them, smiling and waving energetically. He managed to wrest it on finally, tousling his hair further in the process, and the thin material was transparent and clinging to the planes of his chest within seconds.
I should have let Claude take me out with Failnaught, Ashe thought, desperately trying not to stare and self-conscious of the color he knew was infusing his cheeks. It’s fine. I haven’t seen him in five years. He’ll probably just think this is what my face always looks like these days. If he keeps doing this every day my face will always look like this.
Caspar was practically upon them now and picking up speed. He barreled into Ashe laughing, quickly lifting him up and spinning him around, as though Ashe hadn’t also gone through a significant growth spurt in their time apart. Caspar’s mischievous cackle and familiar enthusiasm cut right through Ashe’s initial shock at seeing him, and as he returned the soggy embrace (or rather, held on for dear life) he began to laugh to, and the last of his anxieties about leaving Faerghus dissipated. Caspar eventually set Ashe back on his feet, keeping his hands on Ashe's shoulders as he stepped back to get a good look at him. Bright-eyed, with water clinging to his lashes and shimmering on his still damp skin, Caspar directed his wild grin at Ashe and asked,
“So…wanna go for a swim?”