Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Linhardt lay in the field, clutching his wounds. No matter how much faith magic flowed through his fingertips, he knew that he would not be able to heal this wound. He laughed, out of some wry instinct the war had procured him. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out because of the blood he was seeing, or the blood he was losing… though, to be fair, that is almost the exact same, right?

“Linhardt!!”

Caspar’s voice rang out, and the other looked over at him, managing a small smile despite the pain. But Caspar was tearing up, coming over in his armor and all, like a tsunami. He kneeled beside him, making him sit up, wincing -

“Darling,” Linhardt croaked, “I’ll be fine, Cas-cas…”

“No, no, you’re not fine… goddess, why didn’t we pack extra - Lin, don’t leave me!” he frantically grasped for a hand, and the mage relented.

Linhardt and Caspar had been traveling for months after the war ended, but they’d always been prepared. They had even planned to marry eventually, the cheap little rings fashioned from branches or plants they found until they actually decided on buying proper rings would always symbolize that. Sometimes they broke, came off in battle, but it was fine, they always smiled and laughed it off. But they weren’t prepared this time, an ambush from Those that had not yet been eliminated. And they had particularly focused on Linhardt. The healer. The Crest scholar. Perhaps they’d planned to take him unconscious or something, but that would not stand to be revealed - they were all lifeless corpses or gone.

“I… I won’t leave you,” he managed another small smile, wincing again as faith magic tried to stitch what would not mend; its own caster’s body. “I’d never die on you, Caspar. Please just have… faith…” his voice wavered.

The other saw the faint shine of tears in the mage’s eyes, and got in closer, clasping the hand tighter.

“Linny, you… I love you so much, Linhardt,” his voice cracked, tears starting to spill, “so please tell me if this is the end of our tales.”

He tried to smile, but his eyebrows betrayed him, tears of his own coming forth. The faint yellow glow around his other hand stopped. It was futile, after all.

“It’s the end, sweet friend of mine,” Lin choked on his words. “I love you just as… I love you more than you could know,” he half-whispered, trying to squeeze Caspar’s hand as dizziness kept threatening to take over more and more, the light to envelop him.

“I… I don’t want it to be true!” Caspar now yelled, possibly more enraged than sad, “I don’t want you to go so soon…”

“I didn’t wish to leave you either… but… with no medical supplies…”

Caspar let go of his hand, getting a determined look. He hoisted up his boyfriend, with his slight gentle touch. Linhardt put his hand back over his wound, pressuring it, trying to save himself as good as he could.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take us to the nearest village. There, you’ll be healed. You’ll… you’ll live, right?” Caspar looked out at the woods, the path they were traveling. It was true, people had passed them by from the direction they were headed, in a state of slight wanderlust. The faint castle in the distance meant they had to be nearby some sort of civilization, but it would take a while on foot. Plus, they had no idea if… if the territory could have belonged to a classmate. After all, they ended up wandering through Faerghus - or, what was left of it.

“Cas-cas…” the other’s face softened, and his lids drooped, from love or wanting to slip into Death’s hand, he could not tell. “If… if I do not make it… at least forgive me for wanting one last kiss from the man I was going to marry…” his hand reached for Caspar’s cheek, and he bent over to give Linhardt a kiss.

That was the last thing Linhardt felt and saw before he fell unconscious.

In his dreams - or perhaps hallucinations - he thought of him still. All the times they had gotten in an argument. All the times that Caspar had looked at Linhardt like he was the world, picked him up and spun him after a battle to celebrate victory. Tackled him to the floor as a greeting. All the times this… this gentle angle of a boy loved him, despite being Crestless. He who has his own strength, still noble, but with his own thoughts on justice. Hands that carried out his ideals and visions.

I’d at least wished to have married him, Linhardt thought. I… love him with my whole being. If I am dying… I wonder what afterlife there is… and if I can wait for... He felt more… cold in his dream as the time passed. He felt something brushing his cheek - ...Caspar… - and he moved his head to incline on the feeling, even if it was a dream, was made up.

“Don’t leave me,” Caspar’s pained voice reached his ears, loud and clear, “don’t leave me until we can be husbands, and, and, grow together, and love one another, and settle or something, and be remembered by history, please, Linny-!”

At least forgive me for wanting one last kiss from the man I was going to marry.

Caspar forgave Linhardt as he stood at his side, having cupped his cheek as he grew cold - dead. Death would not take his color for a while, but the temperature itself was enough to get Caspar to cry.

Cold. Like the Gaspard territory that Linhardt’s life faded in, a small gasp - and he was gone.

“Caspar-” Ashe looked at the other, small tears welling in his eyes as well-

“I know,” he mumbled, “you’re sorry, aren’t you?”

His hands migrated to Linhardt’s tied up hair, trying to play with it. All it brought was more pain as he realized the other would not open his eyes, smile, or laugh at Caspar’s little gesture of love. That caused him to simply clench his hand on the loose strands, overcome with loss.

“I know how close you two were,” Ashe continued, seeming to try to calm himself, “after I got recruited to your house by the Professor. I’m grateful that I… I got to fight with you and him. You were truly a dynamic duo… we tried everything to save Lin-”

“The effort was…” the words choked in Caspar’s throat, and he finally let out the soul-shattering yell he wanted to since he found Linhardt wounded. He had denied it would be mortal, that he’d live, that they’d laugh it off in the near future, that-

Ashe tentatively hugged Caspar, and the other proceeded to hug back, not with his full strength but damn if it wasn’t like it.

“It’ll be okay, Caspar. You can stay in the territory for a while if you need to grieve.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, tried to wipe his tears, and backed away from the hug as Ashe released him.

Needless to say, Caspar stayed. He visited Linhardt’s body until he couldn’t. They were sending him to Hevring, to be buried on his territory, one day. Caspar planned to join the group protecting him, to have one last adventure with the man he wanted - was going to marry in the future, he told himself, holding back tears.

His own appearance in the mirrors didn’t fare well. Bags had appeared under his eyes. His hair went messier than usual, with no bubbly “Let me fix that horrible atrocity, Cas” heard in the morning, and nobody that had fingers like his to sort it. When he would draw a small bath, he would again drift to when Linhardt would tease him about how short of a bath he’d take, questioning how clean he was. His baths got longer. Sometimes, he contemplated breathing the water… meeting him again, loving him past the veil.

“I just wanted to let you know that the party heading to Hevring sets out in six hours. That should be enough time to prepare, yes?” Ashe smiled sadly at Caspar, having seen how Caspar had degenerated.

Caspar only nodded.

Chapter Text

The path to Hevring wasn’t the longest path Caspar had ever walked. Except this time, he had to walk it without smiles, without the laughter and love. That made it feel longer than any trek they had gone on before. ‘They’... as if Linhardt was still alive.

Anything Caspar did try to say got caught in his throat, threatening to choke him with his own thoughts and intent, whether it was meant to be conversation or not. Most conversation topics would begin absentmindedly, “Hey, Lin,” and then stop and die inside him. Without the green-haired man to look over, nod, signal some sort of way to continue, no ghost to listen, he would have to deal with silence, the sound of hooves and his footsteps on the wet dirt path and the somewhat bumpy ride’s creaks only there to comfort him, to make sure he did not go insane.

Ashe had seen him off, teary again. Even though he was not a Black Eagle by birth, he had bonded with several of them. Maybe he was pretending to be… okay-er than he was? I mean… I did leave him a gift, seeing as his birthday’s coming up, but… Caspar’s thoughts drifted, before the bump of the carriage reminded him, he was keeping up with it. He could not afford to be left behind. Not when he was with his beloved.

Linhardt would have laughed at how it rained after he died. It was only sunny a few moments each day, before it gave way to clouds, before they gave way to the heaven’s tears. One could have said the Goddess was crying over her children dying, but Caspar wrote it off as coincidence, too good to be true, even if there were rumors the Professor had possessed power of hers. They couldn’t truly be… affecting the weather, especially now that their hair was no longer the mint green it had been… if that was Sothis.

“Do you mind if we stop at Remire today?” One of the Gaspard knights that Ashe had sent off with him spoke, looking at his fellow knight. It was early in the morning at the time, and they couldn’t make the trip all the way to Hevring in one day… right? At least, they did not want to; holding the corpse of a hero in the war was dangerous to some.

“Last I thought Remire was burnt down in the chaos of the war,” a knight replied, “with what happened almost, what, 7 years ago now, I don’t know if anyone would be there, or if it’s even rebuilt.”

“That’s a perfect stop,” Caspar’s voice rasped, and they looked over at him. “I know it’s been rebuilt… we… I passed through it with him before…” his voice trailed.

The guard nodded. “We can stop at Remire then, I suppose. Just be on your guard.”

“We will be,” Caspar offhandedly commented, before going back to scanning the forests.

~-*-*-~

Linhardt awoke, tossing and turning in fabrics he did not remember, yet knew so well. The softness whispered at him to fall back under sleep’s domain, but something was… off in his mind. He surely wasn’t awake enough to contemplate what was missing. Missing?

“Linhardt..?”

The voice that rang was one he had not heard in a while. But if he was still half-asleep, it was probably a figment of his imagination… nonetheless, he stirred, sitting up and looking over.

“Whatever made you end up here with us?”

When his eyes properly adjusted, he realized he was in a mostly-white and cream room, on a soft bed with white sheets and blankets. His own self seemed to have been put into the same sort of loose shirt and pants. There were tables, there was tea; there were people he… remembered having been felled during the war. No, he thought. No.

“Don’t you think that’s sort of a bad question?” the nervous voice of Bernadetta rang out from the room. “I… I mean, he appeared a few days ago, started to shift a while ago, and… and now he’s awake, so I think he should get, um, adjusted first..!” She had the vestments she'd worn during war on, and Linhardt could only wonder if there was some way to change out of his newly-acquired clothing.

She’d been wounded during battle. Dorothea’s hands were where the wounds tried to close, but could not, and that is where the anxious student had breathed her last. The Professor never got over it, but the rest of them - even Dorothea - tried to tell them that there was nothing they could have done to help. Their eyes darkened as if there was something they had that could have.

“No, I think it’s a very valid question,” Hilda of the Golden Deer fired back. He vaguely remembered Claude’s distress at her death; how it ‘changed him in little ways’, as the Professor and Edelgard had said, at Derdriu. “He’s supposed to be the smart one, right? I mean, tired, but smart. I don’t think he would have died easily…”

“You’re both dead,” Linhardt blurted out, his filter apparently not on yet.

“So are you!” she pointed out. “Everyone you see here is dead, the important ones in the war. I guess someone higher up wanted us all safe and sound or something! That’s my guess, anyway.”

“Perhaps it was the Goddess…” Marianne’s voice could be barely heard, but Linhardt distinguished it as the one that had first expressed surprise when he had started to awaken. He had no time to get acquainted with her before the war had started.

“Where am I, then?”

“A heaven of sorts, I guess. Here we sit, waiting for our classmates that survived to die, or those that died to wake up. Nonetheless, it’s kinda like our own little community. I come here every day,” Hilda seemed to explain, pausing. The faintest sad shine in her eyes revealed itself, but she shook her head. “It’s not that complicated. We die, wake up here, and then live. We don’t seem to get hungry or anything like that, so I suppose we can’t really say we’re alive up in this place!” She giggled.

“But there are definitely more dead students than you three- wait. Is there a way to view the land of the living? If we’re really dead and here, there has to be some way, right?” Linhardt’s brain clicked as he realized, in his now-awake state, that Caspar was left behind. He remembered asking him for a last kiss, saying he’d make it in the beginning, and he just needed to go down there and-

“Mmhmm! We usually don’t watch for more than a few minutes or an hour or two. Some people down there can even see ghosts, they say… I’m sure Claude would die to tease Lysithea as a ghost, considering the circumstances. It’s like you’re there but invisible! It gets super scary when they stare right at you for a few moments, though. Usually that’s when I pull away-”

“How do I do that?!” Tears welled in Linhardt’s eyes.

“H-hold… hold your enthusiasm..!” Bernadetta gasped. “I don’t think you want to do that just yet… c-can’t you just use that weird mirror t-to see what you want? I… I tried to see Dorothea right after I woke up, following the directions, but, but I almost got lost. It was scary, my vision started going dark, I-I-”

“Right… because, if I’m not dreaming this up… I’m among the newly deceased…” he wiped his eyes, hoping to clear them. “Just, I left Caspar behind, back in the land of the living. And… as childhood friends-”

“Oh my god, they were childhood friends,” Hilda gasped. “You’ve been traveling the world with Caspar, though! Bernadetta here’s checked on you a few times, and I’m not sure if you’re-”

“Could you not talk of love?” A sharp voice cut through the air, and everyone stilled. The source was a certain Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Linhardt remembered when the strike force was going back over the capital, that Felix had been being held by Sylvain, as his wounds killed him. Much like right before he’d died, Felix had received a kiss from Sylvain - or maybe he was already lifeless in his arms.

“You’re always so iffy on the topic,” Hilda seemed to pout. “Don’t you have Dimitri to run off to?”

“He’s off brooding,” he huffed, “about everything that happened again. I hope he gets no ideas… he’s been sick since Edelgard launched her war, and killed us all.” He picked up a sword from what seemed to be his initial bed and sheathed it. “I’m going off to practice my bladework, even if we’re all dead. Maybe one day I’ll save someone when I’m down on Fódlan.”

Linhardt’s mind finally seemed to freeze, having received too much information at once.

“If… if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep,” he said to nobody in particular, before plopping back down to his pillow, ignoring the guilt tugging at him to get up and try to visit anyway. But something about sleep was… compelling…

~-*-*-~

Hours later, Caspar and the knights from Gaspard arrived at Remire. They’d been greeted solemnly. News must have spread around that those who were shaping to be mighty travelers and heroes after the war had been separated by the cruel scythe of Death.

It wasn’t a scythe, it was an organization, Those!, Caspar had wanted to scream, but none could know of their battle. To the public, a bandit ambush took Linhardt’s life - one of study, one of care, and of adventuring. A simple bandit. A very trained one. Not the assassins that faced them and knew how to deal with them.

In fact, Caspar hated to word it as if a scythe took him away. Jeritza had helped them in the war, and he wielded that choice weapon as if he had been born to do so. And every time someone said it, that cruel Death took Linhardt by its scythe, all Caspar could imagine was Jeritza taking the soul of the one he loved the most. The Death Knight.

“It’ll be 18 gold. We can hold onto your wagon,” the place had offered, and the woman running the establishment looked sadly at Caspar. She knew. Of course people knew… or maybe it was just because he started to look so damn disheveled. Probably a combination of both, he noted, before looking away.

Caspar was the first to retire to his room, and the Gaspard knights understood why. He was still processing that his loved one was gone. Departed. The moment the door closed, he backed up against it, feeling tears prickling at the edge of his eyes.

“You weren’t there,” he choked out, “You weren’t there while we were walking, Lin-lin. You missed so much I wanted to say. You missed… I miss you!” he rambled to empty air, tears flowing, pretending as if somehow, Linhardt was there, Linhardt was listening. “I wanted to joke with you again. To, to stop and admire things with you. But I had to keep going with you. You couldn’t slow down, Linny.”

He walked away from the door to sit on his bed, and immediately could only hold his head in his hands and sob. It felt better to sob here than Gaspard, better to have nobody that would really worry if they came across him. During his tempest of emotion, he was compelled to look at the last ring he’d made.

It was of a small flower they found alongside the path. Linhardt had said to Caspar, “This is the perfect size for another temporary ring, Cas. Why not let me tie it around you as a token of our love?” Caspar laughed after that, and he delightfully let him, smiling dumbly, a light ghost of a kiss on his knuckle afterwards.

That had been… what, about a week ago? Since then he’d tried to strengthen it. Anything to strengthen the bond between him and his now-dead lover, to stop it from dying like they eventually always did. Ashe had recommended him to go to an artist to capture it, to make it something he could always wear. But it didn’t feel right to have something inorganic trying to mimic what he had on his hand. It felt like trying to make something that’s special, tied to a memory, but it only ends up mimicking what used to be.

“Lin… I’m sorry, Lin. If we… if I’d had more vulneraries, concoctions, anything, I… you’d be alive right now. Laughing. We’d be going through Faerghus enjoying ourselves. Still heading towards a port to explore the seas. Didn’t we first do that months ago?” he wryly laughed as he recalled memories. “Remember when I got so scared during that storm? I thought I was a goner, Linhardt. You held me the whole time…” his voice finally trailed off.

“I should sleep if I’m talking to nobody at all.”

Caspar ended up taking off his armor first, then removed his overcoat, leaving only the slightly skin-tight red turtle-necked pullover and pants. He at least took off the pullover - it was the Wyvern Moon, but it wasn’t cold enough yet to bother him. After making sure it was readily available, he settled down into his bed, which wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d laid on, but it would make do. After all, they’d paid 18 gold; it wasn’t like they were staying in Enbarr.

Despite his resolve, Caspar did not sleep very well that night. Every time he went to sleep, just like the other nights, he had Linhardt’s last few words, last few everythings whirling in his thoughts, the minute he tried to sleep. The last few times Linhardt gently healed him, warmth running through his body. The last few times he’d kissed him. The last times they’d slept in a bed together, snuggled up. The ‘good morning, my love’ the day they’d been ambushed. When his voice cracked when he said it was the end. When… when the warmth left his body…

Eventually those thoughts had become dreams with semblance. Dreams with pain and blood and wicked, twisted endings. Nightmares where Linhardt’s body was stolen. Nightmares where someone defiled it, tore it, touched it with their ill intentions. And… he didn’t want to call it a nightmare…

But the ones where his mind concepted Linhardt as alive, in bed with him, were the ones that hurt. The gentle touch felt real. The whispers and smiles and chuckles were real, the little bedtime banters, all of it had to be real. If it wasn’t real, why should I continue living, why should I go on? What point is there if Linhardt-

He was awoken by a knock on the door.

“Sir, it’s breakfast. Would you like to come down, or..?”

“I’ll stay up here, but I’ll eat.” His voice came out quieter than he hoped it would.

Linhardt’s death is going to be the death of me.

Chapter Text

Linhardt awoke the next day, in that weird spot of the afterlife, feeling an ache in his chest. He’d dreamt of Caspar. They’d been being happy, cuddly, in bed together. When they laughed and talked, shifted, it felt real. But eventually a knock - foreign to Linhardt’s ears, but he hadn’t the effort to try to place it - dashed the dream, and he had no idea how long it was darkness before he awoke to some loud dialogue.

Wherever ‘heaven’ was, it was only just beginning to have sunshine peeking in through the open, glassless windows and entrance arches. He spotted Dimitri in the room, for once, who seemed to be staring out one of the many windows. He’d kept his cape and heavy armor on, despite the fact there was no need of it. Felix was beside him, looking pissed as usual, arms crossed.

“I’m thinking of visiting the Professor today. Just to ask them why they did what they did. Someone must have given us these… powers. If I can appear before those I will to see me… I will haunt them until they answer!”

“Why can’t you give up already?!” Felix cut in. “Their answer is going to be the same. They believed in Edelgard’s cause. I can’t hold a grudge if something’s uniting all of the classes together, though. Perhaps then, when we’re all dead, we’ll get some sort of satisfying answer and won’t have to cut each other’s throats.” It came out as a near-bark.

“Eventually I will not be remembered anymore. When we cannot be remembered, our powers go to waste. We cannot travel back down. Your brother’s almost like that, you know! I fully intend to get the answer out of the Professor’s mouth while they are alive!”

“Don’t you dare bring Glenn-”

“Some of us were trying to sleep, you know…” Linhardt yawned, slightly frowning at the two. Dimitri’s near-predatory stare did rouse fear, but he was dead - what was he going to do, kill him twice?

“I’m sorry we awoke you then. Perhaps this is better solved by a spar, yes?” Dimitri’s voice was rough and low, almost like a lion’s growl.

“Hmph. If that is what you truly wish for…” Felix grunted out. “Then I shall oblige.”

The two men tersely grabbed their weapons and left the room.

“Mm… Caspar… I wonder how he is. Really…” Linhardt yawned again, stretching.

Today, when he got up, he looked in a mirror. He realized his hair had been flowing loosely, with no bun or the likes to reserve it. Stray strands fell across his face, and it didn’t help that it was messy as all hell from being slept on and unbrushed, but as he noticed that, it seemed to tidy itself. He emoted at the sudden change.

“Oh, you’re noticing things and powers, aren’t you?” Hilda seemed to pop up out of nowhere, causing the mage to jump a slight bit. “It’s normal to be weirded out, you know.”

“Oh, like, you know, about the fact I’m dead?” Linhardt shot back, filter apparently not active again. “I mean… I’m still processing the fact I’m entirely dead… I… the last words I said and did, stick with me just as much as his probably…” he mumbled.

“You get used to it eventually. I mean, I’ve been dead for almost a year! Maybe not as experienced as Felix’s brother, who’s been dead longer…” Hilda seemed to ponder for a few moments. “I’m just saying there’s a few more details that you should know, when you’re ready to hear them.”

“Like how to visit the living?”

“That’s the first thing most of us did want to know about, yes. It’s probably best for you to go tonight if you’re worried about Caspar… you know, your boyfriend~!” Hilda teased, some heat coming to the other’s cheeks. “But, what you also need to know about visiting the living is that when we die and come here, we get a power. I don’t know the rhyme or reason, but some of us have au… aural? Aural powers,” she stepped forward. “I’m not saying yours is fixing hair, don’t worry, all of us can do that here… I mean that when we visit Fódlan, we can influence it in ways beyond death. I can project and read emotions, for example. It helps when I visit Claude.”

“I suppose it would… then what’s my power?” Linhardt looked over at the pink-haired girl, slightly tilting his head.

“Well… I guess there’s really no surefire way to know, you know? I just kind of found out one day. I was visiting Claude, back when I had only been dead a while, during the war, and I felt such intense… the next thing I knew he’d been looking over at the spot I was, looking surprised, my name a ghost on his lips. I was so freaked out I withdrew, but he looked like he’d been sharing the same emotion. It was so intense and I was so new that I couldn’t control it!”

“Uh-huh… sure…” He sighed. “What if I don’t have one, unlike the rest of you?”

“Well, you haven’t gone down yet. If Caspar at all acts weird or different when you visit him, maybe you should observe what changed!”

“Like that’s possible,” Linhardt sighed. “He’s always full of energy.”

“U-um… if I may s-suggest, since you w-were the one that overslept th-the most - um, I, I don’t mean to insult you! - you m-might have something related to sleep? O-or going to sleep…” Bernadetta suggested, slightly looking like she was about to curl in on herself.

“That would be a good idea…” Linhardt stretched out again, in front of the mirror. “I was also wondering… how do you get out of… these vestments?” He gestured to the light fabric that he’d acquired since, well, he woke up yesterday, he supposed.

“Oh! That’s easy. Just will them on, like how you willed your hair-”

“I willed nothing. It just kind of fixed itself,” Linhardt cut in.

“Well, something inside you wanted it to be fixed enough that it happened. Maybe you just don’t want to be out of such comfortable clothes,” Hilda giggled.

~-*-*-~

Caspar himself had only made sure Linhardt’s body was still in there. It looked more pale than he’d ever seen him - though, to be fair, he was dead - and was starting to become less… stomachable. He hated how he thought of his beloved’s body like that, but it was how it was getting, even if it had been somewhat helped in preservation on Ashe’s orders. He just didn’t linger too long to risk losing his breakfast he’d had to work so hard just to eat.

Then the wagon started having troubles about 2 hours in, despite the checks that were made by the knights. Something with the wheel mechanisms, Caspar hadn’t paid much attention to the chatter going on.

“Damn… we might end up arriving later,” a knight hissed. “We have the supplies to repair this, but we need to be guarded.”

“I’ll help guard,” Caspar half-heartedly threw in. “I doubt anyone would try to attack us.”

“You’d b-be wrong,” a voice that sounded as if glass alone could break it seemed to whisper right in Caspar’s ear.

He immediately turned around and punched air, before realizing that the voice had somehow sounded… familiar. In the bushes, he spotted what looked like one of the Agarthans from when Linhardt was attacked. Immediately, he rushed towards them, propelled by anger, and was able to deliver a swift punch to the figure, blood splattering from their mouth. The guards back at the wagon had erupted in chaos, as well; sounds of swords clashing and grunts and pain echoing in the place they had been stopped.

“You bastards took Linhardt from me!” Caspar screamed at the figure, who was slowly crawling away, looking at him. “I’ll make you pay for that, you hear me?! I don’t care if this is our goal anyway, I hate you!!”

He launched himself at the figure, pinning him, before unleashing hell through punches on him. How many he’d thrown before he realized the guy had died, he didn’t know, but blood splattered all over his armor and gauntlets. All he was certain of was that he had been breathing heavily as adrenaline and his wrath had carried him that far. It didn’t feel morally right, deep down, but he felt a bit better on the surface. He’d held that pent up rage towards them that training hadn’t solved back at Gaspard. Even then, he quickly looked around, before joining the guard’s fray.

The guards managed to fell two of the attacking five, helping Caspar off the other two - though, they didn’t really need to. After the small chaos that it was, Caspar was almost certain he might have passed out or something. He wasn’t necessarily happy they were dead, but he felt that justice had at least been passed.

“Hey, Linhardt!” Caspar turned his head, “I was pretty… cool…”

That had also been a small tradition if they got in a battle. Caspar would smile, ask if he’d been cool or the likes. Linhardt would usually either smile and agree while patching up any wounds the other had, or offer strategies or the likes. His head would always spin whenever tactics were involved, but he tried to use them. Linhardt would sometimes even comment when he noticed them.

Two of the guards went back to repairing the wagon, while Caspar and the other two kept guard. Something in the trees kept getting Caspar’s attention, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Nothing was there when he looked, and eventually, it stopped.

“The wagon should be good to go,” one of the knights said after what felt like an eternity.

“Then what are we waiting for? The sun doesn’t stay up forever.” Caspar was still tense from the battle, not to mention the voice - it couldn’t have belonged to one of Those. It felt like a memory he couldn’t quite retrieve, and that upset him, but the sound of the carriage starting back up carried him out of that reverie back into walking.

Well, walking and thinking. When Caspar and the knights got to Hevring, what would they say? What would Caspar have to say? He was the one who dragged Linhardt with him on the journey. They were going to travel roads and seas alike, and then get married and settle. But instead he ended up killing the man. It would’ve been better if he died in the war, Caspar almost thought. In the war, he could kill who specifically did it, know they were at rest. But Those were an organization. He couldn’t be too sure if he really did kill who robbed Linhardt of life. And… it weighed on his conscience, if they hadn’t traveled, he would not have died. Right?

It was getting annoying. Caspar almost wished he could go and just die already, but… there was still something to live for. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it had to be there, the fraying string still connecting him to life on Fódlan.

The moon had been on its ascent for a while when they finally reached Hevring. Funnily enough, it was a full moon, bright enough to bathe the land in its slightly blue light. Linhardt loved nights like that, where the moonlight would filter in through windows at inns and make it just more bearable to be outside in if they were camping. He’d once caught the other outside, staring at it, smiling.

“A moon without war, Caspar,” he mused. “This must be a new sight for her. There’s not bloodshed of the masses under her eye anymore…” he’d taken Caspar’s hand in his while he said that, trailing off. Eventually that led into a kiss they’d silently agreed on, under the moonlight. Then Linhardt insisted they get back into their encampments they’d set up, since night really was falling and even though it was romantic, he liked being alive. The irony in remembering that, when he was dead… yeah.

He realized he’d started to choke up when someone - not Count Hevring, that was sure - had come out to greet them.

“Caspar?” the figure looked at him, shocked. “You came along with them?”

“I… I figured I should. I was there when he… received the mortal blow.” he nervously laughed, trying to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. The last time he has been in Hevring had been back when he and Linhardt were just childhood friends, and it was just unfair his mind was making him remember-

“Come inside… Can the knights handle the container?” Caspar felt like he should know the figure, but maybe it was just a servant or something of no consequence that just happened to know him.

“I’m… it’s my fault,” he managed out. “I’m sorry.”

~-*-*-~

Even though they’d helped get Linhardt’s body out, with a grave apparently being dug, and their attempts to make him feel… better, he guessed, Caspar couldn’t find it within him to sleep. Something about the man would stir up in Caspar’s mind again and again, or some anxiety about his beloved’s body, and he’d end up sighing and just sitting in the guest bed. He was sure Lin would approve of the softness of his own home’s beds, yes, but again - that’s a train of thought with Linhardt. The moonlight falling through his window wasn’t helping too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to draw the curtains.

Linhardt himself couldn’t find it in him to fall asleep in Heaven, either. Hilda, apparently, was about to be off to visit Claude as well.

“So… I can travel tonight, yes?” he looked at the pink haired woman. Since the morning, he’d figured out his outfit back into the one he had at his time of death - without the blood, of course.

“I said it was best. Well, all you have to do is think of the person, like, really hard, and being near them, or if it’s a place, the same concept…” She stretched. “I’m sure one of us can get you if you start exerting yourself too much.” She looked over at Bernadetta.

“U-um, yeah.” Bernadetta interjected, voice wavering. “I’ll probably be up a bit longer, a-and I don’t really want you to black out on your first time like I almost did.”

Linhardt smiled at the reassurance, before closing his eyes. Caspar… his voice and his personality first popped into his head, but what he mostly focused on was being near him. He was going to be back on Fódlan… back with the one he loved.

“Careful now!” Hilda seemed to have to yell that to him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on Hevring territory, faint wisps of white clouds disappearing around him. The moon shone above, which was good, because he didn’t know what he’d do without that light, considering the small dizziness forming in his head.

“Home…” he murmured, steadying himself. Then he realized, maybe I should shut up. They didn’t say anything about people not being able to hear them. Then again, if I can find Caspar, I can test that theory…

Walking on Fódlan felt different to him now that he was in a spirit’s form. It almost felt as though he had been horribly misplaced, as if he were foggy, and anxiety seemed to have rooted itself in his chest. Either way, he eventually swaggered his way over to the entrance to the main building of Hevring, where… if Caspar was here, he would be staying in a guest room. Knots tied themselves in his stomach. This was where focusing on Caspar led him… but he needed to open the door. Being dead, well… if people can’t see you… he sighed. “Damn doors…”

Caspar himself felt... off. Something in him wanted him to open the door to his room. Maybe he wanted to see his body. He wasn’t sure, but either way, he walked over to the door and hesitantly opened it slightly. Nobody was in the halls, as expected, which soothed him a slight bit. It wouldn’t be hours until… he sat back down on his bed, contemplating a course of action.

Linhardt soon found that he, in fact, did not need to open the doors of Hevring to get in. A non-corporeal form meant that he could simply… go through them. The idea made him slightly squeamish - What if I get hurt? - but after a few wasted moments gathering courage, he was able to jump through the door, landing on his face. One could argue he would have been able to avoid that, but with the tension of being newly dead and not one to be able to entirely know how to control what you can and can’t collide with…

When he picked himself up, he spotted a slightly-cracked open door… with what would correspond to a guest room, last he checked! Heat seemed to flow through him suddenly, and his heart seemed to beat again - though, he was certain it was still beating upstairs, maybe he just didn’t feel it? - like he had been made alive again. He rushed to the room, almost tripping over himself a few times, cracking the door open slightly more - and felt a wave of drowsiness overcome him, slowing him as he entered to see the one he so dearly loved -

His boyfriend jumped, seeing the door move, almost readying to attack.

“Who’s there? I’ll take you on!” he said, a bit louder than usual, getting up from his bed.

“Caspar, Caspar, calm down, it’s me, Linhardt, your boyfriend-”

“I said who’s there?!” he went to look outside the door, which made Lin move away.

“It’s- it’s me…” his voice trailed off as he backed away, his metaphorical spirit dropping when the other couldn’t hear him despite his attempts. He slinked over to the nearby window - a small sitting space was there, in the window itself, cushioned. He had always been fond of this spot in that guest room, and so he sat. Somehow it did not seem to make the normal creases a living human would make if they sat - an interesting effect of being dead, perhaps, is not interacting the way one should? Either way, the moonlight was nice; not losing any of the charm it had when he was alive. A moon without war, he thought.

Caspar closed the door, dropping Lin from his musings. “I’m going crazy. That… that has to be the explanation.” he sighed as he flopped once more onto the bed. “Linhardt…”

A presence. Near the window. Before his mind followed through completely, he found himself looking there - at the filtering moonlight. His face softened as his eyebrows knitted.

“Linhardt, you’d love tonight,” he mumbled.

“I do.”

He wasn’t sure if that was an imagined response or not - it felt real, it sounded like him, but - no. The man’s dead. He’s going crazy, like he’s been saying. But it… was comforting. Even if it was just a voice in his head. Tears were threatening to well up in his eyes.

The source looked sadly at Caspar. “I really do… and it would’ve been better with you.”

He didn’t hear a word of that, instead feeling warmth and happiness of a sort. Were there going to be tears of happiness? He’d forgotten why he was looking at the window, why he couldn’t sleep… it melted into the back of his mind. Somehow, a smile formed on his lips, for no reason…

“I think I’ll sleep now,” his voice wavered. “If you’re out there…” he once more kept staring at the window. “Goodnight.”

Linhardt got up as he started to burrow within the covers. Something was running down his face, he wasn’t exactly sure what, as he looked over Caspar. Trying to peacefully sleep without him. Tears. That was the word.

Caspar felt the ghost of a cheek stroke as he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Linhardt slowly traced Caspar’s cheek, vision going blurry. His ghostly tears fell with nobody to see but himself. Nobody could hear or comfort him. Then, a pang of nausea - so he sat down at the window again. He finally looked out to see freshly disturbed dirt, a hole - for his body, presumably. Maybe he was even laid to rest.

Before he could stop himself, he realized he’d phased outside again, walking towards his grave. His gait was unsteady as he felt sick - and more importantly, tired. No tombstone graced the hole, and neither did any body. His eyelids felt like weights. Is this what blacking out is?, he thought. I don’t mind it… he smiled as his legs collapsed from under him, even as a spirit.

Then he felt a great force, and he next was in Heaven, collapsed in front of Bernadetta. He recalled her saying something about staying up and wanting to prevent him from ‘blacking out’. An almost electric feeling rush of energy revitalized the man, yet he found himself yawning as normal. The purple-haired anxious archer looked down at him with worry, even so. Well, he couldn’t tell, her resting face also was filled with constant worry.

“Y-you shouldn’t have done that…” Bernadetta whispered. “I-I mean! You’re entitled to do anything you w-want, but… it was dangerous.”

“Well, then I have to just thank you for saving me,” the mage replied, not missing a beat.

Bernadetta nodded before sitting back onto her bed, and Linhardt divorced his body from the ground, walking over to his ‘bed’ and mirror set. He noticed Hilda was still absent. The pale skin around his eyes had gained a red shade from his weeping, and it hadn’t gone away, even as he had collapsed at his own grave. He wiped at his eyes, trying to do that ‘willing’ thing Hilda had talked about, yet it stayed red, like his clothes had stayed the light, white pyjamas. He yawned again and fell back on his bed, hair suddenly splaying out as if it was no longer tied back. Soon he found himself burrowing into his bed the same as Caspar had, drifting.

~-*-*-~

Caspar’s eyes opened on a grassy plain, with no trees in sight. Small, delicate flowers peppered the land. The sun shone bright in the sky - warm. Tiring. Laziness. He could imagine Linhardt right next to him… a yawn broke out next to him. A green haired man had splayed out on nature’s rug, dressed in mage’s robes that covered just about every part of him. A small bun stuck in his long hair, and he opened his eyes -

“Linhardt?!” Caspar shouted in his dream. “You’re… you’re here?” It felt… weird. Disconnected. Like he was there, but he wasn’t. Not unlike a lucid dream, but definitely not a lucid dream.

His partner sleepily smiled at him, content and happy. A small chuckle spilled out from his lips. “Of course I’m here… Caspar.” He sat up, not before stretching, to reach a hand out to his cheek, gently stroking with his thumb. “I would never leave you…”

Warmth filled his chest, but at the same time, his heart felt like it was going to break. It felt like this was real. It felt too good to be true. Nonexistent tears stung his eyes - but he couldn’t tell from which emotion they came, as he looked on at the other. Loving? Sad? Wretched, as fate had torn them apart? They were torn apart, weren’t they?

“Linny…” he sighed. “But you’re… not real. You’re not here with me.”

The mage suddenly erupted in laughter. Mirthful, giddy. Damning of the other’s soul. Exactly like he always had sounded to Caspar. Perfect… and lost forever.

“Of course I’m real, Caspar. We’re right here, in the field… where we always met.”

A sudden knock broke the dream - awakening Caspar. His cheeks felt warm - his eyes were definitely wet, though. As he started to stir, a single tear fell from his cheek. That dream must have really affected me, he thought. He thought about nothing of it. Another knock on the door. He got partially dressed - enough to be modest - and opened it.

There he saw a servant of Hevring - looking red-eyed, teary, sniffling, even. It must have been the time to lower him into his grave, maybe. The war against those who slithered wasn’t over - even if they held a funeral now, nothing would change. Linhardt would still be slowly rotting, Those would still slither, looking to kill all who supported Edelgard, and they’d move on with the world. Some former classmates were already dead - like Bernadetta, killed in the war. Most alive weren’t even part of their house - just spared by Edelgard and the Professor.

“Caspar von Bergliez?” The servant asked, snapping him out of his daze.

“Sorry… what were you saying again?” He looked at the servant.

“We’re going to lower… your partner into his grave today. I thought you might like to see his body one last time before it’s covered…” his voice wavered. It was obvious the servants of the house had admired Lin. It pained Caspar. It’s your fault would ring again and again in Caspar’s head until he breathed his last to join him.

“I… I would.”

~-*-*-~

Linhardt felt he was gasping for air as he awoke. For a few seconds, he felt like he was being buried alive. Panic broke out in his mind, in his chest, tightening his throat - his heart started, maybe faster than before, if he could feel it - he swore he couldn’t - and then it subsided. It was as if nothing had happened. As if he wasn’t…

His breathing calmed and he sat up. He squinted as the ever-present lights and filtering sun blinded him for a few moments. All that he could see was Hilda, Bernadetta, and Felix - and then he saw a flash of lightish green hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Pointed ears poked out on the side, and he was smiling sadly.

It was Seteth.

“...well, how’s the Professor doing?” He heard Hilda ask. “I rarely check up on them, but you seem attached to the hip with them! Did they manage to charm you back when you were alive?”

“Nothing of the sort,” he almost frowned. “I am just… concerned. I couldn’t support Rhea, but I’m not sure that it’s the right path for Fodlan. They seem to be doing well, but they always look sad and tired. Like they’re fighting a battle nobody can be told about. I’m sure it’s against a certain group…” he trailed off, and looked at Linhardt. His frown set in. “When did…”

“Two or so days ago,” Linhardt replied, almost nonchalantly. “You’re right… but I didn’t expect you here. Then again, almost everyone from Garreg Mach is here. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Her Bitchiness again.”

Seteth looked offended for a moment, then closed his eyes and simply shook his head. “I have searched. Rhea is nowhere to be found, for better or worse.”

A short girl bounced into the room as well. Her hair was curled into - this is Flayn!

“Brother, we should go fishing!” She smiled still. Even in death, Flayn was Flayn - and Linhardt smiled. Even Seteth seemed to brighten at seeing her.

“Flayn, perhaps a bit later,” he replied. “Right now I am checking in with the students… and another has joined their ranks, too.”

Flayn met Linhardt’s gaze. Lin felt uncomfortable, smile dropping, realizing he had proposed research about her crest. He was… rather forward in his research, was all, and he was sure Flayn remembered it all… certainly.

Instead, she looked sad as well, before putting a smile back on. “Well, we could invite him to fish too! Tell him more about this Heaven!” She turned back to her brother. “Please?”

He hadn’t even moved from his bed and he was already being dragged into something he didn’t want to do. Story of my life, he thought, sighing.

“Fine. I’ll go fishing with you guys. I figure it wouldn’t hurt…” He stretched out as he finally got up and out of his resting place.

It’s something to take my mind off of Caspar, he reasoned. Something to adjust to life here… in Heaven. He thought back to how he awoke, and let out a labored sigh. He’ll forget about me soon, won’t he? He worried, then mentally shook his head. We were to be married… Just fish and it’ll be okay, Linhardt.

Chapter Text

When the Immaculate One was struck down, the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force could only watch as their Professor and the Empress felled her. The cacophonous sound of a beast falling to the ground gave pause to them. Before processing victory, all they could do was be frozen. They’d been working towards that for 5 years, and in just a few months with the Professor…

Caspar looked over at Linhardt, who had been looking faint until a few moments ago. Tears were welling in his eyes, and he looked back over at him. Let’s you and I come out of the other side of this war alive. Those words echoed in Caspar’s head. Linhardt cared deeply about him, after all.

Slowly, he built up the momentum to grapple the other, laughing, tears welling up as well. Victory had been won. Fódlan was going to be unified. All the deaths would not be in vain. Claude’s cooperation would not be in vain - all the blood, the bodies, everything they had seen... They were not without purpose. Edelgard’s dream would be fulfilled. He picked him up and spun with him, earning a ‘hey!’ from the other, even if it was with a laugh like his, tears also running down his face.

Dorothea and Petra had united in the distance as well, tested the same. They had decided to hold hands instead of cheer - sadness had blossomed in Dorothea instead of the happiness that ran through their ranks. Bernadetta had not lived to see the work they caused. She looked out into nothingness, prompted by something unseen. They mouthed ‘we did it’, and... the air got a bit lighter.

Sylvain and Ingrid seemed to catch each other in their own embrace. One - maybe both - of them had been crying. They had just lost Dimitri - their childhood friend - in one day… Sylvain’s eyes were to the sky as he comforted Ingrid. Eventually, she looked up, too. Perhaps they believed in heaven, that Dimitri belonged there... even despite everything.

“Caspar,” Linhardt said, giddy, as he was let down, “Caspar, we did it. We lived… I, I know this isn’t the right place, probably, but… I love you so much. Will you be with me?”

Caspar could only take his hands into his own. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds… nice. I love you too, Linhardt. I was scared to say it where you might die.”

“Well, now that Rhea is dead, I doubt I’m dying anytime soon,” He laughed, smiling.

“We both kept our promise, though. We stayed alive!” Caspar smiled back. “We could, uh, we could… travel the world together now.”

“Perhaps we should talk about our future back at the monastery?” Linhardt looked over at the figure above them - Edelgard and… the Professor, with their hair and eyes back to normal, in her arms.

Back at the monastery, there were festivities planned for the first night of their victory - of Fódlan’s reunification under the Empire. Hubert and Ferdinand kept to each other, talking - and it seemed for once to be a conversation not filled with insults. Rather, they had fond expressions on their faces, as if reflecting or enjoying each other. Perhaps facing the brink of death in the last battle, in a burning city, was enough to solidify a bond between them. How opposite they were, anyway - if it took a war to bring them together.

At some point during the night, before sunrise, Caspar and Linhardt set out to the Goddess Tower. There, they realized the true depth of their feelings towards each other. Linhardt had been crushing on the other for quite a few years, and the other had realized during the time the Professor wasn’t there that he had been falling in love with him. They smiled and promised to get married - with the years of their feelings, the way they didn’t seem to fight - it felt… natural.

The next day Edelgard had acquired a ring on her finger, and she seemed to smile more often than usual. The Professor was nearby, smiling as well, and they could never be happier, it seemed. Still, they knew that they still had responsibilities to tend to - the fight that was coming up.

Caspar and Linhardt were, meanwhile, packing. They were preparing to let Edelgard know of their leaving of the Imperial army - and their territories, for the moment, though one day they may return to rest and share knowledge. They’d decided to travel the world, all the seas, all the corners - that they could, anyhow - before settling. She warned them about the dangers of Those as her face turned somber.

“There is still work to be done - and They may covet your writings.”

They set off, joy in their hearts as they did so, journeying with the sun’s set. Two wandering travelers in love - and it was everything they could've wanted. During their travels, Linhardt was always sure to keep a journal. There, he’d write for hours on end, it seemed, when they took a break, or even while in some manner of transportation. When bothered about it, he would simply laugh at Caspar. “Perhaps I’m writing all about you, my dear.”

Books piled up on their carriage as the journey continued. It didn’t take long for Caspar to realize he was also traveling with him not just for the sights, culture, and bonding. He had also been continuing his studies on Crests with as many academic and firsthand experiences with them as he could find. Even with that knowledge, he could be caught leaning over a journal with rosy cheeks and a small smile as he gracefully wrote with his feather. ...That, or he did keep two journals and Cas was just unable to tell them apart.

Someone would just have to separate his findings from his writings on the feelings and perhaps fantasies of a blue-haired somebody, he suspected.

~-*-*-~

Linhardt cast his pole - apparently willed in by Seteth - into a vast ocean that seemed to have no end. Tall trees surrounded it, birds flittering and twirping around. His mind, adjusted to being awake, suddenly had a thought. How can we even fish here? Are these the ghosts of fish? He was furrowing his brow even as he looked intently for any movements of the float on the top that indicated when whatever form of ‘fish’ had bitten down to be caught.

Seteth looked over at Linhardt and Flayn. “Oh, is there a problem?” He noted the other green-haired’s expression. “If you’re wondering what’s in there…”

The float submerged, and Lin felt tension in his rod. Well, he'd figure it out soon enough in that case; he started to reel the line in and..!

"...This looks like a 'shiny' version of the fish on Fódlan," Linhardt couldn't help but murmur aloud. It was far paler and almost iridescent; but he couldn't quite come up with the actual species it was. It looked to live and breathe, and so... The scholar's spark shone in his eyes. They probably weren't ghosts of killed fish! ...Right? That's something he could learn and study, at least! If... someone hadn't, already.

"Well, yes. I was going to say something to that effect," the older man had a ghost of a smile on his lips as he looked over. "Perhaps a bit more eloquently." He cast his line out too, though it was half-hearted - he seemed also to be keeping an eye on Flayn.

No doubt he didn't want her to harm herself, despite the place they were now in, safe and warm, all love and light. Honestly, to Linhardt, only sometimes did it feel like its unofficial yet official name - Heaven. A place with little to no sorrow, joy, and seeing everyone that he had known. He could eventually figure out how to will things, and perhaps just be able to laze around for the rest of his days, which to a younger version of him, may have been the very definition of the name.

But even still, parts of it felt like they could be a trap. A gilded cage is still a cage.

"Ooh! Look, it's another herring!"

Flayn's cheerful demeanor snapped him out of it, looking over at the two, then his own line. He'd probably let his fish go somewhere between all his thoughts just on his own, and he looked over. He placed the rod, not cast, down into a stand as they smiled, spoke a moment - it sounded vaguely like a chide - and released the fish.

"In any case," Seteth started, seeing that Lin had finally seemed to tire of the few casts he did, "you came along to also learn of this place, yes? I... will be the first to admit I thought you might not show up for a while, and yet..."

"I mean, there's not really any point in feeling sorry for me," the scholar took a breath, leaning back into a seat. Wait, since when was that seat there-? "Honestly, I'm more surprised there is a place like this."

"So was I, to tell the truth," was the reply he got. It was said with an almost somber tone that he wasn't sure the other would've been capable of. "After the conflict we have suffered... But, I suppose we have a few moons out over you. I do not believe this place means any of us harm, but rather, a chance to reunite."

"I think anyone with eyes and a thought process can see that..." Part of his mind was still stuck on the spontaneously existing seat. Was that what willing things was, yet again? Did he do that subconsciously, yet again?

"Well, some more distrustful of the casualties did not think that." He could guess who the man was referring to. Flayn and Seteth's lines continued to make fishing noises in the background like white noise alongside the birds; Lin had closed his eyes for a moment in the ever-present sun. "Given I am the only of the Church here, I try to make sure there is a semblance of order, despite any... differences."

Differences. That was one way to say 'ideological sides of a bloody war with far too many dead'. He opened one eye to look at Flayn, who seemed particularly happy to add nothing so far; in the back of his mind, a question formed. He'd ask someone else later, he resolved.

"What we do not know of this place is its exact specifications, nor its purpose aside from simply keeping us here, as you may have heard. While oddly welcome-"

"It's good enough for the moment," Flayn finally added something. "The places here are nice! This endless sea, the ability to say hello to others... talk to those you haven't seen properly in a while... to see home develop still." Her energy seemed to decrease with each thing she rattled off. "There's many forests and even training facilities outside of the main rooms, and..."

...So they might know as much as Hilda. Great.

"Well, thank you for... enlightening me. Have you been working on a map, or..?" One hand of his shot into the air, gesturing vaguely alongside his words.

"Well, with more and more students seeming to come along... it could be a novel idea," the older man mused. "It should be revisited, in any case - though likely in a meeting with as many as we can. You have probably observed some of their routines?"

"Yeah, like two of them arguing in the 'common room' and going off to spar. I didn't even know we had sparring places until he brought them up, actually."

"Ah," though it was said rather pointedly, "Well... You'll get used to it. What I mean to say is, perhaps we can at least unite in this common purpose, to know our new home..."

As the two of them fished, Linhardt slowly felt himself starting to drift away already, tuning out some of what was being said. It was quite a nice day, as it always seemed it might be, in this afterlife of theirs. So... why not enjoy it all the same? Besides, this was rather a comfortable seat that *had* come out of nowhere. He wondered if he was always this fatigued, or if there was some other reason, for the smallest of moments before he lost consciousness once more.

~-*-*-~

Caspar had put the last ring he made for Lin in with him, looking as he had been lowered, and then summarily buried. He stared the whole while, not being able to look away even as everything overtook him yet again. It had been a while, and yet... it was still painful to part with what little possessions, what little evidence that he had been so wholly cherished, that the usually cheery and brash man had.

It wasn't as if he'd be forgotten - not by his house, and not by the man himself. Word had definitely had to reach Edelgard by now, and Caspar had now been resolved to return to his territory and mourn for some time, but even then, a faint reminder burned itself into his mind, the more he tried to look toward the future.

There is still work to be done - and They may covet your writings.

One thing that did not die with Linhardt was his research - the books he had gathered, the notes he had compiled. He wasn't sure how much of it the estate and family would go over or try to keep, at this rate. He had been in talks about the material, of course - its importance to both him and the greater efforts of uniting Fódlan after the war - and how he wished to be able to bring most of it back, if even temporarily. He had made a promise to Edelgard, after all - and even if it would be fulfilled like this...

But the pang of longing in his heart, the tightening of his jaw and soreness in his throat told him, if subconsciously, what he really wanted. The journal entries. He wanted to really read what he'd been thinking on the road. If he had written in his journal the night before it all, if he could somehow see some sign. Perhaps then, everything might click, it might make sense. It might stop being so, horrific.

Or... he could try to do something himself? His beloved had always been quite smarter than him, if not almost categorically horrifically lazy at the worst of times, but he knew why he had been so devoted to Crest studies. There was always a chance that there were others who could be saved, lines that could be traced, and much more, but... Honestly, even thinking on it now made Caspar's head spin, and that was without the scholar himself there to endearingly prattle on about it by candle or moonlight, quietly, when they were sure all was safe.

He wasn't even sure if now, he and his party were all safe. Hevring, properly safe? The bulk of the war was over for most, but there was always going to be a darkness eating at the shade of the peace - no, not always, just for a very long time, and he would help crush it. The few nights recently were pure luck; if they struck again at him while he was mourning, he wasn't sure if he would break them or be broken himself.

He had to get things together, for the good of it all, he was sure.