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Caspar,
It would be silly to ask you where you are, I know. (Are you certain you can’t find some way to tell me? I seem to remember Hubert dabbling with some special form of ink once that only revealed itself when doused with...something. I never figured out what.)
Still, I have a general idea of where others who may be able to get this to you are, so hopefully this letter finds you regardless. It will undoubtedly be read long before it reaches your hands; searching for some treachery, I’m sure. (Hello, Claude.)
Father is going mad. He has become obsessed with increasing our house standing as of late, and I fear he has lost sight of what little reason he once had. After word of your position arrived, Father has become fearful of other Alliance spies in our midst, even where I know there are none.
I fear his paranoia is going to lead to pointless losses, or that he will drive himself into an early grave.
I suppose it is better that you don’t reply to these, as much as I wish to hear from you. While I can still trust a select few here to carry these messages without question, I no longer have the confidence that either they or I could remain discreet with the current state of things. (Unless Claude has access to some Almyran trick like the disappearing ink. If so, then I would be interested in getting a look at it.)
I hope you are well. Do give Marianne my regards for undoubtedly keeping you alive in my stead. Hopefully you’ve learned some impulse control, though I doubt it.
Regards,
Linhardt
****
Caspar,
Adora was killed yesterday. Father said it was for clandestine relations with a Kingdom sympathizer.
She had done no such thing.
Linhardt
****
Caspar,
Father has ordered me to cease leaving the grounds entirely. Apparently he fears we are to be the next targets of an attack, and doesn’t want me wandering outside of our defenses.
It’s annoying, but not the worst thing in the world. I never left the grounds much anyways, not when there are the gardens right here if I want to go outside.
Do you remember when you wanted to pick a rose for that pretty maid and you ended up falling into the bush? I do, and it was rather amusing. I’m not going to let you forget it anytime soon. That was the first time I realized you were actually quite the crybaby.
I suppose you’re not anymore, though, what with all the fighting and traveling I’m sure you’re used to by now.
Is Lysithea still well? I’ve been reading up on her Crests when I get the chance—Father has been pushing more and more of his duties on me recently—but haven’t discovered anything of note yet. I’ll let you know if I discover anything so you can tell her.
Regards,
Linhardt
(Hello, Claude.)
****
Caspar (and Claude),
Tell Lysithea to try only focusing on a certain type of magic, rather than dabbling in multiple schools if she can. That may help.
Also, be careful if you ever go near the Sreng Desert. I just read that quicksand is common there, and I don’t want you to go falling in. You have a tendency to do things like that.
Regards,
Linhardt
****
Caspar
I need help. Please.
Linhardt
****
“Caspar.”
Lorenz’s voice rang clearly across the training grounds despite the clang of metal on metal from the two soldiers currently in the middle of a sparring match.
Caspar looked up from where he sat unwrapping the bindings around his wrists. “Yeah?” he panted, tired from his own bout of training.
“Claude wishes to speak to you,” Lorenz said, eyebrow twitching as Caspar used the edge of his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. It scraped a bit uncomfortably over the beginnings of his beard, but Caspar ignored it. He would grow it out, damn it, even if it seemed to be taking longer than it should. “If you’re quite finished, that is.”
“Yeah, I’m done.” Caspar stood and followed Lorenz out the doors. “He doesn’t mind if I don’t change first, does he?” he asked as they walked through the keep.
Lorenz sniffed in disdain. “I wish, but likely not. He doesn’t seem to care about such things as much as one of his status should. Besides,” he said, voice dropping its haughty air and becoming surprisingly somber, “it is rather urgent.”
Caspar fell silent at his words, a wave of worry settling into his skin. As they walked he tried to think of what could possibly be so important involving him. For the most part Caspar simply followed Claude’s orders rather than take any big part in planning between missions, and he was content with that.
That would definitely change when Claude decided it was time to venture into Empire territory, but for now Caspar wasn’t needed much. So far the Alliance hadn’t seen the need to engage directly with the Empire unless the Empire tried to take one of the border villages—which thankfully had only resulted in a few confrontations so far—but that was soon to change.
It didn’t take long before they reached Claude’s office. It was really an unused bedroom, but there were no guests to use it anymore so it had quickly turned into a makeshift planning room. There were papers everywhere — maps, letters from correspondents, battle plans, and, oddly enough, various crumpled sheets with what looked like little stick figures drawn on them.
At the center of it all sat Claude, somehow managing to seem entirely comfortable and composed amongst the chaos. He was staring intently at a paper in his hand, but looked up as Lorenz and Caspar entered.
“Ah, good, you’re back.” Claude dropped the paper and leaned forward, grabbing a little sheet at the corner of his desk. He didn’t wait for a greeting before speaking up again. “Read this,” he said, unceremoniously shoving the paper at Caspar.
Caspar cautiously took the paper in hand. It was incredibly small, about the size of his palm, and had clearly been torn from a much bigger paper. He flipped it and immediately sucked in a breath.
Oh, Lin.
He quickly scanned the note, short as it was, and reread it at least three times over. There were no details to go with the plea, no way to tell exactly what had urged his friend to send this.
Caspar clutched the note in shaking hands and didn’t look away. “When—” he started before nervously licking his dry lips, “When did you—”
“This morning,” Lorenz interrupted, saving Caspar the trouble of formulating a proper sentence. “It came like all the others. I inquired to see if there had possibly been a verbal message to go along with it, but the messenger claimed there was none.”
“And you didn’t tell me earlier?” Caspar’s words came out a little louder than intended, but he couldn’t really be bothered to feel bad.
Instead of looking apologetic, Lorenz somehow managed to straighten his shoulders even more , bringing himself to his full height. “I gave it to Claude immediately after I read it,” he snapped, “You know full well he needs to check any suspicious correspondence himself before it reaches anyone else.”
Caspar glowered but didn’t say anything else. As much as he hated to admit it, Lorenz was right, and the system made sense. Caspar was lucky enough as it was that Claude was even willing to let him receive Linhardt’s letters.
The first one had shown up about a year and a half ago, and had nearly sent the Alliance leadership into a tizzy. Claude had inspected that first letter incredibly closely, but had eventually deemed it seemingly free of any secret code or attempt at sabotage. He forbade Caspar from replying, however, which Caspar couldn’t argue with.
Sending anything to the Empire was risky, and it would be riskier still if anyone was to catch wind of close correspondence between two members on opposite sides of the war.
Not that Linhardt was exactly a part of the war at all, from what Caspar could gather, as he apparently just remained on the von Hevring land and continued his studies, but even Caspar wasn’t so naive as to ignore that just because one wasn’t actively fighting didn’t mean they weren’t very much a part of the war.
Still, it had taken a few letters before Claude eventually decided that they didn’t need to be brought to him every time. As long as Lorenz checked them over himself with the rest of the mail—as was one of his designated duties anyways— and didn’t find anything particularly suspicious, Caspar was free to receive Linhardt’s letters when they came.
“You know,” Claude stated, idly steepling his fingers and resting his chin on the tips, “I almost decided against giving this to you at all.”
Despite how those words immediately sparked a flare of anger in Caspar, Claude’s comment was dry of any malice. Instead, he simply stared at Caspar with a calculating gaze that made Caspar feel like any reaction on his part was already accounted for and dismissed in favor of parsing out the next.
“I wasn’t sure whether it was a trap,” Claude continued, “or if I could spare having anyone look into the situation, let alone you. Even then, I considered not telling you because I worried you would immediately take off without allowing for some sense of a proper plan or okay from me.”
Caspar opened his mouth to protest, but Claude barrelled on.
“But,” he said, “you’re here, so I obviously decided otherwise. No need to get all worked up.” He smirked at the look on Caspar’s face and rose from his chair. “This war has been going on for more than two years already, and we have yet to make a proper foray into Empire territory. We haven’t had the need to yet, but even Gloucester has been more quiet than usual when it comes to information on the Empire.”
Claude walked around the table to stand near one of the large maps hanging on the wall. “Judging by past letters from Linhardt, the Empire is becoming increasingly polarized in their views of the Kingdom and the Church.”
Caspar furrowed his brow. “I mean, weren’t they headed that way from the start? That’s the whole point of the war.”
Claude nodded. “True. But it was Edelgard who was the driving force. Her values, her anger. The lords rallied behind her, yes, but I doubt more than half of the Empire was as passionate as her, or even in total agreement. The younger citizens even less so. You’re a testament to that, and I have a sneaking suspicion that at least a few of our former classmates aren’t as gung ho as their fathers are for this war.
“Bernadetta, for one, and hopefully Linhardt, for another.” Claude turned to look at Caspar fully then, his sharp stare meeting Caspar’s eyes. “If we can get Linhardt,” he said emphatically, “I hope that he’ll give us some information we could use to help gauge just how strong Edelgard’s forces are, and the sentiments among the common folk. We don’t quite know the extent of the Empire’s strength yet, but Linhardt could tell us.”
Caspar released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. “So…we're going to see him?” Goddess, how he hoped he hadn’t misunderstood anything because he could already feel his hopes rising to levels that would be an incredibly painful crash if he was wrong.
Claude grinned. “You betcha. We'll leave tonight after dinner. Assuming you can pack that quickly?"
"Of course!" Caspar pumped his fist in excitement. "How are we traveling? Any idea where our first stop will be? Are we going to bring a battalion, or—"
"Goddess," Lorenz cut in, putting a hand to his temple and shaking his head, "maybe I should be glad I'm not going. At least I'm not stuck with that."
"Hey!"
"Oh, yes," Claude said with a light chuckle, "I'm sure dealing with the petty squabbles of the nobles while I'm gone will be much more pleasant." He clapped Lorenz on the shoulder. "See, Lorenz, I was thinking of you when I made these plans. I'm sure you'll feel right at home."
He was clearly digging for a reaction, but Lorenz wisely remained silent. He couldn't hide his grimace at the reminder of what his job would entail, though.
“And to answer your question, Caspar, it’ll just be you and I. We’ll take one of the wyverns and only travel by night to avoid being seen. Sound good?”
Caspar was already halfway out the door. “I’ll go pack right now!”
The remaining occupants of the room watched him go. With Caspar went all the energy, leaving behind two war-weary men and a tense silence.
“You know if this is a trap, the poor boy will be devastated.”
“I know.” Claude sighed and returned to his seat. “I really don’t think it is, though. It’s definitely Linhardt’s handwriting, so it’s at least not his father or someone else posing as him, and I highly doubt Linhardt would willingly lure Caspar into danger.”
Lorenz was silent for a few moments before stating, “This is war, Claude. Friendship doesn’t mean much anymore.” There was no heat behind his words, just a resigned air as he stated the simple fact.
“Maybe, but I’m pretty confident in this one. Nothing Linhardt’s done so far has hinted at any malicious intent. I’m pretty sure he actually refused to fight for Edelgard. He hasn’t turned her down completely when it comes to the war effort, mind you, but if he really has only been performing some of his father’s duties, then there’s a chance he doesn’t feel all that strongly about the war one way or another.”
“And Caspar has the best chance at bringing him to our side.”
Claude grinned. “Exactly.”
Lorenz sighed. “Fine, I suppose you’re right—”
“As always.”
“—Besides,” Lorenz continued, artfully ignoring him, “ someone has to tell Caspar to get that horrid thing off of his face. Maybe he’ll listen to someone that’s not me.”
Claude threw back his head and laughed. “Aw, Lorenz, he’s just trying it out. We can’t all pull off the rugged vagabond look.” He reached up a hand and rubbed at his own stubble as if to demonstrate.
Lorenz pointedly turned away, letting out a contemptuous ‘ hmph ’. “I do have one favor to ask, for when you meet him.”
“Hm?”
“If nothing else, make sure he knows to start addressing his letters to who actually reads them. I’m sick of reading ‘Hello, Claude’ every other line.”
****
The Hevring hold was almost nothing like Caspar remembered.
The general layout was the same, yes. The gardens were organized as they always were, and the keep didn’t appear to have undergone any renovation, at least from the outside.
However, Caspar had never known Count Hevring to waver in his—or more accurately, his staff’s—care of the grounds. The Hevring grounds were always immaculate and regal thanks to how well kept they were, despite the keep’s age.
Now, standing there and staring up at the tall building, Caspar couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the current state of the place where many of his most pleasant childhood memories were formed.
The rose bushes he had fallen into as a preteen were scraggly and bare of everything but a few leaves. The garden paths he had run along, often tugging a protesting Linhardt along, were practically nonexistent, greatly overwhelmed by untamed vines.
Clearly no one had tended to the grounds in a long while. Whether that was through the negligence of the count or a sign of even more purges of supposed Kingdom spies, Caspar didn’t know.
He prayed it was the former.
The keep itself seemed fine—though there wasn’t much that could wear down such a strong building, even without proper care—albeit a little overgrown as the vines from the gardens traveled up the stone walls.
“How should we go about this?”
Caspar barely resisted jumping as Claude spoke up beside him, startling him out of his reverie. “I’m...not entirely sure this will work,” he admitted, “but if Linhardt’s still staying in his old room, then we may be able to get his attention without going inside or near anyone else at all.”
“Oh, nice. That’s even better than I thought.” Claude gestured with his arm in a sweeping motion. “After you.”
A flash of pride raced through Caspar at the (albeit minor) compliment. “Okay, follow me.” A bit redundant, but he could be forgiven considering the situation.
Caspar started off at a brisk pace, skirting around the edge of the gardens. He would have ran but they couldn’t take any chances of creating extra noise on the off chance a member of the Hevring household was nearby.
Doubtful, considering the state of things, but one could never be too careful.
They circled around the keep until a familiar window came into sight. As they got closer, it became evident that Caspar was unluckier than he thought. He halted once they were right underneath the window.
“Fuck.”
“What? What is it?” Claude whispered. He looked up the wall, eyes narrowed intently as if he could spot whatever was wrong.
Which he couldn’t, because the issue was that what Caspar had been banking on simply wasn’t there.
“There used to be a trellis here,” he muttered, glaring at where it used to be. “I’d climb it sometimes as a kid whenever I wanted to see Lin after curfew. That’s his window.” He pointed up where the window sat rather high, a couple floors up in the keep.
Claude hummed in understanding. “That could be an issue,” he said matter-of-factly, as if commenting on the weather. Still, he didn’t look that worried about it and instead started to peer around the base of the wall.
“Maybe I could lift you on my shoulders,” Caspar began, thinking hard. He glanced up again. “Wait, no, there’s no way we’re tall enough. Should’ve brought Lorenz, he’s quite a bit—”
Clack.
A small rock flew up and bounced against the window before falling back down. Caspar looked at Claude in question, who simply shrugged and knelt down, grabbing the rock again.
Clack.
Caspar held his breath, waiting in silence for a few tense moments. There was no response. Claude lobbed the rock again.
This time, the rock had only just made a sound when the curtains on the inside were thrown open, revealing a green head of hair.
Linhardt glared out for a moment, clearly perturbed by the interruption to whatever it was he had been doing, before his gaze dropped lower.
Caspar could tell the exact moment it registered just who was below his bedroom window because Linhardt’s eyes widened in shock and his mouth flew agape. Their eyes met and his eyes got even bigger, almost comically so.
Linhardt’s mouth moved and though no sound reached his ears Caspar could easily recognize his name.
In no time at all, the window flew open, Linhardt’s hands working the latch almost faster than Caspar’s brain could keep up with.
An ‘ About time’ would have been expected. Maybe a simple ‘Caspar!’, or even a ‘Thank the goddess you’re here’, if Linhardt was feeling particularly generous with his words and elated at the appearance of the help he so required.
Instead, Linhardt stuck his head out and, without a word, lifted his leg to set his foot on the ledge.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
Both Caspar and Claude spoke at the same time, instinctively shoving their arms out. Despite the urgency of the words their voices didn’t rise much past a whisper, which was quite the feat in Caspar’s opinion since his friend was apparently climbing out a high window without a word of warning.
Linhardt just rolled his eyes at their worry, swinging his other leg over to join the first. He settled on the ledge, simply sitting and grabbing the slight outcropping tightly.
Now that he had settled and evidently wasn’t going to leap down all willy nilly, Caspar took the time to drink in the sight of his friend.
Caspar knew people could change a lot after two years, he really did. It’s just...he hadn’t truly thought of the possibility that Linhardt would be the same. They’d spent so much time together as kids that there was never enough time for big changes to take place between visits, so he hadn’t really noticed Linhardt changing as they grew because he’d been there through the very gradual shift.
Now, though, he had more than two years to catch up on.
Linhardt’s hair was long. And, sure, it always was when compared to most other guys — even the shorter parts not included in his ponytail — but he’d clearly been letting it grow out. Now Linhardt’s hair was even in length and brushed well past his shoulders, and it looked good , even in its currently disheveled state.
Linhardt couldn’t seem to look away from him either. His gaze traveled up and down Caspar’s body before settling on his face, staring intently like he was trying to discern every little detail. Caspar shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, but met Linhardt’s eyes willingly.
He couldn’t help but smile a little—not even a full grin, as it was too stressful for that, but it was something—when their gazes met. After a moment Linhardt’s blue eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, a small crack in the tense atmosphere.
Goddess, how Caspar had missed him.
“What’s wrong? Why did you call us here?” Claude spoke up before Caspar could. Although he no longer sounded alarmed, he still kept his arms out as if he’d manage to stop Linhardt’s fall on his own if he slipped.
Linhardt frowned, brief brightness slipping away, and gave a quick jerk of his head, bringing a hand up to the base of his throat. He didn’t say anything still, which was really starting to weird Caspar out.
Caspar eyed the way only one hand gripped the ledge with trepidation. “Can you warp down here?” He’d feel better having this conversation if Linhardt had both feet on the ground.
Another headshake, this time accompanied with a small huff of frustration. Linhardt waved his arms around, wiggling his fingers, then jerked his hand to his throat again, tapping it a few times and shaking his head. He stared at Caspar with a pointed look and raised eyebrows, waiting expectantly for him to get the message.
Thankfully, that didn’t take long at all.
“Oh, fuck,” Caspar said, “that’s not good.”
Linhardt rolled his eyes again, and Caspar could practically hear the ‘Obviously,’ he would’ve gotten if Linhardt could talk. At least Linhardt’s mannerisms hadn’t changed much, it seemed.
“He’s silenced,” Caspar explained for Claude’s benefit, “he won’t be able to cast or speak unless we can get him far enough away from the source.” His jaw clenched as white-hot rage bubbled within him at the revelation.
“Your father did this?” A nod. “Was this before or after you sent that last letter?” Linhardt held up one finger, looking solemn. The first, then. “Fuck.” Claude looked disgusted, though Linhardt simply appeared resigned.
The letter had arrived in Derdriu three weeks ago. That meant Linhardt had been mute for around a month. A month. Caspar practically growled, clenching his fists instead of wrapping them around the hilt of his axe like he wished to right in that moment. As much as he wanted to hunt down Count Hevring and put his blade in his head right then, there were more important matters.
Caspar closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. Rage wouldn’t help Linhardt right now. “We’ll get you down,” he said when he opened his eyes again, no longer in danger of doing something rash.
“Right,” Claude said. He stared at the wall, seemingly deep in thought.
Good, maybe he could think of a good way—Caspar certainly couldn’t, short of Linhardt just dangling and dropping into their arms.
“You’re going to have to hang to get as low as possible,” Claude said, “then let go and we’ll catch you.”
Or not.
“Uh, are you sure?” Caspar hedged, eyeing the distance with trepidation. “Not to undermine you or anything, but I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Sure, the window was only on the second level, but a drop from that distance was still really dangerous.
“It’ll be fine—we’re ready this time, and we’ll be extra careful. He doesn’t look like he’s really put on muscle—no offense,” Claude directed at Linhardt, who just waved a hand dismissively, “So he shouldn’t be too heavy. It should be alright, if we position ourselves correctly.”
“If you’re sure…” Caspar wasn’t sure at all, but he looked up at Linhardt all the same for confirmation. Linhardt nodded and shifted, tensing his arms in preparation to move.
“Alright, go ahead,” Claude ordered, confident like the commander he was, “Don’t drop until I say.”
Linhardt nodded again and let out a tense huff of air before slowly turning around until he was kneeling on the windowsill and facing his room. He slowly slid his feet down and off the ledge one after another, until all that was left on the ledge was his chest as his arms stretched out and held the inner side of the window tightly. Finally, Linhardt shifted his hands to the outer ledge, moving with torturous slowness as he fully lowered himself.
Caspar gulped at the knowledge that it was just Linhardt’s own strength in his hands keeping him up now. He hurriedly joined Claude in crowding the wall, trying to judge as best as possible where Linhardt would drop.
Claude looked at Caspar. “Ready?”
With a shaky nod, Caspar held out his arms in line with Claude’s.
“Okay, go!”
Linhardt glanced down, and for the first time that night Caspar saw a clear flash of nervousness in his blue eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he stated, sounding much more confident than he felt, “We’ve got you.” And perhaps that was all it took, because Linhardt’s gaze hardened and he nodded sharply. Linhardt closed his eyes tightly, and Caspar could see his chest move as he took a deep breath. He loosened his fingers.
There was a blur of blue and green, and suddenly Linhardt slammed into them. The force sent all three of them tumbling to the ground, landing in a jumbled pile.
Pain lanced up Caspar’s shoulder and he couldn’t help but let out a yelp of pain. “Ow!” Still, it wasn’t that bad, all things considered, and no one was unconscious so he considered it a win.
“Well,” Claude wheezed, placing a hand behind him to push himself into a sitting position, “not quite as clean as I’d hoped, but nothing’s broken, I hope?”
Caspar shook his head. “I’m good.” He didn’t move, lying on his back with his legs still trapped under Linhardt’s weight. “Pretty sure I sprained my shoulder, though.”
Linhardt sat up at that—Caspar couldn’t help but wince as he shifted; really, did Linhardt not realize how bony he was and how painful that was for Caspar?—and turned to Caspar with a furrowed brow and tight lips. He leaned forward— ow —and gently felt at Caspar’s shoulder with a look that could only be described as concern.
“It’s fine,” Caspar assured, “It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Linhardt still frowned, but he leaned back and some of the tension eased from his face. He still didn’t look away, however, and Caspar found himself caught up in his gaze.
A myriad of emotions played between the two of them, but now wasn’t the time or place to figure out what exactly they were. They had to get far away from there, and quickly .
The others must’ve had the same idea, because as soon as the thought crossed Caspar’s mind the other two scrambled upright, freeing Caspar from their weight.
“Not too much for you, I hope?” Claude’s tone was joking, but the concern in his eyes was plain as day.
Caspar shook his head and stood. “Light as a feather,” he quipped, pointedly ignoring the admonishing stare from Linhardt.
Claude grinned. “Great. Since everyone’s intact, let’s get out of here. No point in waiting around for a servant to discover you gone.”
With that, they took off the way they’d arrived, circling the edge of the gardens until they reached the back entrance. Thankfully, the guards were exactly where they’d left them, judging by the muffled sounds coming from the gardener’s shed.
Caspar had to hand it to Claude—none of this would have gone so smoothly if Caspar had been left to carry out the rescue on his own.
It was almost scary, how easily they slipped out and into the woods. Caspar kept expecting to hear a cry of alarm and thundering footsteps behind them, but none came.
They ran for what felt like forever, tearing through the woods at a pace just shy of a sprint. Any faster and they’d trip over the sticks and stones that lay in their path, but they made good time all the same.
Finally, Claude slowed to a jog, glancing one last time over their backs. Apparently satisfied, he settled into a walk, carefully picking his way through the trees. As they walked, Linhardt never strayed further than a few steps from Caspar’s side. Occasionally they’d brush up against each other, but Caspar was unwilling to put more distance between them.
It was nice.
It was just a short time later when a loud gasp sounded from beside him, and Linhardt halted suddenly. The hair on Caspar’s arms rose as sudden energy buzzed in the air, not harmful at all but still setting nerves alight as it made itself known.
“Oh, thank the goddess!” Linhardt gasped, though it came out as more of a whisper. His voice was weak from disuse, yet still music to Caspar’s ears. He stared down at his hands, flexing them as if shaking off unseen chains. A moment later Linhardt looked up, looking at Caspar with wide eyes.
Linhardt was trembling, whether from relief or a sudden need to release magic energy, Caspar didn’t know.
He moved on instinct, launching himself forward and wrapping his arms around Linhardt’s slender frame. Linhardt tensed for a split second, but then slowly wrapped his arms around Caspar. He lowered his head, tucking his chin over Caspar’s shoulder. It was a little awkward and Caspar had to stand slightly on the balls of his feet, but he didn’t care.
“You came,” Linhardt whispered.
“Of course I did,” Caspar replied, “Sorry you had to wait so long.”
“I—It’s okay. Just...I hope it never happens again.” He took a shaky breath.
Caspar squeezed Linhardt tighter. “Never again,” he promised with conviction. Logically he knew there was no way to ensure that held true, but he was sure as hell gonna try. “We’ll get you far away from here.”
Neither said anything more, but they didn’t move apart immediately, either.
When Linhardt finally pulled away, he did so only as far as it took to look at Caspar’s face. His eyes were a little shiny, but there were no tears and his next words were clear. “I have to ask, who gave you the awful idea for that ?”
There was a startled laugh from off to the side. Caspar didn’t grace Claude with a glare, but he could feel his ears burning. “Er...my beard? I did. Why, you don’t like it?” He reached up and rubbed at the scratchy hair self-consciously.
“No.”
Blunt and honest, as he always was. Despite the embarrassment and indignation, there was relief to be found in the knowledge that time hadn’t seemed to change Linhardt much. He couldn’t help a little grumbling, though.
“Claude has a beard and I don’t hear you criticizing him .”
Linhardt sniffed. “Claude can pull it off.”
Claude’s laughter only got louder at that—a “Told you!” lost somewhere amongst the chuckles—and Caspar mentally cursed his name.
“Fine, I’ll shave it off,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Lorenz was going to be unbearable after this.
A soft hand brushed against his arm and the cooling relief that came with Linhardt’s healing magic seeped into his shoulder where Linhardt’s hands hovered over his sprain. Caspar closed his eyes as the pain went away, reveling in the comforting familiarity. He had missed this.
Caspar flinched as cold unexpectedly touched his cheek. He opened his eyes to find Linhardt staring at him with a small, warm smile. His cool fingers brushed against Caspar’s cheek, a light touch that carried the weight of a thousand words and emotions.
“I missed you.”
Caspar swallowed, utterly unwilling to look away from Linhardt’s eyes even as tears threatened to cloud his vision.
“Me too.”