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“Finally, there you are!”
Linhardt startled at the voice breaking the silence of the usually deserted monastery hall. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was; he would recognize Byleth’s voice anywhere. He feigned sleep, hoping the professor wouldn’t dare wake a student.
“Linhardt, wake up. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Damn. Linhardt kept his eyes closed one more moment, mentally preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have. He didn’t dislike the new professor, not by a long shot, but he found it difficult to be around someone so discerning yet... unreadable. He realized his uneasiness after Dorothea complained about her own to him. To her, the attention of the Professor alone was more nerve-wracking than hundreds of people watching her on stage. Dorothea had her own reasons for her malaise, but in Linhardt’s case he was discomfited by people studying him to the same extent he studied them. He couldn’t stand to be boxed in by other people and their fixed interpretations of him, the things they thought they knew. He could never tell what Byleth was thinking of him behind that stoic expression, but he suspected they were one of the few people at Garreg Mach capable of seeing right through him if they wished and, well. Linhardt had spent his whole life running and hiding. He didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.
“Well, as you can see professor, I was here sleeping. Do you need something from me or will you allow me to return to my nap?”
“Just one question, then I’ll leave you be. Will you dine with me and Ferdinand tonight?”
Linhardt didn’t hold back his grimace upon hearing the professor’s request, knowing it would be interpreted as distaste for Ferdinand’s company. Despite how he avoided him, Linhardt did not hate his housemate, but he would never let it go to the noble’s head by telling him outright. In reality, he simply couldn’t stand eating in front of others, especially not in front of someone as perceptive as Byleth. Or, for that matter, someone so unwilling to mind their own business as Ferdinand.
Linhardt had no qualms about blowing both of them off, but he knew Byleth wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer any time soon. They were stubborn when they wanted to be, and it seemed the hill they had most recently chosen to die on was bonding with their students over meals. Linhardt knew he couldn’t put his turn off forever; he had already rejected Byleth a few times, and he worried continuing like this would cause them to scrutinize his behavior to find out why he kept rejecting their request. As much as he dreaded it, he hoped that indulging in their request once would satisfy the professor and allow them all to move on with their lives. Or at least, if he ate in front of them once, they would chalk his resistance in the future up to simple laziness. He knew his eating habits were questionable, but they certainly weren’t cause for the concern he knew any scrutiny would bring. People watching him eat was more of an annoyance than anything. The absolute last thing he could handle was for anyone to worry about him or force him to eat in the future, further wasting his precious sleep or study time.
“Alright Professor, you win. I’ll meet you in the dining hall tonight.”
Linhardt watched Byleth’s face as he replied. They remained as stoic as always.
Linhardt surveyed the dinner options with dismay. Vegetable stir-fry, grilled herring, spicy fish and turnip stew… There wasn’t a single thing he could eat here. It seemed the Goddess wasn’t willing to make life easy for him tonight. He had been hoping for at least one one item of food he could stand to get down, but no luck. He couldn’t eat tonight. He found himself spacing out as he scanned his options over and over, hoping something palatable would suddenly appear. Stir-fry, herring, stew, stir-fry, herring, stew, stir-fry, herring, stew… He suddenly felt nauseous.
He was brought back when the man behind him (Fraldarius. Linhardt couldn’t remember his first name, but he knew he was the one who bore a crest of Fraldarius. Linhardt didn’t have much of an interest in studying it, its effects consistent and well-documented, but he knew everyone with a crest at Garreg Mach) got impatient and pushed past him, muttering something under his breath. Linhardt grabbed the closest plate—stir-fry, it ended up being—and got out of the swordsman’s way, proceeding to the table Byleth and Ferdinand were already seated at.
As his dining companions began eating their meal, Linhardt stared at his plate without really seeing it. His brain filled with a fog he couldn’t shake. It was so simple, in theory. Pick up a piece of food, bring it to his mouth, chew, swallow. But, as he knew well from his research, sometimes theories were wrong. He wanted to give up, run away from this as he runs from everything difficult. He thought about leaving the dining hall to calm down, but he couldn’t get away, not under Byleth’s scrutiny. He looked up, reminded of his professor’s presence. They locked eyes and Linhardt realized the professor had already been watching him with a typical unreadable expression on their face. Linhardt forced himself to bring a forkful of food to his mouth, trying to appear casual. The texture was repulsive, and Linhardt dug his nails into his thigh under the table as he fought his gag reflex. Upon getting the bite down, he reached for his glass to try to wash the feeling away. Byleth took that opportunity to speak.
“So Linhardt, why has it taken so long for you to eat with me? Is my presence so repulsive?”
It seemed as though Ferdinand had taken a break from his endless prattle to eat his meal, so Byleth was able to turn the conversation towards Linhardt. Linhardt schooled his expression and swallowed his drink.
“You know my answer to that professor. You’re quite interesting, really, but I would rather eat in my room, where I can continue my research without distraction.” Out of the corner of his eye, Linhardt saw Ferdinand’s head shoot up before he was even done talking. Linhardt propped his head up on his hand and waited for the noble to start lecturing. Ferdinand, ever predictable, opened his mouth and started in on a tirade.
“Linhardt! That is quite an irresponsible mindset for a noble! So many of a noble’s duties are performed over dinner. A proper noble must put himself out there to make connections for the good of his people, you simply must learn this skill! Really, I never-”
Linhardt spaced out as Ferdinand continued ranting about his duties as a noble, or whatever. Really, that man could be far too obsessed with what everyone else does. It was clear to see that he only ever had the best of intentions… Which was the thing that irritated Linhardt about him. Doesn’t everyone have the right to indulge sometimes? To be less than perfect? To do the wrong thing? To Linhardt, a life without the freedom to do what you wish was no life at all.
“Linhardt, are you even listening to me?”
“Well Ferdinand, it has been lovely talking to you as always, and Professor, I thank you for the invitation, but I really must be going now.”
Linhardt abruptly stood up from the table and left the dining hall, leaving a bewildered Ferdinand, a stoic Byleth, and his almost untouched plate of stir-fry behind.
The Black Eagles regularly had battle training as a house before class. It was one of the things Linhardt hated most about Garreg Mach. He slept through it as often as he could get away with, which wasn’t often with a house leader like Edelgard. He didn’t understand why everyone was so happy to fight all the time. Why must they learn to kill? Why did they spend their whole lives training to die? And why was he alone in this opinion? He had always known he was abnormal, but sometimes he felt like he didn’t even belong in this world, much less this monastery. The obsession with pride, honor, glory... Linhardt couldn’t understand it, not ever. He would leave Garreg Mach if he had anything better to do. But, as it were, his father would never accept him dropping out of the academy, and he couldn’t be bothered to find a means of living outside of it. So, battle training it was. At least they weren’t at war. He took solace in the fact that he likely wouldn’t have to use violence for anything anymore after he graduated in a year.
That morning, Linhardt was laying on a bench, his head in his best friend’s lap, as he and the other Black Eagles waited for their house leader and her retainer to arrive at the Training Grounds. Bernadetta was sitting on a bench away from the group where she fiddled with her bowstring, Dorothea was quietly humming a tune Linhardt vaguely recognized, Caspar was playing idly with his hair, and he could hear Ferdinand and Petra discussing fighting techniques off to the side.
Edelgard and Hubert’s arrival was signaled by the creak of the old doors to the training grounds. She crossed the grounds and approached the group, her retainer following a step behind.
“Good morning, everyone. Today we are going to work on mixed one-on-one combat. I’ll partner you with someone of a different combat type and you’ll spar, so get up and get ready to fight.”
Linhardt sat up from Caspar’s lap and then stood up, swaying slightly as he was hit by a rush of dizziness. His best friend noticed and shot him a questioning glance, but Linhardt waved him off. Caspar seemed to accept it, as he got up to put the rest of his armor on. Linhardt couldn’t stand anyone worrying about him today, it would be far too bothersome. He already felt like it was taking everything he had in him just to hold his body together, like if he stopped concentrating, his skin would fall off, his brain would melt, or his body would fall apart in some other dramatic and horrifying way. The feeling was far from foreign to him; in fact, it was rare for him to not feel fatigued. This lack of strength, stamina, and motivation was often perceived as laziness by those around him and, well… If it resulted in less expectations placed on him, all the better. So, he steadied himself, and hoped he would be able to coast through the day without having to put in much effort.
That hope was crushed when Edelgard called out the day’s training partners.
“Today I’m putting Dorothea with Caspar, Linhardt with Ferdinand, Hubert with Petra, and Bernadetta with myself. You have five minutes to finish getting ready, then I expect each pair in one quadrant of the training grounds.”
Linhardt sighed. It was rare that they spent their limited time together as a class doing one-on-one training, as they were expected to do that on their own time. So of course, the one time he couldn’t avoid training, he was paired up with the biggest overachiever in the Black Eagles. Seriously, not even Edelgard put in as much effort during training as the heir to the Aegir family did. Linhardt was already exhausted just thinking of training with the man. Nonetheless, he shook his arms out in an attempt to warm up his limbs and picked up his tomes. Goddess, he was tired. And cold. And lightheaded. Linhardt really hated morning training.
“Linhardt, how exciting! Today is the day you will finally receive my training in the art of nobility! Prepare yourself—I will not go easy on you!”
At that, Ferdinand readied his training lance and charged. Linhardt barely managed to dodge out of the way of Ferdinand’s thrust, using the momentum to channel magical energy into his fingers, allowing him to send a gust of Wind back at Ferdinand. It caught the noble in the chest and knocked him off balance. Linhardt tried to shake away the rush of dizziness brought on by his sudden movement, but it was only exacerbated by the energy expended by casting a spell. He attempted to retreat a few steps out of Ferdinand’s lance range, but his eyesight was hindered by sudden grey spots and he stumbled backwards clumsily. The world was spinning out of control and Linhardt could barely hear Ferdinand’s concerned question over the sound of the ringing in his ears and he felt himself falling and then, suddenly—
Nothing.