Work Text:
“Are you sure?” Claude asks, looking over the transfer documents. Technically it's meant to be submitted to Manuela, but Linhardt knows that Claude will really be the one to make the decision. Might as well cut out the middle man. Doing the paperwork was enough of a pain on its own, and he's not interested in waiting to see if he's accepted.
It's why he's a little offended at the question. He filled out paperwork for this. How could he possibly not be sure? “Obviously I am. If the answer is no, just tell me. I have other things I'd rather be doing than dragging out this conversation.”
Claude laughs and holds up one hand to stop him. “Hey, that's not what I said. Another healer is always useful, and I'd love a chance to pick your brain sometimes. There's a few mysteries I'm trying to solve that I think you could help out with.”
Linhardt wonders for a moment why Claude thinks he's the person to go to for solving mysteries. Then he remembers Abyss, and how Claude was there too, and he has the strange sensation of feeling…seen. He's not sure if it's a good feeling. He doesn't think it's a bad one. “So there's no issue with the transfer, then?”
Claude looks amused for some reason Linhardt can't be bothered to puzzle out. “Not on my end, no. Unless you think Edelgard and Hubert might see vengeance after they learn I poached one of their people?”
“I wouldn't worry about that.” Linhardt sighs, remembering the horrible aura of pressure and something else, something he doesn't have a name for but dislikes all the same. “They've been quite distracted lately. I'm used to them being intense, but it's become too much of a hassle. They might not even notice I'm gone, and if they do, I'm sure they'll be relieved to be rid of the noble who doesn't take his duties seriously.”
Linhardt rolls his eyes when he says it, beyond used to the sentiment. For some reason, Claude looks…almost sad. It's just for a moment, but Linhardt is observant when he wants to be. He's not so sure he does want to be, right now.
“Well, their loss is our gain.” Claude grins, all traces of that strange sadness gone from his expression. “Welcome to the Golden Deer, Linhardt.”
Linhardt doesn't expect the war when it comes. Maybe he should have. He's known Edelgard for long enough, he's supposed to be clever enough, he's meant to be a person who can dig up secrets and find the inconvenient truth—but he doesn't see it coming. He takes some small comfort in the fact that Claude didn't, either.
Linhardt spends a single year in the Empire, after they're all sent home from the monastery. He goes back to his family's estate and tries to lose himself in research rather than wondering if Hubert considers him a worthwhile traitor to bother handling.
He doubts it. He can't have been useful enough at any point to even be a consideration. And yet—Edelgard was in Abyss too. She knows what Linhardt is capable of discovering if he puts his mind to it.
It's a gamble. Are the leaders of the Empire too busy to think about someone they only sought out to express disappointment, or do they have enough time on their hands to be thorough in purging all of their potential enemies?
After the fifth House falls, Linhardt starts to worry. He gets a letter from Claude within the week.
It's barely any trouble at all to pack what few things he cares about enough not to leave behind. He tosses in a few valuables just in case he needs to prove his worth, and because he feels just a sliver of bitterness.
Dorothea helps arrange his passage out of the Empire. He's surprised when she shows up at his door the day before he plans to leave, but maybe he shouldn't be. Maybe it's just another way he didn't pay enough attention. He thanks her, regardless. He thinks he might miss her.
Not that it matters much. Against all odds, Linhardt von Hevring made a controversial enough choice to leave him a fugitive. Who could've guessed that he'd ever do anything worth noting?
“Are you sure?” Claude asks, and Linhardt wants to laugh.
“It's a bit too late for that, wouldn't you say?” He tries to keep his voice light, but it's hard, even though he's standing at the window, facing away from Claude. He's never understood how people can mask their feelings. Being around Claude for four years has taught him a little, but Linhardt's still a terrible liar. He hopes it's not too large a strike against him, for someone like Claude. Like Khalid.
For a clever man, with all those secrets hidden in plain sight. Linhardt's still a touch irritated that it took so long for him to figure them out. But that's not worth dwelling on, at least not the night before battle.
“I can still make other arrangements. You're not trapped.” Claude sounds both sincere and hesitant.
Linhardt can feel how close he's standing. It would be so easy to lean back into Claude's chest, or for Claude to lay a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them move.
Linhardt stares out at Derdriu, absorbing absolutely nothing of the view. “I know I'm not. You've made that quite clear. If this is your way of saying that you've changed your mind—”
“No!” Claude steps even closer and reaches out a hand, laying it over Linhardt's, where it sits on the windowsill. “That's not what I'm trying to say. It's just that it's a big decision, and I don't want you to regret it.”
It's too late for regrets, Linhardt thinks, but he manages to hold back from saying it. Four years of getting to know Claude would be enough for that. Two years at his side in a more intimate sense give him the skill to translate a deeper meaning.
I don't want you to regret me. I don't want you to come to my home and decide it isn't enough.
Linhardt wants to tell Claude that such doubts are absurd, that he doesn't work that way, that making the choice to be with Claude means it will never matter where they are so long as Claude keeps choosing him back.
“Almyra sounds fascinating. I imagine I'll be too busy researching all new fields of study to even have a chance for regrets.” It's not a lie, not really. He really is excited to spend time in the royal library that Claude's told him about, to discuss niche quandaries with scholars that won't care about blasphemy against the Church, to share all his discoveries with Claude and watch the pure delight that always comes when Linhardt shows unapologetic interest in his homeland.
He doesn't know how to say that he already knows he'd regret running away more than anything else in his life. It's almost funny, given that objectively, they are running away. They're planning to leave Fódlan and the war behind, allowing the Alliance to fall and let Edelgard use it in whatever way suits her.
There are people Linhardt wishes he wasn't leaving behind. Dorothea. Caspar. Lysithea. Hapi. But leaving the war behind…no, he can't regret that. If he never fights again, it'll be too soon.
“Are you sure you won't regret bringing a coward with you?” Linhardt’s mouth asks, entirely without his mind’s permission. It's a question he's been dwelling on for months, but he never meant to actually ask. He's been too afraid. Proof of concept, really. “It's hardly a good look for a prince.”
Claude comes even closer, laying his other hand on Linhardt's and hooking his chin on Linhardt's shoulder. “You know that I consider my mother the bravest person I've ever met.”
Tiana von Reigan, who left her home behind to chase the chance for love. Yes, Linhardt knows how highly Claude values that. It's the primary reason he was willing to confess his own feelings. Even if Claude didn't return them (and Linhardt is grateful every day that he does), he could at least be sure that Claude would respect the courage it took to be vulnerable like that.
Linhardt loves Claude enough to be terrified of it sometimes, which he can only bear because Claude once admitted that it frightened him too. Still, what he's doing doesn't feel like bravely choosing love. It feels like running from fear. It feels like cowardice.
He's never been able to say that out loud. It would damn him. He's sure of it.
“Besides, if my people can't see that I'm bringing them a brilliant scholar with the courage to choose a new life rather than bow to the whims of those in power…well, I suppose I'll just have to change their minds.” Claude says it lightly, as though Linhardt's somehow forgotten that changing his country's perceptions of foreigners is one of his greatest goals in life.
Some of the tension in Linhardt's chest loosens. He can translate this, too. He's not the only one who's afraid. Maybe that can be enough.
He turns his hands around to lace their fingers together and leans his head against Claude's. This could be enough. It's more than he ever dreamed was possible.
Still, he supposes he owes it to Claude, to Khalid, to the country he will soon call his new home, to keep striving for more.
“I love you,” Linhardt admits. The words still feel like fire on his tongue. Like danger. Like a risk that could kill him as surely as any poison.
Khalid squeezes his hands and breathes in, then out, deeply enough to expose precious, beloved nerves. “I love you too.”
Yes, Linhardt thinks. Yes, this is enough to make him brave.