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“Hey, Lin,” said Caspar.
Linhardt didn’t respond.
Caspar cracked an eye open, then regretted it. The sun was too bright. “Hey, Linhardt!”
“Yes, I heard you,” said Linhardt. “I was just ignoring you.”
Caspar sat up with a groan. “I’m bored.”
“It was your idea to come fishing in the first place,” said Linhardt. He had his bare feet in the water, dangling over the riverbank, his line bobbing placidly in the water.
“Yeah, because I forgot how boring it was.”
“Lovely, isn’t it?” said Linhardt.
“No it’s not! I want to go…I dunno. Do something. Like fighting.” Caspar shrugged.
“Is fishing not a battle of wits between oneself and the catch?”
“Maybe if there were something big enough to make it interesting. But all you’re pulling up are small fries!”
“I notice that all you were pulling up when you tried were even smaller fries, but that’s neither here nor there,” said Linhardt, seeming annoyingly unbothered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Caspar. “I bet I could catch the biggest fish in this river, if I wanted to!”
“Your previous efforts say otherwise,” said Linhardt. “You’re too loud. It scares all the fish away.”
“Well maybe I wanna scare some of them off! The little ones are probably easier to scare, so then only the big ones’ll bite. I’m bound to catch something good!”
“Hm. Interesting theory,” said Linhardt. “But no. You’re wrong.”
Caspar seized his own fishing rod from where it lay cast aside on the bank. “Oh yeah? I’ll show you! Get ready for the fishing battle of the century, Linhardt! And don’t you dare try to back out.”
Linhardt sighed in a very put-upon manner. “Oh, very well. I suppose I brought this upon myself.”
“All right!” Whooped Caspar, leaping to his feet.
“You’ll frighten the fish off even more, leaping around like…never mind, you’re not going to listen.”
Caspar cast his line in the water, as far as he could make it go. Big fish lived in deeper water, right? It made a satisfying splash as it landed in the water, and he grinned. “Just you wait,” he said. “I’m gonna catch us dinner.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Linhardt, not moving. When was the last time he had even cast his line? How did he manage to catch so many fish when he hardly seemed to do anything at all?
Well, Caspar would show him what fishing was all about. He pulled his line in, in a series of short jerks—moving the line around a lot made it look like prey. Somebody told him that once. He was pretty sure. Then he cast his line again. And pulled it in again. And again, and again, and again.
No dice.
“Oh, there’s a bite,” said Linhardt, about an hour later, and Caspar had been almost sure he’d actually fallen asleep. But no, he was awake, and his fishing rod was bent with the strain of something pulling at the other end.
“What? No way!” Caspar said, feeling immensely cheated.
“Not a very big one, it seems,” said Linhardt, tugging experimentally at the taut line.
“Pull it up!” said Caspar.
“I hardly need your advice to reel in a fish,” retorted Linhardt, tilting the rod first one ways, then the other as he slowly drew the fish in. “If I pulled it too suddenly, the line might break.”
Finally, though, he pulled the fish up from the water, sunlight glinting off its scales as it flapped its tail wildly in the air. It was one of the river trout they’d been pulling up all morning. Too small to eat, though. “More small fry,” said Caspar.
“Apparently so,” said Linhardt, catching the fish in his hand as he carefully removed the hook from its mouth. Then he let it back down into the river. “Oh well. Back in the water you go.”
“What if we keep on catching the same fish over and over?” said Caspar.
“I would hope they’re learning their lesson the first time,” said Linhardt. “But I doubt they’re intelligent enough for that.”
“Uuuugh,” groaned Caspar. “So we might be?”
“I doubt it,” said Linhardt. “There are plenty of fish in the river.”
“Then how come I’m not catching any? I was getting bites this morning!”
Linhardt regarded him critically for a moment. Caspar squirmed, suddenly self-conscious.
“What? How come you’re looking at me like that?”
“I’ll give you some tips,” said Linhardt. “First, sit back down.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Caspar complied. “Now what?”
“Hmm, no, put your legs out. Sit a little further back,” said Linhardt.
Caspar scooted back a couple of feet. “Like this?”
“Yes, that’s good. Now recast your line—not too far out—and stop jiggling it about like a madman. Draw it in slowly. Very slowly. It shouldn’t be pulling across the surface of the water, and the line shouldn’t leave ripples.”
“Okay,” said Caspar, nodding. He re-cast his line, not too far out, like Linhardt was saying, and then focused very hard on reeling it in, just a little teeny bit, very slowly. He was so focused on this that he didn’t notice Linhardt putting aside his rod and sidling up to him until Linhardt was laying his head in his lap.
“Very good,” said Linhardt sleepily. “Just like that.”
“You just wanted to use me as a pillow,” Caspar accused, but there wasn’t any heat behind it.
“Yes, but now you’re being doubly productive,” said Linhardt. “And you will be more likely to catch something big like this.”
“Fine,” Caspar grumbled, but only half-heartedly. “But if I do, you’re cooking it.”
“Acceptable,” said Linhardt, eyes already closed.
A few more hours passed. Caspar did indeed catch a few fish, but they were all small ones, so he ended up throwing them all back. It was mid-afternoon now; half the day gone and with nothing to show for it. The idea of fishing was losing its appeal—Caspar didn’t know how Linhardt could possibly enjoy the sport. Well, okay, he understood how it appealed to him, specifically, but why so many people took it up, he couldn’t fathom.
The Professor had liked fishing. But it was impossible to tell what the Professor was thinking basically ever, so there was no sense trying to figure that out. And hey, hadn’t Jeralt liked fishing? It was hard to imagine him, a feared mercenary, just sitting on the banks of a river for hours on end, though. That old guy, Gilbert—Annette’s dad?—he had liked fishing, too, but as far as Caspar knew him, he was a boring guy to start with. What was it with dads and fishing? Caspar’s father hated fishing. …Had hated fishing. It was still crazy to think of him as being dead, even after so long.
He didn’t like to think about his father. How they’d never met on the battlefield after all. He’d been so terrified of it—every time they’d had a battle in Empire territory, every time they’d crossed Bergliez land. I’d almost rather fight a monster, he’d told the Professor, once. And he wasn’t scared of him, not like he was scared of thunder and lightning, but it was more…the idea of fighting him. Or something. He didn’t know.
It just would have been wrong. He’d fought his uncle, sure, but—that was fine. They weren’t related by blood or anything, so it was fine, right? They hadn’t even really met outside of a handful of times. But if it had been his father, or his brother…could he really have done it? If it was a question of skill, he could take his brother in a fight, easy. And his father…he had to have been getting older, so maybe Caspar could have beaten him. Maybe.
But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why it bothered him so much.
When he thought of his father, all he could remember was how he’d never been good enough for him. Too unruly, or too careless, or too stupid, or too soft, or too hasty, too much of everything he shouldn’t be, and not enough of what he was supposed to. And his brother wasn’t any of those things either, but he was going to inherit, so he never had to try in the first place.
His father had just always made him feel so…small. What would he have said, if he’d met Caspar on the battlefield? Would he have called Caspar a traitor? Tell him what a disgrace he was? Maybe he wouldn’t have said anything at all. The thought twisted in Caspar’s stomach.
Maybe it was stupid to still care about this stuff, even after so long, even after his father was dead and buried. Maybe it was, but—
“You look unusually contemplative.”
Startled out of his reverie, Caspar looked down to find Linhardt gazing up at him. “Hey, don’t scare me like that,” he said, trying to smile.
“What mysteries of the universe were you pondering?” said Linhardt.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything like that,” said Caspar. He hesitated. “I was just…thinking about my father.”
“Your father?” said Linhardt, frowning. “What about him?”
“I don’t know,” said Caspar, looking back out over the water. How long had it been since he’d last cast his line? He couldn’t even remember. “Just…how I got so worked up over it, but I never got to fight him.”
“I thought you hadn’t wanted to,” said Linhardt.
“I didn’t! But…it doesn’t feel right.”
“I can’t empathize,” said Linhardt. “I’m glad you didn’t fight him.”
“Yeah?” said Caspar.
“Would it really make you feel any better if you’d killed him?”
“No,” said Caspar, surprised by how easily his answer came.
“The next most likely outcome was that he would have killed you, then,” said Linhardt. “So not fighting him was the lesser of the evils.”
“I guess,” said Caspar. “I just feel like…” he shook his head. “I was always disappointing him. Was I a bad son?”
“Caspar, he was a brute. He treated you terribly,” said Linhardt, his tone short and clipped.
“You’re not supposed to say bad things about dead people,” said Caspar.
“I don’t care,” said Linhardt, and when Caspar didn’t reply, he spoke again, more evenly. “Do you remember, just after the war began, when Edelgard took Garreg Mach? You told me before you ran, that if your father came, he would kill you. And he was there. He demanded that I tell him where you were…and I didn’t know by then, but I could see that you were right. If he caught you, he would have killed you.”
Caspar’s throat felt too dry, all of a sudden. “Oh.”
“He never saw in you what the Professor did,” said Linhardt. “…Or what I do.”
Caspar didn’t think he’d ever get used to Linhardt actually praising him. “Thanks, Lin.”
“It’s only the truth,” said Linhardt.
Caspar felt like it was about time to change the subject. “Hey, uh, speaking of, did you want to visit your father sometime? I know you’re not on great terms, but he’s probably worried about you.”
Linhardt heaved a great sigh. “Must you bring him up? In case you had forgotten, the last thing I did to him was to rob him of a sizable amount of his fortune, and run off to join the opposite side of the war.”
“It was only money,” said Caspar. “And besides, you’re his only kid! C’mon, we don’t have to stay long or anything.”
“He’s not going to approve of us, you know,” said Linhardt. “…Though I can’t imagine he’ll be very surprised.”
“I just want him to know that I’m taking care of you,” said Caspar.
“Caspar.”
“Huh?” he looked back down. Linhardt was looking back at him with a completely serious expression.
“That’s the most disgustingly romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Caspar felt heat rising to his face. “Well—it’s true! …Isn’t it? You’re happy, right?”
“Unimaginably so,” said Linhardt, completely deadpan.
“Don’t joke around! I’m serious!”
Linhardt smiled. “So am I. This is better than I ever could have dreamed.”
“Now you’re the one being disgustingly romantic…” muttered Caspar, embarrassed.
“I can’t help it,” said Linhardt. “You’re adorable.”
“Ugh, you can’t just say that! And I’m not adorable!”
“No, you’re right,” said Linhardt, “You’re terribly fearsome.”
“Cut it out, or I’m gonna dump you in the river,” said Caspar.
“If you do, you can consider my offer to cook dinner null and void,” said Linhardt. “Plus, I’ll have to rescind every good thing I’ve ever said about you.”
“Lin, I could probably count all the good things you’ve ever said about me on my fingers. And I’d still have plenty left.”
“You’re exaggerating,” said Linhardt, frowning.
Caspar laughed. “I’m really not. It’s probably because of you I have such a thick skin, though. You can call me an idiot ten times a day and I won’t break a sweat!”
Linhardt was still frowning. “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said. “Surely, I must have...”
“Linhardt, it’s fine,” said Caspar. Huh. He hadn’t expected that this would actually bother him. “I know you don’t mean it. Plus, uh, it feels really weird when you’re too nice to me.”
“How so?”
Caspar felt his face get a little warm. “I dunno! It’s just weird!” He chanced a glance at Linhardt’s face. Oh no. He had that expression. The one he got when he just learned something very interesting.
“Is that so...” he said. “Caspar, did I ever tell you how unbearably handsome you are?”
Oh, no. Oh, Goddess. Caspar’s face had to be bright red by now. “S-stop it!”
“Perhaps I should have mentioned before how selfless you are. It’s charming, really.”
Caspar could only make a strangled sound in response, hands tightening around the fishing rod as he stared resolutely out at the water. He pulled his line in, just to have something to do.
“You’re strong, and kind, and hardworking...”
“OKAY!” said Caspar, too loudly. He cast his line again with an irritated flick of his wrist. “I get it! Quit making fun of me!”
“I’m not making fun of you,” said Linhardt. “I meant every word.”
“Yeah, well...it doesn’t sound right, coming from you.”
“I don’t want you to think that I think poorly of you,” said Linhardt. “I suppose I never realized how rarely I voice my sentiments on the matter. Your good qualities are so obvious to me, I simply never thought to point them out.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to! You can keep on not pointing them out, that’s totally fine by me.”
Linhardt pulled a face. “Do you need to be so difficult about this? All I want is for my commentary towards you to be more representative of how I truly feel.”
“It doesn’t have to be though! I’m pretty sure I know how you feel about me, Lin!” Caspar couldn’t really say why it bothered him so much. And Linhardt was being surprisingly stubborn. He should have just given up by now!
“Then I’m sure you don’t mind telling me. How do I feel about you, Caspar?”
Caspar squirmed. “Y-you...put up with me,” he hedged.
Linhardt sat up. “This won’t do,” he said.
“Huh?” said Caspar. Linhardt turned to face him properly, folding his legs under him.
“I know in the past, I’ve allowed you to labour under some...misapprehensions, about how I feel about you,” he said, grimacing. “But I have no intention of repeating that. I can’t possibly think of anything more unpleasant. Or exhausting. So let me tell you, in no uncertain terms: I love you, I am choosing to be with you, and there is nowhere else I would rather be.”
Caspar couldn’t meet his gaze. “But...”
“But what?” said Linhardt. “Are you still suffering from the ridiculous notion that I could ‘do better’?”
“Well, you could,” muttered Caspar.
Linhardt pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Why do you think that?”
“Because! You could be living somewhere more comfortable, where there’s always good food, and a comfortable bed, and lot of books, and you could…I don’t know, do research and lie around, like you always used to. That’s what you like, right? But I can’t give you anything like that. And it’s like, it’s a waste of all your talents. You could be making some crazy new discovery or something!”
“Yes, I imagine the world will suffer terribly without my contributions to the art of napping.”
“No! I mean, Crestology and all that stuff! That’s important!”
“I’m not interested.”
“Maybe you should be!”
Linhardt was starting to look annoyed. “Would you stop insisting on all this nonsense if I were to marry you?” he said.
“You’re the one being—“ Caspar’s brain registered what Linhardt had just said, a moment too late. “WHAT?!”
“If you don’t want to...” said Linhardt, hands curling in his lap.
Caspar was still trying to wrap his head around it. Linhardt was—he wanted to— “Is that allowed?” he said.
“I don’t see why not,” said Linhardt.
Caspar shook his head to clear it. “You can’t just ask me like that! You’re supposed to...I would have...“
“Are you going to answer me or not?” said Linhardt.
“OF COURSE I WANT TO MARRY YOU!” shouted Caspar, throwing aside his fishing rod so he could grab Linhardt’s hands and look into his eyes.
Linhardt blinked back at him, a dusty shade of pink creeping onto his cheeks. “Ah. Well. Good,” he said. “Usually a situation like this calls for a ring, but given the circumstances...”
Caspar leaned in to kiss him then, because he couldn’t help it. “You really wanna get married?” he said after.
“Yes,” said Linhardt, “I really do.”
Caspar laughed, still not quite able to believe it. “Okay, well now we definitely have to go see your father.”
“Do we really have to—” Linhardt started, then his eyes tracked over Caspar’s shoulder, to the riverbank behind him. “Caspar—your fishing rod.”
“What? It’s—oh!” Caspar saw as soon as he turned to look: his fishing rod was being tugged towards the water. Something had to be on the line. He lunged for it before it slid into the river, and caught it—but whatever was on the hook, it pulled back with surprising force. “It’s a big one!”
“Remember what I said. Don’t pull it in all at once,” said Linhardt.
“Yeah, I got it!” Caspar planted his feet on the bank and started reeling. It was inching towards them...slowly...
“Keep turning the rod towards the fish,” said Linhardt. He sounded calm, but Caspar could hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice.
The fish tugged back sharply, nearly jerking the rod out of Caspar’s hands. “Whoa! What....is this thing?!”
“It couldn’t be...” muttered Linhardt, peering into the water. “This time of year?”
“It’s on, fish!” The fish, growing desperate, leapt from the water in a brilliant arc, its multicoloured scales flashing brightly in the sun. Caspar didn’t relent, the line shortening inch by inch, moment after moment, until... “Get ready, Lin! I’m landing it!”
“Yes, yes, I’m right here.”
The fish leapt again, and Caspar heaved, the fish being pulled all the way out from the water and onto the shore. Caspar laughed triumphantly. “HaHA! Lin, are you seeing this! It’s huge! It’s gotta be half as tall as me!”
Linhardt regarded the fish, flapping and flopping wildly on the riverbank, the light glittering chaotically off its rainbow-hued scales. “Caspar...this is a Goddess Messenger,” he said.
“It’s a what? Wait—does that mean we can’t eat it? Is it sacred or something?”
“No,” said Linhardt, smiling faintly, “It’s delicious. It’s just...normally I’m not one for talk of omens and such, but if I was...the Goddess Messenger is said to herald good news, you know.”
Their previous topic of conversation came back to Caspar suddenly. “So...you think the Goddess is telling us to get hitched?” He perked up. “That means it’s basically fate, right?”
“I don’t believe in fate,” said Linhardt. “...But, if I did...there could be worse ones.”
“Okay, well I guess you’re fated to cook this fish for dinner, too,” said Caspar. “Remember? Because this is definitely the biggest catch of the day.”
Linhardt flapped a hand at him. “I remember. I didn’t say anything about gutting and cleaning it, though. I’ll leave that to you.”
“What?! Hey! That’s the hardest part!”
“Then you’d best get started,” said Linhardt, lying back on the grass with his hands behind his head. “I’ll just take a nap here until you’re done. Oh, and you’ll probably need to wash off in the river after, or you’ll smell dreadful for days.”
Caspar gathered up the fish—still flapping weakly—as he grumbled to himself. “This better be the best damn fish I ever tasted...”
“It will be,” said Linhardt. “And Caspar?”
“Yeah?”
“We can go and tell my father we’re getting married. It might just be worth the look on his face.”
Caspar couldn’t help but grin.