Chapter Text
Being a second son had only bothered Caspar when it was most superficial, often when he was running low on gold. But after that- he couldn’t care less. Second sons had more freedom. Second sons weren’t expected to do much besides stay out of their older brother’s way.
And stay out of the way Caspar had. He’d spent his childhood in guard’s barracks and under tavern tables, soaking in adventure stories and fighting techniques and the unique code of honor one can only get from a lifetime of mercenary work. The only books he ever read were grand tales of heroic knights, and the only persuasion he had to learn was wheedling a training session or two out of seasoned veterans passing through town.
And then he’d turned 18, packed up his meager belongings, and told his brother to not worry about him ruining any potential weddings with his too-boisterous laughter. He’d set off, then, to fight for a living, to right wrongs, and to prove himself a warrior without compare.
Now, two years later, he was out camping in the infamous Sealed Forest. Right now, his biggest goal was to sleep in a bed soon.
Nights in the southern forest were dark and full of monsters, so traveling anywhere alone was risky enough as it were. Caspar was even worse off, without even a candle to light his path, let alone the mage-lights recommended by anyone who’d been through the pass before. It had gotten too dark to see far too quickly, and he’d been forced to make camp, right there in the middle of the road.
He’d almost gotten to sleep in his bedroll when the wind picked up. It was a soft, unnatural-feeling breeze that brought with it the scent of angelica, and Caspar stirred, sitting up and blinking blindly around at the dense trees surrounding him. They offered no advice or answer, only swaying along with the sweet-smelling air. Caspar grumbled something to himself, pulling his axe closer to him on the ground, and made to sit back down.
My master requests aid, a silvery voice breathed in his mind. Caspar jerked wide awake.
“Who’s there?” He brandished his axe wildly around him, seeking an invisible foe. The silvery voice laughed in his head, a tinkling noise that reminded him of his mother’s evening jewelry.
I am Cethleann, humble servant of the good mage Linhardt. He is in dire need, and I am here to request it of you.
Caspar didn’t know anything about mages, or magic, or who Cethleann was, but he knew that he’d promised himself to always strive to help others. “Lead me,” he called into the floral-scented wind, rolling his bedroll with practiced efficiency. “I’ll run.”
And lead the voice did, spinning its wind to push in the direction he ran. Caspar, despite the fact that someone might be in grave danger, found himself growing excited. He had never rescued someone in the two years he’d been traveling, and as of recent his most exciting fights were with bandits who’d grown too confident. He relished the chance to play the chivalrous knight.
He’d forgotten to put on his armor, but oh well. Maybe that would make it look so much cooler when he swept in to save the day.
He knew immediately what was up when he saw it: a ring of bright lights surrounding a clearing, bobbing in the night air, characteristic of mage-work. Caspar gave himself a final push of speed and burst into the circle, axe at the ready and pointed at-
A tall, slender creature with white hair and hollow eyes. Caspar grit his teeth, grinning. Fey, as tricky as they wanted to be, were no match for him and his iron-forged axe.
The fey, which had been hovering over a far more humanoid figure huddled on the ground, turned and hissed at Caspar, long fingers reaching out to claw him. He was too quick for the sapling, though; he spun easily out of its reach and cut it with one decisive swing. It gave a screech reminiscent of a felled dead tree, then toppled, turning to leaves and mushrooms where it lay.
A young one, then. Caspar felt mildly disappointed. He’d been hoping for something a bit more exciting.
His proverbial damsel in distress cleared his throat, and Caspar turned to get a good look at him. He had long, elegantly tied back hair the color of emeralds, his eyes a stormy blue. He wore the unmistakable robes of a mage, though Caspar saw no crest identifying a school, which was odd. The man yawned. “I suppose you were the help I sent Cethleann after?”
Caspar grinned down, offering a hand to help the man up. His hands were small and delicate, uncalloused, a contrast to the scarred and work-worn skin of Caspar’s own. “What was that, anyway? I’m not used to voices in my head.”
“She’s my familiar,” the mage said, his voice dismissive, as if it were of no concern to him. “I suppose I thank you now, then? You did save me an awful lot of trouble.”
It was an odd way of saying thanks, but Caspar hardly minded. He grinned wide and stuck out his hand, the lightning-excitement stirring back up in him. “I’m Caspar. You know, it’s actually fortunate I met a mage here. Roads are terrible without one.”
They met hands again, and this time Caspar noted how soft the other man’s hands were. They were like that of a noblewoman’s, of someone never required to do anything with them. “Linhardt. You’re quite overzealous with your swings.”
“What does- never mind.” Caspar tilted his head, trying again to find a school crest. Usually they were out in the open, proudly displayed, for bragging rights and prestige. “Uh. What school are you? Your, ah, familiar only called you a good mage.”
“That’s just her way of talking,” Linhardt said breezily, also taking stock of the man in front of him with a lazy gaze. “I’m self-taught, if you must know, though I don’t find how that’s relevant.”
The discussion was interrupted by the unmistakable howling of a red wolf, and Caspar took a defensive stance out of habit. Linhardt sighed, sitting back down and brushing off the front of his robes like the whole situation had been frazzling. “There’s a protective ward. Mundane creatures can’t get through.”
“Oh,” Caspar said, relaxing his pose, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Um. That sounds really helpful.”
Linhardt hummed an agreement, curling up on the bare ground. Caspar watched in something that was almost fascination. “Aren’t you… cold, down there?” His excitement was growing, despite the fact that this mage was not the legendary spellcaster of tales of old. Knights always had mages as companions, right? “I know for a fact it can’t be comfortable. The ground here is hard as rock.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Linhardt yawned again, stretching out like a cat. “It’s not like I have a bedroll.”
“Don’t have a- what are you doing out in the middle of the forest without any provisions?” Caspar, without thinking, pulled out his own, launching into a vibrant lecture on the importance of preparedness and how easy it was to get sick if one slept straight on the ground. He realized halfway through a speech about campsite etiquette that he was rambling, and tapered to a stop. “Oh. Sorry about that. Uh, you can use mine for tonight.”
Linhardt, who had been watching him the whole time he was talking with something like amusement in his eyes, cocked his head to the side, causing his long hair to cascade over one shoulder. Caspar found himself watching it flow, the green locks somehow fascinating. “I thought you said it’s important not to sleep on the bare ground. You would offer a stranger your bed?”
“I’m not a monster!” Caspar said, offended the mage would even imply he’d leave him to fend for himself. “And besides. I just had to save you from a sapling. You’re obviously not prepared to be out in these woods all alone.”
A comfortable silence settled between them, as Caspar used the light of Linhardt’s magelights to set up a proper camp. Once he had a fire going, he was about to ask if the other man was hungry when he realized how late it was. Or rather, early. He could see the warm light of sunrise starting to creep across the sky. His new companion didn’t seem to notice; Linhardt was already curled up in Caspar’s bedroll, his breath even and slow.
“I’ll let him rest,” Caspar said quietly to himself. “Who knows what he’s been through on his travels, if he’s this unprepared.”