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Caspar could probably be paying better attention to the discussion that will affect if he lives or dies in the next battle.
He should be, but Ferdinand proposed a plan twenty minutes ago, and Hubert made a snide comment, and they’ve been going back and forth ever since. Pretty much everyone’s tuned them out. The strategy meeting has been dragging on for ages, already, and they can’t stop until they’ve figured out a plan to take this apparently key fort in Alliance territory.
Caspar can’t help with that. Instead, he’s staring at Linhardt. His head is propped up in his hand, his eyes lazily flicking between the two of them. The bags under his eyes are huge . Caspar frowns. He keeps promising to nap between meetings and research, but Caspar’s almost sure he’s not, which means he’s definitely not getting enough sleep.
Lin’s brow furrows slightly as Ferdinand explains his plan (slowly, as if Hubert is a child who can’t wrap his head around the strategy). That expression means he’s actually paying attention, which makes Caspar’s insides twist. Linhardt’s been trained in strategy since he was a kid; he has a bit of a knack for it, but Caspar knows he hates it, outside of maybe a game of chess. More and more, though, Caspar’s been finding strategy books around his room, and noticing Lin paying more attention in meetings.
It’s good that he wants to help, probably. Caspar just hates that he has to, especially because Linhardt hates being responsible for people’s lives. It isn’t fair. Then again, none of it is.
“I see no reason why we cannot manage a stealth attack,” Ferdinand is saying. “The strategy I’m proposing is perfectly sound.”
Linhardt hefts a sigh. “That won’t work,” he says, finally. The argument crashes to a halt, Ferdinand turning to him with a frown, Hubert with a glare.
“I assure you, Linhardt,” Ferdinand says, pouting, “I have done my research. This tactic is highly effective! They’ve been using it for centuries in–”
“Sreng,” Linhardt says flatly. “Let me guess. Nuada’s Treatise on Tactics and Strategy ?” Ferdinand huffs, crossing his arms. “They’ve used that exact tactic against the Kingdom within the last 20 years. Claude will know of it.”
Edelgard looks at him seriously, frowning. “Linhardt,” she says – Caspar doesn’t miss the way he recoils, just a tiny bit, away from her. “What would you advise?”
All eyes turn to him. Caspar watches him shift slightly, plucking at a thread on his sleeve. Nervous . He hates being the center of attention. “I’d advise something original, instead of copying from a book,” he drawls. “Claude has had nearly three years to brush up on strategy in preparation for an assault, and that’s excluding whatever research he undertook before the war began. If one of us has read it in a book, so has he.”
Petra frowns. “Even if the book is not of Fodlan?” she asks. “We could try the tactics of Brigid.”
Linhardt shakes his head. “ Especially not foreign strategy. He’ll likely have the strongest grasp on that.” He sighs. “We’ll need to think of something unique, instead.”
Edelgard frowns, but she nods. “Well, then. Any ideas?”
Hubert studies the map, then points to a spot near the fort. “Here. It’s the rainy season in Leceister. If we dam up this river, it’s likely to flood.” Caspar sits up straighter, craning his neck to see the map. He’s getting taller – he is – but it can still be kinda tough to see from where he’s sitting.
“It could work,” Linhardt muses. “If the soil is wet and muggy, their cavalry will have a hell of a time getting around. Of course, the same can be said for us…” Caspar’s half-listening, focused as he is on the map, but he takes a moment to marvel at how different Linhardt is from him. He can’t think that quickly and put the pieces together – he has no mind for strategy, something Hubert’s told him time and time again. Linhardt, though, always sees the next step, always has the next idea.
It makes them a pretty good team. Caspar’s pretty damn proud of that.
“-low visibility,” Ferdinand is saying. “Their archers won’t be able to shoot us down.”
“We can use a decoy force to draw them out of the fort. They’ll have to fight us in the mud,” Hubert adds.
Edelgard nods thoughtfully, but something is still niggling at the back of his mind. He squints at the map, at the river stretching beside the fort. “It may be effective,” she concedes. “What do you think, Linhardt?”
Suddenly, it comes to him. “We can’t,” Caspar says abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention. Good. He has important stuff to say. “If the river floods, it’ll destroy the farmland all along its banks. Look, this region is where most of the Alliance’s rice comes from.” That’s what was bothering him. He knew he recognized the name. “The farmers will lose out on food and whatever else they’d get by trading their surplus. We can’t do that!”
Hubert crosses his arms. “Maybe we’ll just have to call that an acceptable loss.”
Caspar bristles, but he’s not the only one – Ferdinand waves his hand in a cutting motion, glaring at Hubert. “Caspar is right,” he says. “It is our duty to protect the commonfolk and their livelihoods. Is the purpose of this war not to make their lives better?” He looks pointedly at Edelgard. “We will not win them over by destroying their homes.”
Hubert sneers, but Edelgard stops him with a raised hand and sighs. “No, we won’t,” she agrees. “We can’t risk that kind of collateral damage. The situation isn’t desperate enough.”
“Perhaps a different approach, Your Majesty,” Hubert says. “We could offer them food, could we not? Surely that would be endearing enough.” He shoots Ferdinand a glare; Ferdinand raises his chin, haughty. Caspar rolls his eyes – he really doesn’t need to know what their deal is.
Edelgard shakes her head. “I don’t think we have to resources to give,” she says. “We’ll just need a different approach. Something that doesn’t risk the commoners’ lives.”
Caspar nods, satisfied, and with a sigh, Hubert returns to studying the map. Caspar settles back into his seat, glancing over at Linhardt. He won’t look at him; instead, he lays his head down on the table, cushioning it with his arms.
Caspar frowns. He knows he’s different from everyone else; he doesn’t have useful strategy to offer, just reasons to shoot down everyone else’s ideas. He can’t help it, though. Growing up, his education was just sitting in on his brother’s, watching tutors explain all the important details that the future Minister of Domestic Affairs would need to know. Caspar had fixated on the idea that his father’s job was to help the average person in Adrestia, and each time their carriage rolled past a wheat field full of farmers on its way to Merceus, he’d lean out the window and wave enthusiastically. It was a rude awakening to realize that his father, and all the other nobles, too, only really cared about themselves. Caspar’s father had called him short-sighted and idealistic when he pushed back against a tax hike; the fact is, Caspar’s learned too much about the world to forget that each town, region, and farmland is populated by real people, with real problems and real lives.
Edelgard swore to help them. She promised her war would make things better for them. Caspar doesn’t enjoy the idea that the soldiers he’s killing have their own homes to go back to, but he can see that this is about the greater good. He’ll save lives wherever he can; if that means rejecting tactics that could result in civilian casualties, he’ll do it. Happily.
Linhardt’s the same – he hates fighting, mourns every life lost. Caspar knows that, has seen him scrubbing his hands raw long after the blood on them has been washed away. But Linhardt seems upset, now. Maybe he’s hurt that Caspar rejected a strategy he was pushing. Caspar shakes his head. He needs to focus. They have more work to do.
It takes another hour for Edelgard to call the meeting to a halt. “We won’t figure out anything else now,” she says. She does sound pretty tired. Caspar feels kinda sorry for her, especially because she’s probably going to do more work after this. “Sleep on it. See if you can think of anything new.” She glances toward Linhardt, who doesn’t make eye contact; Caspar frowns. “Thank you all for your work today. Dismissed.”
Bernadetta is already out the door. Dorothea stretches and asks Petra if she’d like to grab a bite in the dining hall; Petra invites Ferdinand, who shoots a look at Edelgard and Hubert, huddled in the corner and speaking in hushed tones, then sighs and agrees to come; Dorothea scowls, clearly less excited to have him tag along than Petra is. Caspar scoots around the long tables to stand beside Linhardt, hovering anxiously. It takes a long moment for him to push his chair out, arching his back so his spine pops. Caspar winces, barely able to stop himself from reminding Lin that he should really work on his posture. He still thinks Lin might be mad at him – he doesn’t want to make it any worse.
“Help me up,” Linhardt grumbles. “I need a nap.” Caspar laughs to himself and hoists him to his feet.
If Linhardt is upset with him, he doesn’t show it. He leans on Caspar as they head back to his room, watching the mages light the lamps to chase away the encroaching dark. Their meeting was long , but also the days keep getting shorter, the sunlight fading earlier and earlier as the air carries more and more of a bite – though Caspar scans the sky for stormclouds, just to be safe.
Linhardt hates the cold. Maybe that’s why he’s so cuddly. Because Caspar can tell, something’s definitely wrong.
He can’t help but worry, really. Linhardt’s relationship with him has only gotten more important to him since the war started, and Caspar doesn’t really know what that relationship is . But they spend more nights than not sharing a bed – literally, not… like that. The idea makes Caspar blush – the only touches they share are… simple. His head on Caspar’s shoulder when he dozes off in the dining hall, or in his lap on warm spring days out in the courtyard. His body pressed against Caspar’s as he sleeps through the night. A Healing touch mid-battle. An arm around a waist or over a shoulder. Hands, clutching each other tight. Sometimes, Caspar kisses Lin’s cheek, and he doesn’t seem to mind, but Caspar is usually too shy to work up the nerve.
Caspar knows what he wants their relationship to be, but he can’t be sure that Linhardt wants the same thing. After all, pretty much everything they do is stuff they’ve always been doing, as friends, even if there is a weird energy to it now. Besides, Caspar knows that war takes a bit of a toll, mentally speaking, and a lot of people seek out physical comfort. They might not be anything more.
They might never be, if Lin’s mad at him. And he’s been so weird that Caspar thinks he must be. He hopes he’s just tired.
They’re at Linhardt’s room in no time. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim room – as usual, Lin has the windowshade closed – but when they do, he gawks at the mess. “Sheesh, Lin,” he complains, leaving him by the door and picking through piles of books and crumpled reports. “You know your room isn’t the dump, right?” Linhardt grumbles a reply. “Seriously, it’s not healthy to live like this. You oughta clean this place up.”
“Who are you, my mother?” he grouses. Caspar hears the soft swoosh of a cast spell, followed by a sharp inhale and a muttered curse; he whirls around to find Linhardt at his desk, the lamp now lit but the fingers of one hand clutched by the other. Caspar clicks his tongue, hurrying over to his side and knocking a stack of books over in the process.
“Lemme see,” he says, taking Linhardt’s hand in his own. Sure enough, his fingertips are shiny-pink and blistered. He frowns at him. “This is what happens when you try to cast while you’re tired,” he scolds.
Lin rolls his eyes, perching on the edge of his desk. “I’m always tired,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, but now you’re exhausted.” Caspar pokes gently at one of Lin’s fingertips, and he flinches in pain. “Here, I got it.” He concentrates on a Heal spell; it floats gently from his hand to Linhardt’s, spreading up and settling warmly over the burnt fingers. It only takes a second before it dissipates, leaving Lin’s fingers as good as new. Just to be safe, Caspar kisses each of them in turn. “There,” he says softly. “Better?”
Linhardt looks at him, expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to,” he says, sheepish.
Caspar rolls his eyes. “‘Course I did. Anyway, I wanted to. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He uses his hold on Linhardt’s hand to pull him over to his bed. “It’s been a long day,” he says, as Linhardt sits on the bed and he squats to help with his boots. “I’m gonna head down to the training grounds, but after I can bring some dinner, if you want.”
Lin’s quiet for a moment. Caspar doesn’t mind; he pulls off Linhardt’s boots and sets them aside, so at least he won’t trip over those when he wakes up. Caspar can’t make any promises about the stacks of books. That done, he stands, smiling down at Lin. “Alright,” he says. “See you tonight.”
Suddenly, Linhardt reaches out to grasp his hand. Caspar blinks down at him, his insides fizzling with excitement at the touch. “Stay,” he says. “Just for bit.”
Caspar chews his lip. He really should go down to the training grounds, so he can help if anyone’s hurt, and maybe get some reps in himself.
Linhardt peers up at him through his lashes. “Please?” he asks quietly. And it’s not like Caspar can refuse that – he pulls off his shoes and nudges Lin over so he can climb into bed beside him. Immediately, Lin curls into his side, his head on Caspar’s shoulder, and lets out a soft sigh. The breath tickles across his skin, making him go all goosebumpy.
Caspar manages to stay quiet, knowing that Linhardt needs his rest. They lie there long enough that he fully expects that Lin’s fallen asleep, until he says, softly, “Why are you here?”
Caspar blinks in surprise, turning his head to look down at Lin. He’s not making eye contact. “Uh, you asked me to be?” he says, confused. “Do you… want me to leave?” He doesn’t want to, obviously, but he will. For Linhardt’s sake. He can work through his disappointment by punching a training dummy a couple hundred times.
“No,” Linhardt says; the instant rush of relief from that one word nearly knocks Caspar out. “I just-I’m not like you, Caspar.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “Not like me… how?” he says slowly.
Linhardt moves his head to actually look up at him, but before he can say anything, he winces in pain. Caspar frowns. “Hey, careful,” he says quietly. “Do you have a headache?” He reaches out to stroke Lin’s hair out of his face, pushing a Heal spell through his hand. Sure enough, he feels it settle in the tension headache he has, easing the pain.
Linhardt’s face twists in a frown. “Stop doing that,” he says. “I mean-earlier. In the meeting.”
Caspar’s stomach flips unpleasantly. “Oh,” he says. “I. Sorry. I didn’t mean to shoot down the plan, I just–”
Linhardt shakes his head, sighing in frustration. “I’m not mad at you for shooting it down, Caspar, but that’s what I’m talking about. You’re a far better person than I am.”
Caspar laughs awkwardly. He has no idea what Linhardt could mean by that . “I mean, you just didn’t see that angle, right? It’s okay, it happens. They don’t exactly train you to think about civilians, so…”
“They do,” Linhardt says flatly. “And I did. I did see that angle.”
Caspar is stunned into silence. The words Lin’s saying don’t make sense. “But… but then why would you–”
“Because I’m not a good person , Caspar.” Linhardt almost sounds triumphant – the way he always sounds when he knows he’s winning an argument. Hearing that tone now makes Caspar’s chest ache. “I was okay with it. I didn’t care if the civilians were hurt. Do you know why?” He doesn’t actually let Caspar answer; he has this determined glint in his eye, and he continues. “Because I’m tired. I’m tired of this war, and I’m tired of worrying about who will die or who will get hurt or what trap comes next. And whatever else you can say about that strategy, I know it would’ve worked. We could capture that fort like that. So I didn’t care about the casualties, because I wanted just one successful fight behind us.”
He sits up, arms folded over his chest, back hunched over. Caspar takes him in for a moment, shocked. And then he does the easiest thing in the world; he sits up, too, and wraps an arm around Linhardt, pulling him against his side. “Lin,” he says quietly. Linhardt turns his face away, so Caspar can’t see his expression. Fine. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you think. I’m not. Because you do care about people, even if you have different priorities than I do. And you are tired. That’s what war does.” He lightly combs his fingers through a small section of Lin’s hair, hoping it’s as soothing for him as it is for Caspar. “It wears you down. It makes you prioritize. That’s not your fault.”
Linhardt just shakes his head. “Why are you here?” he repeats softly.
Caspar doesn’t need to consider his answer. He already knows it. He feels it, in his blood and his bones and his soul. “Because I wanna be,” he says. “Because it’s you, Lin.”
Slowly, Linhardt turns to face him. Caspar’s heart breaks – his eyes are so sad . Still, he smiles to show Lin that it’s all gonna be okay, and he leans in to press his lips gently to his forehead. Linhardt makes a soft noise in reply.
“Why don’t we get some rest?” Caspar suggests. “We can talk about this more after. But I wanna stay with you for right now, okay?”
Caspar lies down, guiding Lin down with him, this time on his side facing him. Linhardt looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to Caspar’s cheek. “Thanks,” he says quietly. Caspar grins – Lin’s totally embarrassed. Cute. “I love you.”
Caspar’s smile softens. It doesn’t matter how Lin means it – Caspar knows it’s true, and it makes his heart warm. “Love you, too,” he says, and means it in every sense. “Sleep, okay? I’ll be here.”
Linhardt presses his face into Caspar’s chest and makes a quiet little noise of agreement. Caspar lightly kisses the top of his head and strokes his hair until his breathing evens out. It doesn’t take long for Caspar to follow him into sleep.