Linhardt and Caspar reunite, and Edelgard ends it all.

He hugged Caspar closer, searching for that missing beat in his chest. Blood bruised his tattered clothes and the stench filled his nose. He bit his lip in frustration and anger, pushing his faith magic into the wound.

"Caspar, Caspar! Don't— please don't—!" His own injuries felt numb compared to the ache in his chest, nose burning and tears beginning to fall. "You idiot! You stupid idiot! You— you're the worst!"

His faith magic was stuttering, and he couldn't knit the wound together without a sob racking his throat. His hair had loosed from its tie, blocking his sight, and Caspar's shattered armour was poking at his arm.

Linhardt had been hailed as the Empire's best mage, once upon a time, and people claimed he could heal any injury in the world if he tried. He hated it. He wished they never said anything, he wished he could just sleep his problems, his expectations and his father's constant pressure away. But Edelgard, her Majesty, his once classmate and now Empress, fostered those rumours, and they grew out of hand. The logic in him understood what those claims could do—they ensured the enemies felt helpless against a healer who could heal the soldiers again and again and killing them was useless—but everything else inside him hated her with a passion.

But this was the only time he wished those rumours were actually true, that he could fix anyone up with a wave of his hands because his best friend—his stupid, stupid, stupid best friend was dying right in front of him and he couldn't do anything about it.

A shock ran through his heart when a hand grasped his wrist.

"... Lin."

"No, shut up! Sh—shut up, Caspar!" he cried. His head felt like it was going to burst and his arms were shaking violently. Fatigue was catching up to him fast, but if he stopped now he'd never hear his voice again.

"Sto—stop," Caspar rasped. "Lin ... stop. Stop it. It's use—"

"Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!" Caspar's hand barely brushed against his face, slowly following the lines of his face in a melancholy manner before falling to his chest with a thump. "It'll be fine, I promise. You'll be fine. You'll survive, and then I'll run away with you. I'll go to join the Kingdom as well! And then, after the war, we can go travel the world, just like you wanted. Okay? Caspar, answer me. Caspar."

"'S okay, Lin," he slurred, so resigned and helpless, head pressed into Linhardt's arm and brows scrunched tight. "... Fine, 'm fine. I'll be fine. I just ... wanna take ... a nap ..."

It was then that he burst into tears, clutching his friend closer and closer. His jaw was tense and his shoulders shook violently as he whimpered into the night. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I should've gone with you, I should've been a better healer, I should've been a better friend, I—"

"I ... 'm ... sleepy ..."

A feather-light breeze whispered in his ears, and a sudden calm washed over everything.

Pulling away, ever so slowly as to not wake him up, he grabbed Caspar's face gently, brushing away all the stray hairs and mud from his tanned skin. He looked at him for the first time in five years—looked at him properly. His hair had grown out, face marred by ugly scars, all the softness in his face had hardened, and despite death breathing over his shoulder, that smile of his was so refreshing, so sweet, so kind, so happy—

His blue eyes, usually so clear and bright, were blank, staring at the space next to his head. He was gone. Just like that.

Rain fell.

It soaked his clothes, the ground, gritty mud smearing dark against his skin, and yet it hid his tears from everyone. It hid them from Caspar's eyes.

Linhardt watched him sleep for what seemed like hours. Memorized the shape of his nose, the thin freckles across his face, the fading red of his cheeks, those blue eyes, his hair, his voice, his sunny personality. He wondered if he looked that peaceful to Caspar whenever he napped all those years ago. Maybe. Who knows. He wasn't here to tell him.

The sharp splashing and tacking of heels grated against his ears, and it took all of his strength to face the woman before him.

That billowing cape, flowing dress, white hair, golden crown glinting in the light behind the clouds and glowing axe with a conscious of its own. It all used to be so inspiring to him—a woman from the family whom Seiros herself raised to power defying the norm to create a better place for the people. She was so intriguing. Used to be. Once was.

"He was an honourable warrior," she commented, red lips curving into a frown. "But, sadly, he chose the wrong side to fight on."

Immediately, at those words, his eyes averted. A realisation. An understanding. A revelation.

"I understand you wish to mourn Caspar, but you have your duties to attend to. Stand up, Linhart," she commanded, eyes trained on the few Kingdom soldiers before them. "It is your job to heal the injured."

It was all this woman. All her. All her fault.

"Go away," he hissed, sinking deeper into Caspar's cold embrace. He was sleeping peacefully beneath him, and Linhardt was glad he didn't have to fight anymore. Kind, kind Caspar didn't deserve to be so jaded and tired and just—he couldn't bear to see that haunted look on his face. So he hugged him tighter, nevermind the arrow deep in his shoulder or the ugly red seeping into his clothes and running down his skin. He wanted to savour the warmth of Caspar for the last time.

"Linhardt, stand up."

He knew Hubert was keeping an eye on him from afar, but he didn't care anymore.

"Stand. Up."

A heavy feeling set in his chest, weighing his body down. Caspar was gone, he couldn't hear the professor's everpresent words of advice in his ears, the days of peace was gone, he was killing people in a war he never wanted to participate in. Edelgard wasn't the charismatic person he thought she was, nor was she benevolent, understanding, or pacifistic. He had sinned against the Goddess Sothis, her champion and her people, and everything he loved was the price to pay.

The dreams he had dreamt were just dreams, after all. There was no such thing as a place you could relax forever in, where you had everything you ever wanted and were happy for all the days to come.

"For the last time, stand up."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

"I said, stand up! That is an order!" she bellowed. "Are you disobeying me?!"

"That's exactly what I'm doing, Edelgard!"

And all was silent between them. The rest of the soldiers of the Kingdom had been taken care of, and Linhardt could tell the rest of the group of what used to be the Black Eagles back at the academy were watching warily, glancing between both him and their Empress.

He clenched his fists and ground his teeth together.

This woman was so infuriating, always expecting people to obey her because she was powerful, and had a crest, and was the Empress, and believed she could start a war just to fix the crest system. There were so many other ways to fix this after she became empress and she chose more death. How arrogant, selfish, disgusting of her.

Sinner, sinner, sinner, sinner, sinner SINNER.

"An insubordinate attitude or the act of insubordination is to defy the crown, Linhardt. Stand up, and I will forget this. Stand up and heal the injured, and I will forgive you. I do not want to lose an invaluable healer such as you."

"Heal the injured?" he scoffed. "Do you not want to acknowledge you are the cause of all these deaths? You preach for peace yet start a war all the same. Is something wrong with you? Don't you understand? You've sacrificed so many people for those in the future, but aren't we the future too?! Why do we have to fight for those in the future if we'll never get to experience that peace?! Do we not deserve it?! Do we?!"

He tore into her, his chewed nails digging into the ground furiously, and he could feel the sting of raw skin and blood against the harsh stone.

"Questioning your empress is punishable by death. I do not wish to kill any more than necessary."

"Any more than necessary?! What a joke! Kill me then! Weren't you going to be the absolute ruler of Fodlan?! I'm disobeying your orders, aren't I?! Go ahead, kill me! Kill me as you did with all those in the war! The villagers back in Remire village, Dimitri's family, Duscur, Ashe and Lonato, Lady Rhea, Flayn, Seteth—kill me just like them!" Edelgard stared down at him with those unnaturally lavender eyes of hers, and he couldn't help but note the blood rubbed into the creases of her crown and how her cloak absorbed the war's harvest yet didn't look any different. Red. Like passion, anger, war, revenge, blood, fire—Edelgard was always Red. "Are you listening to me, Your Majesty?! REPENT!"

His screaming died into croaky breaths, bile crawling up his throat and threatening to spill past his lips. He was tired, so, so tired. He didn't want to deal with this anymore.

"Very well, Linhardt. You chose to betray the Empire and question its actions for the greater good. Your punishment is death. Any last requests on where you'd like to be executed? Any last words? A will?" Then, her eyes fell to the second body beneath her. "Anyone you'd like to be buried with? Anything?"

His cheeks groaned as they pulled into a frown. Caspar's hair was soft between his fingers and he questions why he never did it before all this.

"What a shame."

Linhardt paused, closing his eyes to imagine Caspar's face again. The tightness in his chest lifted and burst into warmth. He was fine with this.

"... I'm glad the Professor chose Dimitri over you."

Edelgard flinched ever so slightly, and her brows creased together for a moment. She sighed deeply, raised her axe, and wore a sad, almost disappointed look on her face. His crest seemed to glow and croon at his words, and he knew he had the last laugh.

The axe came down, and Linhardt felt just a tad sleepier.

Don't get me wrong, I love Edelgard.

But I also love angst and hatred.