Work Text:
It's been three months since the war ended. Two since Caspar talked Ashe into travelling Fódlan with him. One since he realised how bad of an idea it was.
Maybe bad is an embellishment. Ashe knew before they began it would be stressful; Caspar never liked to make things easy. He learns very quickly that the most difficult part of travelling with Caspar is not the travelling, but trying to keep him in check. He isn't one for staying still, rarely staying in one place for longer than a night. No matter how long they stay in one place for, Caspar can cause enough trouble for a week. Ashe is the one left to apologise behind him sheepishly, or to try to calm things down then tell Caspar off when they're alone.
As much as Ashe complains, he doesn't mind. He had two choices: return to Gaspard and govern as Lonato would have wanted, or follow Caspar to the ends of the earth.
It was the easiest choice Ashe has ever made.
He doesn't regret his choice. He gave up everything - his claim to Gaspard, his dreams of knighthood, everything - to go travelling with Caspar. It was a stupid, impulsive decision, but something about that look in Caspar's impossibly blue eyes when he asked compelled Ashe to go with him. Of course, the birthday drinks they shared that night helped influence his decision. He would be lying if he said there wasn't one big underlying reason for his decision, a reason he's carried for the best part of this war, and perhaps even before that.
Ashe will make excuses that Caspar needs help, because he does. He can say that Caspar would likely get beaten senseless, because he will. However, Ashe knows Caspar can look after himself. He would have been fine alone, but Ashe followed him for purely selfish reasons. That is the worst part of this journey.
They start their journey in what was once Faerghus territory. Ashe had warned Caspar against it - they're currently in the Red Wolf Moon, and it's only going to get colder. Against common sense, Caspar follows his impulse. Ashe is used to the cold, but Caspar is not, yet he insists on seeing the mountains covered in snow. Exasperated, Ashe can only follow and pray they don't die.
It takes about a day in Faerghus for Caspar to complain about the cold. Who could have known it was so cold? Ashe did, but it isn't kind to rub it in his face. Caspar holds himself, shivering.
"It's cold," Caspar complains once again. "It's really cold."
"Yeah, we're doing this the wrong way around. We should've started with the south," Ashe says.
This time of year, the south would be warm, but not unbearably so. At this rate, they'll be in the south by summer, which is just in time for Ashe to bake in the sun in turn.
"Is it too late to turn back?" Caspar asks.
"A little." After a pause, Ashe adds, "you can borrow my jacket if you're cold."
Caspar lets out a little gasp. "Really? You don't mind? Won't it be a little small on me?"
Ashe is already undoing his jacket, and before he replies, he throws it over Caspar's shoulders. "You're not that much wider than me, and it'll be warmer than nothing. We can get you a warmer jacket in the next town."
This leaves Ashe in nothing but his tunic. The late autumn air chills him through his clothes, but he tries not to let it show. He doesn't mind; he's used to sharing with his siblings, and Caspar needs it more than Ashe. He can walk faster and warm up that way.
"Oh man, thank you so much! I owe you big time." Caspar slips his arms into the sleeves. "Aw yeah, that's the stuff. It's still warm, too."
A strange look crosses Caspar's face then. He pulls the jacket tighter around himself, but it's just too small to tighten up; perhaps Ashe was wrong about the size thing. He looks ahead and decides not to let his mind wander. He does catch Caspar looking at him from the corner of his eye, like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he grabs Ashe with his arm around his neck, scraping his knuckles against his scalp.
It's a display of affection, and he knows that, but it doesn't stop the burning in his scalp. Ashe laughs as he's finally released, fussing with his hair to try and fix it.
"Seriously Ashe, I owe you one."
He doesn't do it for praise, but he accepts it all the same. It leaves a warm feeling in his chest that no jacket could ever achieve.
The next town is about a day's walk away. Caspar has stopped complaining about the cold now and has a spring in his step. He keeps looking like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls the coat tighter around himself and talks about nothing in particular, filling the quiet with noise. If he runs out of things to say, Caspar will whistle or make some other kind of noise. Ashe can't help but laugh.
"I can't help it," Caspar complains.
"I know, I'm not making fun."
Maybe a little bit, but it's adorable. Caspar has never been able to sit still, even back at the academy. Ashe thought he might have settled as he got older, but it seems he will forever be this overgrown toddler.
Neither of them can hide their relief when they reach the next town. After a couple of nights camping out in the open, it's nice to know they'll have somewhere warm and dry to stay. The towns aren't quite the same as they once were, still rebuilding after the war. The inns are still open - for the most part, at least. They're a main source of commerce in a lot of places, and thus are one of the first to open back up. Open is a loose term, considering some are barely more than some bricks stacked haphazardly on top of each other and a prayer to the Goddess that the bricks won't fall.
This inn is nicer than some they've come across. They each ask for a room, but Caspar pays for both; he claims he's paying back for the jacket, but he doesn't need to. The moment Ashe goes to fetch his own wallet, Caspar has to practically tackle him.
"Nooooo, no no no," Caspar says. "I told you, I owe you one. I feel kinda bad about borrowing your jacket and not giving you something back. So, I'll pay for tonight."
"Are you sure you've got the money?"
"Are you kidding? Of course I do! I beat this one guy in a fight, and--" Caspar looks at Ashe. "Look, it doesn't matter how I got the money, but I'm good for it."
Of course he is. Ashe doesn't want the details of Caspar's escapades, not when he knows what happened. He does appreciate that Caspar is who he is, but he hates knowing where he gets his money from. Ashe is in no place to judge, but he would rather play innocent and not know. It's a fair way of getting money, but--
"Are you gonna stare into space forever?" Caspar asks.
"Ah, no. I'm sorry, you're right. Thank you, Caspar. I appreciate it."
He grins, thwacking Ashe's arm before going to the front desk to pay for their rooms. Ashe rubs his arm as he watches him walk away. No, he doesn't quite regret his choice, but the feelings Caspar gives him make him wish he didn't follow him.
***
On their way to Fhirdiad, Caspar screams.
He is desperately scrambling, shouting as if he had dropped his money pouch down a well. That's not good at all. When Ashe goes to check what's wrong, he finds Caspar holding his axe. It's in two pieces, the blade in one hand and the hilt in the other. Oh, no.
"I don't know what happened," Caspar says. "It just kinda fell apart."
"It's just from use. It's alright, I'm sure we can get it fixed in Fhirdiad," Ashe says.
The problem is, Ashe doesn't know how they'll carry two bits of an axe. They'll figure that out. For now, Ashe takes the hilt from Caspar's hands, examining it. Perhaps if they wrap it in bandage, it will stay together long enough strapped to Caspar's back. All they have to do is make it to Fhirdiad. Ashe reaches into his supplies.
"This sucks. What am I supposed to use now?" Caspar asks.
There are times that even Caspar knows he can't punch through his problems. Within Ashe's supplies, he finds a spare bandage, as well as a throwing axe he keeps on him. It didn't hurt to have a spare weapon, just in case something went wrong. That's simply how Ashe was raised. Are things that different in Adrestia?
Ashe stops himself. There is no Adrestia anymore. That is a thought he struggles to get used to.
"You can borrow my spare," Ashe offers. "It's not quite the giant thing that you carry around, but it'll do if we run into trouble."
He hands it to Caspar, and he frowns at it. "Kinda small."
"Yes, it's a throwing axe. It's meant to go pretty far and do a lot of damage."
Caspar swings it. "I have no idea how you'd throw this thing."
Ashe smiles at him. "I can teach you, but you can still use it to fight if you need to."
On second thoughts, Ashe shouldn't have given Caspar a throwing axe: he's more likely to injure himself than bandits they might come across. Still, it makes him feel better to give him something to protect himself that isn't his fists. If anything were to happen to Caspar, Ashe doesn't know what he would do. If nothing else, it will make Ashe feel better.
"Thanks, Ashe! I owe you one," he says. "And I swear, once mine is fixed, you'll get your axe back."
"You don't owe me anything. Ah, but please try not to break mine."
"Are you kidding? I'm gonna treat it like it's my own!" Caspar catches the look on Ashe's face. "Oh. Right."
Ashe laughs. Even if he wanted to, he can't stay mad at Caspar. While he swings around his new weapon, Ashe gets to work bandaging the axe back together. He's not a blacksmith, but it should hold together on Caspar's back until they arrive. It wobbles when lifted, but doesn't come apart. They don't have the money for a new one, and even if they did, Ashe would rather fix what they have.
Over the next couple of days, Caspar doesn't stop playing with his borrowed axe. Ashe can't help but watch him, terrified. He's going to hurt Ashe, or worse, himself. He doesn't know when, or how, but it's going to happen. He doesn't mean to stare, but he's waiting for disaster.
And then Caspar throws the axe at a nearby tree and Ashe screams.
The axe whizzes past Ashe's face, barely a centimetre past his nose. It doesn't hit its mark, and instead lands into the soil with a thud. Ashe looks at it, wide eyed, before turning his attention to Caspar.
"I was curious! You said it was a throwing axe," Caspar says, as if that absolves him of anything.
"Yes, but if you wanted to practice, you could have asked. Or even given me a three second warning," Ashe counters. "You're hopeless."
It's moments like this that Ashe tries to cling to. They're moments that bring one question to his mind: why him? He doesn't have an answer, no matter how many times he asks himself. There are so many men in the world, so many just as strong and as brave as Caspar. They probably aren't as impulsive, too. There has got to be someone else out there, someone arguably better.
Even if there was, even if he met someone 'better', there is no way Ashe's heart would let him go.
Caspar goes to fetch the axe, wiping away the dirt and grime on his clothes. Ashe frowns at him, but Caspar grins back. That grin is infectious, and Ashe can't help but smile back at him. There's no way Caspar knows the effect he has on him. He's too genuine and too earnest.
"How about I teach you how to use a throwing axe?" Ashe offers. "Then you can throw it as much as you want. Maybe you can even hit something."
"Hey, if I was aiming for a guy, I know I'd get him."
"Caspar."
He sighs. "Okay, okay. Teach me your ways."
That's more like it. Ashe takes the axe in his hand.
"Thank you. Now, let's start."
***
Fhirdiad is, as expected, cold.
They went on this trip the wrong way around, but it's too late now. There is no way they can go to Gautier or Fraldarius in this time of year: Ashe knows Caspar will freeze to death. When they get further south for the summer, Ashe will fry. For now, he's happily bundled in too many layers, trying to stay warm.
It's not as hard to stay warm when one is in the city's marketplace. Voices shout over each other for his attention, for a spare coin, for something. He loses sight of Caspar quickly, but they'll meet back at the inn later. For now, Ashe takes in the sights and the smells of the market. He hasn't been here for leisure since he was a child, since Lonato was alive and Christophe led him through the alleys. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
There's food cooking at some of the stands, the smells competing over each other for patrons' attention. His stomach rumbles, but they're on a budget. This must have been a good life. Perhaps in another world, this would have been Ashe with his siblings, but not in this life. Here, he's passing through, with his best friend having disappeared in the streets.
A part of him envies that life. Another is happy with the one he ended up with.
There are books on sale, which Ashe has to stop himself from buying. Reading and travelling is difficult, and he doesn't have the money. His copy of Loog and the Maiden of Wind still sits in his supplies, dog eared and torn. It's not practical, but it's a piece of his family that he keeps with him, always.
He swears that, over the bustle of the markets, he can hear Caspar haggling with one of the stalls. Ashe laughs to himself; some things never change.
He doesn't buy anything, but he doesn't need to. He's sure Caspar will have spent enough money for both of them, mostly on provisions and only a little on something useless. It's Caspar. Ashe has given up on telling him not to.
As promised, they meet up later at the inn for dinner. Hot food is relatively rare, and when the opportunity arises, neither of them are going to say no. No provisions, only hot food and a full belly. Tomorrow, they'll set off once again, and hopefully get out of Fhirdiad before it gets too cold for Caspar to move. Poor man; he's far too used to the heat of the south.
They eat dinner without a word, but Caspar keeps giving him strange looks. Before Ashe can ask, Caspar returns to his food, and the look is forgotten.
"Is your axe fixable?" Ashe asks.
"Yeah! Blacksmith said she'll have it done by the morning," Caspar says. He taps on his knee. "Thanks for lending me yours, by the way."
"It's fine, really. I wasn't using it."
Caspar lets out a weak laugh, before finishing his food. The inn isn't busy tonight, with only a few stray people milling about. It's quiet. Then again, it's Fhirdiad in the middle of winter, and it isn't the king's birthday. In that sense, they made it here at a good time.
With food finished, they each order a pint of beer to wash food down and for warmth. There's a fire burning in the corner, which is the only thing keeping the room warm. Caspar looks at the fire, tapping on his thighs. Then he looks at Ashe and smiles, and those nerves subside.
"You know, I was looking around at the weapons when I was at the blacksmith," he says. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a deep blue box, sitting it in the table between them. "And I got you something. It's not much, cause- well, open it."
His leg bounces wildly again as Ashe takes the box. He lifts the lid and, cradled in a bed of silk sits a dagger. Its hilt is dyed blue, the blade bright and sharp. Ashe doesn't know what to say. It's a beautiful knife, he won't deny that. Does he know what giving someone a weapon means in Faerghus? Here, of all places? He swallows, and embarrassment burns his way up his face. There is no way that Caspar knows.
Ashe feels people staring. It might be his own anxiety playing with him.
"So I know you have a bow, and your throwing axe, but I thought, wouldn't it be great to have something extra? You know, a third weapon. It's practical, right? Or if you don't wanna fight with it, you can use it to cook. You know, chop vegetables, or-"
"This isn't a cooking knife, Caspar," Ashe says as gently as he can.
He takes it out of its box. It's wickedly sharp, lightweight in his hand. He could keep this strapped to him and it wouldn't be a problem. It's a thoughtful gift. It's a shame Caspar didn't put any thought behind the meaning of giving someone from Faerghus a weapon, but there's no way he could have known.
"I love it. Thank you, Caspar, it's very thoughtful," he says.
Caspar grins. "Really? Okay, great, cause the blacksmith gave me a weird look when I bought it. I thought I was doing something wrong."
Wrong? Not at all. Not on purpose, anyway. Ashe wasn't going to tell him that, not in this lifetime. It's a gift he'll treasure, for reasons Caspar will never understand.
***
The months carry on.
A Faerghus winter gives way to a Leicester spring eventually - or, what was once Leicester territory. There is much to see in the spring, such as the roses in Gloucester, or even the aquatic capital of Derdriu. They should have gone to the south next, but in the clockwise loop they're doing, it made sense. So Caspar said, and Ashe was once again stupid enough to listen.
Still, he can't be too mad. The Gloucester gardens really are lovely at this time of year.
They make their money completing odd jobs while they travel. Occasionally, Caspar makes extra money through means he doesn't discuss with Ashe, and he appreciates that. So usually, money isn't tight, but they live by Ashe's strict budget. Spend only when necessary, including food, weapons care, and shelter. It doesn't stop Caspar from occasionally spending on useless things, but it's his extra money to do with as he pleases. Ashe can't stop him.
They're within the region of Gloucester now, and the first thing that hits is the strong smell of flowers. Ashe sneezes. Caspar holds his nose.
"It's a strong smell," Caspar says with a grimace.
"Yeah, but we'll get used to it."
At least Ashe hopes so.
It's prettier here than in the frozen mountains of the north. It's probably nice up there too, when it's not the middle of winter, but Ashe has never been to Gautier before. Or rather, not in the spring or summer.
After Fhirdiad, Caspar has been weird. It doesn't help that he's been cold, but it's more than that. Something changed in Fhirdiad, and Caspar changed with it. He touches Ashe a little more, and smiles wider when he sees him. Ashe could be imagining it. This could be wishful thinking. Something tells him that it isn't. Either way, Ashe doesn't ask. He won't make things weird between them.
The dagger Caspar gifted him is strapped to his thigh. Ashe is always aware of it.
Gloucester is a colourful place. Ashe had never really known Lorenz, but he's not surprised that the man came from a background of such colour. It's beautiful. Even from afar, Ashe can see the buildings covered in colourful banners. A springtime tradition, perhaps? He isn't sure. He doesn't notice Caspar doing something until he clears his throat, grinning.
"Look at me then close your eyes," he says.
"How can I look at you and close my eyes?" Ashe asks with a laugh.
"Ashe. Please?"
He does as he's told. Something delicate brushes against his ear, and his eyes shoot open. The grin doesn't falter.
"You like violets, right?" Caspar asks.
"Well, yes, I do." Ashe touches his ear. Oh.
"It looks nice. The purple against the grey. It-" He looks off elsewhere. "Yeah. Anyway, I'm starving, so let's get walking!"
Caspar all but charges off ahead. Ashe catches up with him.
This town in particular seems to be setting up for a festival of some kind, but Ashe isn't sure what. When is Lorenz's birthday? Maybe it's for that. There are no clues around.
It had taken most of the day to arrive, and as such, the town has already begun to wind down for the day. If this is the town as it wanes, Ashe would love to see it at its busiest and brightest. Curious for tomorrow's festivities, they decide to head to an inn early. Hopefully, before there's a crowd and there are no beds available.
It takes a couple of attempts, but they reach an inn that has rooms available. They have also hiked up the prices due to demand. The receptionist shrugs.
"Dunno what to tell ya," he says. "Picked the wrong day to come into town. You're free to go elsewhere, but I don't think anywhere else has space."
"What exactly is going on?" Ashe asks.
"Why, the young Count Gloucester is getting married! It's about time too, cause-"
Beside him, Caspar goes pale. The receptionist keeps chatting, but Ashe is solely looking at Caspar. He counts his coins once, twice, then once more for good measure.
"Shit," he whispers.
"If you're short, it's okay, we can share a room," Ashe assures him.
The receptionist pulls a strange face, but shrugs it off. Ashe swaps his coins for a key, and the pair head to their room.
It's small. Ashe hoped that there would be a chair to sleep in, or a comfortable rug. There isn't. There's space for a fire, and a bed big enough for two. The receptionist was kind enough to give them that much. Ashe sits his bag at the foot of the bed. They don't have a lot of money left, so they'll have to be careful how they spend it. They'll likely have to get extra money by doing odd jobs around town.
Ashe stares at the bed. Are they really going to have to share? The flower budges on Ashe's ear, and he fixes it, his heart skipping a beat.
"It's cosy," Caspar says, anything to beat the quiet.
"It is. At least it's not a single bed." Ashe clears his throat. "Ah, if you'd prefer, I can sleep on the floor. Really, I don't mind."
Caspar claps a hand on his shoulder. "Nah. It'll be fine. I don't mind sharing."
Later, at what Ashe can only assume is two in the morning, he comes to regret listening to Caspar.
He can't sleep. He couldn't sleep anyway, but all hope was lost when Caspar flopped over on him and stayed there. He's so warm that Ashe doesn't need the blanket. Caspar's face is in his shoulder, and he snores softly into his ear. If that was the only reason Ashe couldn't sleep, that would be one thing. He was used to sharing a bed as a kid with his siblings, so usually, this kind of thing didn't bother him. This time, with his heart singing and a hard lump in his throat, they are so much more than close.
This is intimacy. The kind he knows he will never have with Caspar.
He doesn't dare move. He wants to hold him, to lean more into the embrace, but he can't. He can't. In fact, he should roll Caspar away, but he can't do that, either. His heart sings so loudly that it hurts him. His hands twitch uselessly at his sides. Caspar could sleep through a hurricane. That doesn't make it alright to touch him. Goddess, he wants to. He wants to touch his face, to card his fingers in that sky blue hair. Instead, he scrapes his fingers against the cloud grey of his own hair.
He needs to get a hold of himself. His feelings are growing out of control.
In the morning, it's as if last night never happened. Of course it didn't; Caspar was fast asleep. He isn't going to remember sleeping on Ashe for most of the night. Ashe, however, does. He laid there all night in the prison of Caspar's embrace, like the Goddess was testing him. Ashe hopes he passed whatever test that was.
"Man, I haven't slept that good in a while. I guess it's what happens when you sleep in a bed and not on the floor." Caspar laughs. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah." When I finally fell asleep .
"Really? You look exhausted." He sits a hand on Ashe's shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay?"
The memory floods back. Caspar's head on his shoulder. His warm body pressed against him. Ashe snaps back to attention.
"Of course! Come on Caspar, I don't want to miss the party."
And if Ashe is paying attention to someone else's love, he isn't focusing on his own. He gestures for Caspar to follow him outside, with a wide smile. Today, they'll focus on the festivities, and hopefully earn a few extra coins by helping out.
To think, Ashe gave up a chance at the easy life of nobility for this. He still doesn't regret it. This is the life he has chosen, and he wouldn't change it for the world.
Inevitably, they split off; there was work to be had elsewhere. From where Ashe is, lugging boxes and merchandise, he could still see everything. The town square had burst into a bloom of flowers and colour, bright and vibrant. A band is setting up, and among the crew, he spots Caspar. They exchange a smile from across the way, but soon return to their work.
Morning changes to afternoon. When Ashe is done helping cart merchandise around and setting up stalls, he's given a pittance for his troubles. Ah. Well, it'll be enough to cover one more night, but they'll have to leave tomorrow morning. That was the plan regardless, but it doesn't make Ashe feel better. Hopefully, Caspar can manage to make more than him. Most likely; Caspar isn't above fighting for money. It crossed Ashe's mind before to try his hand at faith magic, just something to make sure Caspar won't die by a fellow brawler's hands. Sadly, he doesn't have that ability in him.
By now, the band is in full swing, and the town square is now a makeshift dance floor. Friends, family and lovers embrace, dancing to the music. Ashe watches on from the sidelines. This is one part of the day he has no interest in taking part in. The last time he had tried to dance, he managed to stamp on his partner's toes and ruin a perfectly good flower arrangement.
He ran away pretty soon after that. Even now, he squirms at the memory. He should get back to looking for something to do.
"What're you sulking over here for?"
Ashe startles, but realises it's only Caspar. He's shed his coat, wearing nothing but a tunic. He fills out that tunic pretty nicely, but Ashe is quick to look away. He wil not make things weird between them. Thankfully, Caspar notices none of this. One of the good things about him not being perceptive.
"Me? I'm not sulking," Ashe says.
"But you're not dancing. I thought you'd be the dancing type," Caspar counters.
He laughs. "Ah, no, I'm not. I have the grace of a battleaxe."
"Hey, I take offence to that! I'm real graceful. In fact, I'm a great dancer. Want me to show you?"
Oh Goddess, why must you bless yet curse with the same hand? Caspar holds out his hand, wiggling his eyebrows in a way Ashe is sure is meant to be enticing. For Caspar, it's enticing and charming in a way Ashe can't explain or understand. With a sigh, he takes his hand.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he says.
"Are you kidding, Ashe? I'm made of way stronger stuff than letting you stamp on my toes. I'm not scared of you."
That grin of his always melts Ashe's heart, and promises him that everything will be alright. He's tugged onto the ‘dance floor' with the might of a demonic beast, but led into the dance with the grace of a professional. Caspar wasn't kidding. His movements are surprisingly fluid as he dances, his steps light. Ashe, on the other hand, is half-hopping. He's too busy looking at Caspar to dance.
"Agh, you're so stiff," Caspar complains. "It's not gonna hurt you to let go a little. Here."
He puts his hands on Ashe's waist, and tries to move him. His eyes are wide, and he knows his face is burning. Oh Goddess, protect him. Caspar grins as Ashe's body falls limp, putty under his hands. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck . He can't hear the music anymore. All he can think about is the springtime sun shining on them, the way Caspar's eyes lights up when he looks at Ashe.
Here and now, Ashe wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him and finally, finally tell him everything. He's loved him since the war - hell, since before the war. The urge goes below the skin, down into the depths of his very being.
But he can't. He can't .
The music stops. Ashe only realises this when the crowd begins to change. Ashe takes that as his cue to leave, but Caspar doesn't. He can feel Caspar staring, but Ashe doesn't turn back. For the first time this whole trip, he's finally regretting coming with him.
He spends the rest of the afternoon distracting himself by talking to the local people - apparently Lorenz is marrying Marianne. Cute. The townsfolk are in high spirits. They had feared that Lorenz would never find someone to suit his lofty standards, but they were wrong. Sure, Marianne was soft, but she would make for a fine Countess. At least, that's the hope that the townsfolk have.
If Ashe had stayed in Gaspard, there would have been pressure for him to get married. Find a nice lady, settle down, live the life of a noble, like Lonato would have wanted for him. What a strange, mild life he would have lived. Instead, he's here, far from home, with Caspar. Maybe he had made the wrong choice. Maybe, but can he turn back now? He can't believe he's reconsidering his choice now, when they're already so far away from home.
Ashe heads back to the inn in the evening, but Caspar isn't back yet. That's fine. He sits on the bed with his dog-eared copy of Loog and the Maiden of Wind, but he doesn't read it. He knows the story so well. It's something to do, something to look at as he lets his mind wander. His head hurts. His heart hurts.
He shouldn't have done this. He should have stayed home. What possessed him to think this was a good idea? He should go home. Ashe closes the book, and as he does, the door opens.
"Oh. Are you going to sleep? I can leave you alone," Caspar says.
"Ah, no, my eyes hurt so I was just finishing up reading. I thought you'd be in town a little longer."
"I was planning on sticking around, but it's not as fun without you."
Ashe doesn't know how to reply to that. His heart seizes uncomfortably in his chest. He wants to yell at Caspar, but why? It's not his fault. Caspar takes off his boots and gasps in relief as Ashe watches him.
"That's sweet of you to say," Ashe says.
Caspar laughs, but says nothing. He sits at the edge of the bed, before throwing himself down on the mattress. Ashe's book sits in his lap.
"If I didn't come with you, would you have still travelled?" he asks.
"Well, yeah, that wouldn't have changed. It just wouldn't be as fun without you. You've made this journey a lot more fun, man."
Caspar smiles, and it's not the wide grin that it usually is. There's something more subdued about it, more unsure. When he catches the look in Ashe's eyes, he turns away, embarrassed. Strange.
"I was worried you wouldn't come with me, you know," Caspar says. "And, I dunno. I wanted to share this with you. All of this." He punctuates his point with a wave of his hand.
Ashe shifts on the bed. "Caspar?"
"Huh? Nah, nothing. I'm fine. Sorry, that was weird, I get it. Oh, but I did get something for working today. A little extra."
Caspar fishes through his pockets, until he finds what he's looking for. He throws it, and as soon as Ashe realises what it is, he panics. Thankfully, he catches it. There is nothing worse than oil all over freshly cleaned sheets.
"I thought you should take it. I mean, it's a good payment for letting me stay with you tonight and last night. And your bow probably needs oiling about now, right?" Caspar asks.
It does. It also needs its string changing, but that's not important. The important part is that Caspar noticed. Considering Caspar's understanding of archery is minimal at best, Ashe can't help but be surprised. He traces his thumb along the container. Strangely thoughtful.
"I got it fair and square. No fighting," he assures Ashe.
He closes his fingers around the container. "Thank you, Caspar. I appreciate it."
Maybe Ashe can stay for a little while longer.
***
It's been nine months since the start of their journey. Eight since Fhirdiad. Four since Gloucester.
It is now the Blue Sea Moon. To Ashe, it's ironic that they end up here around Caspar's birthday. It's a joke that goes unstated, for now, they have finally reached what was once Adrestian territory: Bergliez.
It's hot. Unlike Fhirdiad, one cannot change the amount of clothes worn. Ashe knows he'll burn if he tries. He drags alongside Caspar, trying to fan himself. Heat fills his lungs, choking him. He can't believe he's missing the cold air of Fhirdiad in winter, but he is.
"It's hot," Ashe complains. "It's really hot."
"Huh. Yeah, it is. I guess we really should have started with the south."
If he had the energy, Ashe might have slapped his arm for that. As it stands, Ashe barely has the energy to stay upright. Caspar is in his element now, finally warm and unburdened by a jacket. Nor is Ashe. He's wearing the bare minimum of clothing now, and he's still too hot. He catches Caspar glancing at him, but he stops looking as soon as Ashe looks back at him.
That's been happening a lot. Ashe still hasn't figured out why.
"What happened to Bergliez, anyway?" Ashe asks. It's a diversion from the heat, if nothing else.
"I think my brother's taken over. I dunno, I don't really talk to my family anymore."
Ashe frowns at him. After turning against the empire, he can't imagine Caspar is welcome at home anymore. He had to know he was doing the right thing - whatever the right thing even is. Still, Caspar grins like he doesn't have a care in the world. He has a way of making Ashe feel like everything is alright, even if that smile is more for Caspar than for Ashe.
He can't imagine how difficult this must be for Caspar.
"We could have gone around Bergliez," Ashe offers. "In fact, we still could!"
"Nah, as long as we don't go to the capital, we'll be okay."
There's a hint of sadness in his voice, but it's not as if Ashe can force Caspar to see his family. It's complicated, and it's none of Ashe's business, really. Regardless, he's here for Caspar, no matter what choice he makes. Ashe offers him a kind smile in turn, and they keep walking.
Eventually, the sun begins to wane, taking some of the heat with it. They decide this is probably the best time to set up camp, while the temperature is bearable and it isn't too dark.
The best thing about Bergliez in the summer is the evenings are still warm. They don't need to set up a tent, and there's little better than laying out under the stars. This is the nicer part of travelling. It made the gruelling hours of travelling worth it, for those tiny moments that they can enjoy like this together.
The temperature is more pleasant in the evening, but not by much. The day's heat has burrowed itself deep in the ground. Even laying down in the grassy fields of Bergliez, it's hot. With the sun going down, Ashe can only hope it will cool down. He expects there's as much chance of that as there is for heat in Fhirdiad. He whines at the thought.
They've set up camp, and have already eaten today's rations. It isn't a lot, but it's enough to keep them going for tomorrow. Ashe is used to working on very little, but Caspar isn't. He's an ever-growing man, and he needs to eat if he wants to grow up strong. Ashe doesn't have the heart to tell him that at their age, they've done their growing - physically, at least.
It's strange to think that they've seen almost all of Fódlan by now. If not through their time together, then it's thanks to the war, or even during their time at Garreg Mach. Ashe glances at Caspar.
"What do you think we'll do once we've seen it all?" Ashe asks.
"Huh? Well, I was thinking, there's more to see. There's Dagda, and Brigid, and maybe even Almyra!"
Ashe chuckles. "I don't think I'll survive Almyra."
"You think I'll survive Sreng?"
Caspar grins at him. No, he would freeze to death. In fact, Ashe doesn't know where Caspar would be without him. Oh, he doesn't like the thought. He stares up at the sky. They have to stick together, like they always have. Not that Ashe wants to split from him. Not now, not ever again. They both have a shared goal: to do good where they could. It makes sense to do that together.
The dagger on his thigh reminds him that's not the only reason he's here. If he thinks about it, his heart will hurt again.
"Do you think we'll ever stop?" Ashe asks.
"What, you wanna settle down together somewhere?"
"No! No. That's not- no," he says, shaking his head and embarrassment on his cheeks.
Well, actually, yes, now that he's thinking about it. Would that be so bad? Where would they go? Would they stay in Fódlan? There's no point in thinking about it: they'll never do it. Whether they're travelling or not, Ashe is happy with Caspar. The idea of settling down does sound good to him, but they still have a lot to see, and a lot to do before then.
As the sun fades, the stars come into view, tiny and twinkling. Ashe can't say he's an expert on the stars, but they're gorgeous all the same. At this time of day, Ashe can't see much else but the stars. Despite that, Ashe does try to sneak glances at Caspar, but he can make out his silhouette, and concentration in his brow.
There is only so long they can carry on for. With their circle around Fódlan almost complete, this might be the perfect time to end things. Ashe sucks in his breath.
"I've been thinking about going back to Gaspard, actually," he admits. "I want to see if I can rebuild something there. I'm not asking you to stay with me, because I know you like to travel."
But I wish you would . Ashe can't say it, but even if he could, Caspar wouldn't understand what he's trying to say. There's no way he'd understand. He's so simple that even heavy handed flirting would get him nowhere. So what Ashe wants goes unsaid, as it usually does. He can feel Caspar staring at him. Ashe's attention is on the sky above.
"This is kinda sudden," Caspar says.
"No, not really. I've been thinking about it for a while."
A quiet oh escapes Caspar. Even now, Ashe doesn't know if Caspar understands what he's trying to say. It's almost over. If one of them doesn't budge, then this is it. The thought alone is almost enough to make Ashe concede, but he won't. He can't keep chasing after Caspar.
"Well," Caspar says, drawing out the syllable, "there's bound to be bad guys in Gaspard, right?"
"Ideally, no, but you can never be too careful," Ashe says, uneasy.
In an ideal world, there would be no bandits and nobody to protect. Sadly, they don't live in an ideal would.
Caspar hums in thought. "Then, maybe I will come with you. You know, just in case."
It's not a promise, and Ashe can't say that he's hopeful, but he is. Thankfully, Caspar can't see the blush on his cheeks, or the wringing of his hands. Oh, hell. Ashe is hopeless. He's so utterly hopeless that his heart hurts. The heat could finish the job and kill Ashe, and he would be nothing but thankful.
"Thank you, Caspar," is all he says.
There's an unusual silence between then. Normally, Caspar will talk until he talks himself to sleep. Not tonight. A warm breeze brushes past him. It's peaceful in a way things rarely are between them. Yet he can't get comfortable. Beside him, Caspar shifts, fidgets, and whines softly. Then, he falls quiet once again with a little huff.
It isn't like Caspar to be lost for words. Normally, he says whatever is on his mind, a trait that Ashe is fond of for the most part. It means Caspar is always honest, even if his honesty gets them in trouble sometimes. Words have never been Caspar's strong point.
"It's not like I can settle anywhere else, right?" he says. "I don't even think I'm supposed to be here. It would've been nice to have a welcoming party. Wait, no, if there was, we'd have to run."
Caspar laughs, but it's uncomfortable and sad. Ashe almost reaches out to touch him, but he stops himself. This is not the time.
"It's weird. I'm not even a Bergliez anymore," he says.
"Then what are you?" Ashe asks.
Caspar pauses. "You know, I've been trying to figure that out. Maybe I just need a new name, right?"
"We could share mine."
The words slip out before Ashe can think about it. He freezes. What can he do now? He can get out of this. He rubs the back of his neck. This is salvageable.
"I mean, we don't have to. It's a suggestion. As friends. Brothers?" His voice breaks at the last word. "It doesn't-"
"I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but Ashe? Shut up a second."
Ashe's mouth snaps shut. He isn't sure what to expect, but he knows he won't like the answer. This is stupid. He should have left when they reached Gloucester. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have done a lot of things. Now he's frozen, silent, and Caspar won't speak either. He feels the knife stabbing into his thigh accusingly.
Ah, yes. Now he's done it. Now he's ruined everything.
"I thought we already were, uh, you know," Caspar mumbles awkwardly.
Ashe frowns. "Brothers?"
"No!" Caspar yelps. "Oh man, you're really gonna make me say it. Okay, okay. Just gimme a second to think about it."
Caspar takes a deep breath. He sits up and looks down at Ashe, and even in the low light, he can see those wide blue eyes staring down at him. Ashe doesn't want to hear it. He knows how this speech will end, and he can't hear it. He's heard it many, many times before in his own mind. He can't hear Caspar saying it.
Caspar grabs the knife from Ashe's thigh and he gasps at the sudden movement. The blade glimmers in the moonlight as Caspar twists it. This is it. He's going to kill him. Getting stabbed might hurt less.
"I kinda thought we had this unspoken thing." Caspar presses the point of the blade to his index finger. He doesn't look at Ashe. "I thought you'd get the point with this. That's what the blacksmith in Fhirdiad said. She told me this is how you guys do this."
"Caspar-"
"I just thought you didn't like romantic stuff. So I got it, I backed off. I thought, maybe this is how you are. You're kinda shy. I didn't wanna push it."
Ashe's jaw falls open. He can't be hearing this right. He's asleep. He's dead. Caspar must have killed him and he's in heaven. Anything is more plausible than what's currently in front of him.
"I'm bad at words, but good at doing, but you know that. You're good at words, but bad at doing," he continues. "See? Here I'm bad at words again. I don't know what I'm saying."
He laughs, but even in the low light, Ashe can see the grimace. Caspar pulls a knee to his chest, still playing with the knife.
"But I thought, if I try, maybe it won't be so unspoken. I got you this," he says, gesturing, "because it could say it better than I could. I wanted to dance with you because I thought…"
He trails off. Ashe sits up to Caspar's level. He isn't sure what to say, or what to do. Thankfully, his mouth works before his brain can.
"Have we been engaged for eight months, and I've only just found out?"
From the silence, it seems they've both made that connection at the same time. The gears are turning, slow and grinding, but Ashe is slowly beginning to understand. Those months - perhaps even longer - of pining had been for nothing. All that time wishing and hoping and longing for something from Caspar was for nothing. They had been waiting for each other this whole time.
Ashe is the dumbest person alive. Even Caspar, somehow, is smarter than him.
"I can't believe this," Ashe says under his breath.
He expected this level of obliviousness from Caspar, but not from himself. Loving Caspar has left Ashe a little stupid. They're both idiots. How could they both let it go on for so long? All Ashe can do is laugh. Over and over again, they had constantly misunderstood each other. It feels very typical for his life.
"What do we do now?" he asks.
Caspar doesn't say anything. He sits the knife in both of his hands and holds it out to Ashe.
"I'm gonna try this one more time, put it all on the table," he says. "I love you. Wherever life takes us, I want it to be just you and me, and nobody else. Forever."
Ashe's hands are careful as he reaches for the knife. This must be some kind of fever dream brought on by the sheer heat. When their hands meet, Ashe knows this isn't a dream. This is real. Caspar loves him. This is all he's ever wanted, laid out in front of him. He feels like he might cry. Barely, Ashe holds it together.
"You and me, and nobody else," Ashe echoes. "I like that."
Finally, Ashe takes the knife from his hands and puts it back where it belongs. It fits nice in its sheath, light on his thigh. He can't stop smiling. In a way, he's glad he went through this heartache if this is where it led. Someone like Caspar is worth waiting for. Ashe holds Caspar's face in his hands.
"And I love you, too." He chuckles. "I never thought I'd ever tell you, but I do."
And if he did say it, Ashe always imagined he would have been the one to say it first. It's all so surreal, and he's waiting to wake up from this extended dream, but he doesn't think he ever will. He lets his eyes fall shut, and presses a kiss to Caspar's lips. He wraps his arms around Ashe and holds him close, and Ashe can't help but smile into the kiss.
This is everything he's ever wanted.