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Professor's tea is boiling hot, and Linhardt's tongue stings after each tea party with them. They're so calm and collected when talking, and they're so great at picking conversation topics... Linhardt assumed he, too, would strive for such composure were he more human-loving.
But the company of his bed, table, books, and the blue sky fit him well. The noisy silence of the courtyard gazebos, too, seemed like the best place for naps and studying.He sips some more tea, unconsciously watching the birds outside make their nests and sit out their small eggs. Nature was stunning, and yet why were the things inside living things so horrific?
"Linhardt," the Professor calls out softly, "I like your hair accessory."
He brushes his bangs out of his eyes. "Oh, this hairband? Someone gave it to me, I think. Yet if that's the case, I've forgotten who."
Byleth hums in understanding, and for some unspeakable reason, Linhardt's stomach churns.
***
"Lin," a fellow child calls out to him. Blinking blearily, he yawns, awakened from his nap atop the linden tree. "Lin! Linhawdt!"
His eyes open. It's Caspar, bearing a toothy grin, flashing the few teeth he'd gotten knocked out in a fight some time ago. He's watching Linhardt from down on the grass, and upon noticing him, starts climbing up. The shaking of wood is enough to startle him, but Caspar's bright presence next to him, so warm and radiant, is somewhat calming. He's about to drift off again...
This year, winter comes late. It's Red Wolf Moon, and yet there hasn't been a snowflake in Adrestia; his parents tell him that's usually wrong, but he is happy that today, it's sunny. It's not warm, though, and so he huddles in his sweater, small hands gripping the book in his lap. Why was today so important, again?
Ah, right. It's his birthday. He turns ten today.
"Linhardt! You're finally gettin' old!" Caspar laughs triumphantly, legs swinging over the tree logs. "You're tall, and now you're old, too!! Mwahaha!"
"I guess life is just like that." He shoots a smile to Caspar, and the latter's gaze lingers on him. For most of their lives, they were each other's only friends; any heartbeat skipped seemed like a normal friendship thing to Linhardt. In fact, friendship was overrated, he thought - but that young Bergliez boy seemed to be an exception."Since it's your birthday, I gotchu somethin"!
His eyes widen. "Do tell."
Fumbling around in his pockets, Caspar brings out a very small piece of cloth, or so he sees - until it starts shimmering without any light, a faint glow to it. For whatever reason, Linhardt deems this a curious case."How come it glows?"
"Well, I dunno exactly, bu' my dad said it's some Enbarr expensive cloth or sum'n! He let me have some and I thought you could use it! Since your hair is gettin' longer I thought you need to tie it up!"
"...I could also use it as a bookmark."
"Y'could also tie your hair with it!"
Linhardt gives his friend a gentle smile, a feeling bubbling in his chest so pure and sincere. "Then tie it."
"You want me to do it?!"He thinks Caspar's blush is amusing, and is fine with showing it by giggling softly. But that seems to have spurred Caspar further on, as evidenced by his flushed cheeks growing redder.
"Well, why don't you, my loyal prince?" Lin chuckles a little at his friend's crimson face, but is interrupted.
"Fine! Then turn around!"
He does so, and feels small, rough hands tangling through his hair. It feels nice, he must admit, and is probably quite pleasant. When Caspar is done, to Linhardt's surprise, his hair is tied up moderately neatly.
"You've done better than I expected."
"Don't underestimate me, Caspar!" He then proceeds to laugh further, punching the air with vigor.
"Hey, Caspar?"
"Yeah!"
"Thank you. For the present, and for being my friend."
***
With the years, the soft glow of regal fabric decreased until the ribbon, once delicate, was extremely worn and weary, having been patched up several times. It still ties the dark green hair up, but partially now, as a small bun; it is also covered in blood.
Linhardt would honestly like to say it was just a flesh wound, but it was not. His ribs felt all crushed, and his lungs must have been affected as well - that cavalier's lance pierced deep through him, deep into the veins and organs, blood oozing out.
He sees dark spots. Right now is a good time to take a nap.
Someone calls out to him, just like back then, when they were kids. "Linhardt! Come on, man, wake up! Have an elixir! I can fetch Mercedes now!"
He opens one eye, as though truly napping, and is greeted by the genuine worry on Caspar's face.
"Caspar... You gave me this hairband, didn't you."
"Yes, yes I did! But what does it matter now?! You're about to die, Lin!" he gasps, choking out words that carry meanings heavier than the feel of his hands atop Linhardt's body. "Don't leave me! Linh-"
"I'm not dying, Caspar," his face morphed into something so gentle he himself started feeling sick. "Just taking... a small nap..."
He yawns once more through his ramblings. "A loooong nap... Where you and I can live, w-with no wars and no fights, I'll study something and we'll live together..."
"We'll travel," Caspar chokes out, trying to apply concoctions to his wounds, seemingly to no avail, "we'll be together, always! This whole goddess and afterlife thingy won't separate us!"
Tears drip, hot and wet on Linhardt's ice cold skin and its pallor. In fairytales, maybe, this would have saved him.
But it doesn't, and he hears enemies approaching.
"You get it, Caspar...but you have to go."
"I won't! I won't go until I see you well!"
"Caspar," he grips the other man's hand with all the force left inside his body, bleeding steadily. "I won't be well. But that doesn't mean you can't. I'm always for you."
"Linhardt, L-Lin!" Caspar's breath on his face feels refreshing, and he never wishes to be parted from this embrace. In another world, they would have been happier. "It's all my fault! I-I should've protected you!"
"It's not. Thank you...for being my friend...for being w-with me."
"Lin! I, I love you!"
"And I y-"
Linhardt's gaze, once somewhat focused, was all bleary now. Caspar's sight was overflowing with tears, and he saw red - now the enemy troops were left among the ruins, uniforms painted red just like Linhardt's body on the ground.
After the battle, he had carried it back to the monastery, where it was buried.
In loving memory of
Linhardt von Hevring
1163-1185
He put flowers atop the small gravestone, paying his respects along with the surviving rest of his class. On his way back, Byleth touched his shoulder, their gaze apologetic - so sincere and heartbroken it almost made Caspar cry again.
He searched Linhardt's dorm room, memories aflush and bereft - and after picking up a small portrait of his and a book, he set out the next day.
It didn't matter that the war was still going on. Having searched the library for any materials on Crest studies, packing them along with his and Linhardt's belongings, he kissed the gravestone goodbye.
From that day on, a hole in his heart kept growing out.
***
Years later, Caspar has all but left Fodlan. All he now knows is the occasional gossip and speeches from Byleth and the rest of his class whenever he visits the monastery.
The memories are so clear and bright it hurts.
He stops in a village just off the coast of Fodlan, halfway through his way back to travels. In an inn, a child stops him from getting breakfast.
"Sir, you are a traveler, yes?"
"Yeah," Caspar smiles at the kid, her eyes the same baby blue he remembered from his childhood. It hurt. "You wanna hear some tales from Fodlan?"
"Fodlan? Is that the country nearby?"
Caspar decides not to correct her. "Yeah! I lived there for a while."
"Do tell! Please, Sir, I want to know." she seemed invigorated. "I can even read! Look, this notebook of yours - it says, ahem... Puh-roperty...of... erm, Linhardt von Hevring," she reads painstakingly slowly, paying attention to every single syllable. "That's a person, right? Who's that?"
Caspar forces a smile, ruffling her hair. "A very talented scholar! And a talented nap-taker, as well."
The girl laughs. "Can I visit them sometime?"
"Yeah. You can find him in Garreg Mach, he's always there for you. It's right in the middle of Fodlan. Oh, but-- let me read this to you first! Those are his discoveries about Crests. Do you know what that is?"
"Yeah! I do have one!" she bounces up and down excitedly, "the Crest of...uhm, what's the name...oh, yeah! Timetheos!"
Caspar nods, grinning, "Yes, Linhardt had known someone with that Crest. It is very rare."
"Really? Can I see more, please?! Pretty please!"
Linhardt, he thinks, will always live on in his studies. He will live on in his youth portrait, in his favorite books, in his fishing rod, his ribbon -- and in his mind, Linhardt is always there, under the summer woods, bangs covering his face as he beams.
And when the time comes, the sun will shine through the trees again. That's when he'll welcome Caspar back, chastising him with open arms and tying his hair back once more.
He brings the pale, barely glowing ribbon tied around his knuckles to his lips.
"Thank you for being with me."