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Ties That Bind

Summary:

Tying the knot has always had many meanings to Linhardt. This is a story about Linhardt's hair band and what it means to him, his best friend, and perhaps their very bond.

(Written for the Casphardt Mini Bang 2020!)

Update: Now with ADDITIONAL art from DrawingDDoom!!

Updated 6/28/2022 to add info from Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes

Notes:

This fic was such a joy to write!! My partner artists for this were Dannie and MariettaRC! Thank you both so much for your incredible artwork. Please enjoy everyone, and don't forget to check out the other works being posted for the Casphardt Mini Bang!

Update: My lovely partner MariettaRC commissioned another piece to accompany this work from the amazingly talented DrawingDDoom!! AHHHH it turned out so well; thank you so much! :,3

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The chilling cold and lasting winds of winter had finally come to the Adrestian Empire, and House Bergliez’s territory was no exception. The Guardian Moon of 1173, heralded by a bright full moon that orbited watchfully in the heavens overhead, had brought with it a cascade of cold wind and low temperatures that, while seasonable for this time of year, were an expected and yet undesired discomfort to all who manned Fort Merceus. Seasoned soldiers shivered in subzero suits of chainmail as they patrolled the outer perimeter, and tall stone towers, one in each corner of the fort, seemed tall enough to pierce the darkling skies above as another afternoon gave way to the encroaching evening. The sturdy stone walls of the Fort, the entirety of which was hewn from materials mined from the Oghma Mountains, rose up like towering shields around the inner compound of the Fort, stubborn and determined to use both its own defenses and the natural landscape to repel all invaders as it had done for countless years.

It was well within these safe, stalwart walls that young Caspar von Bergliez gave a wild grin, surveying the imaginary battlefield all around him with sharp, evaluating eyes. He was dressed in a patched, stained, perhaps-at-one-point-white puffy wool coat with a slightly frayed knit hat and gloves, all of which were hand-me-downs from his brother, and sturdy boots covered his feet as he stomped around the gray fort’s frosted yard. His surroundings were bathed in white, snowflakes falling down from the skies in fat, freezing drops, and he stuck his tongue out excitedly, hoping to catch one in his mouth and savor the cool, clean taste that came from fresh falling snow. He tried for about a minute, flailing about wildly and running all around the yard for a better chance, until finally, a delicious snowflake landed with a gentle splash on his tongue, the slight burst of cold invigorating him as he shouted with glee and pumped a fist in the air. “WHOO! That’s good!” He turned around, and hurriedly dashed back to the vaguely fort-shaped mound of snow that stood a short distance away. “Linhardt!” he called urgently, hoping that his best friend might've finally finished the snow saint he had been working on for what felt like forever. “Are you done yet? Wanna play soldiers now?”

A sleepy groan from behind the fort was the only response, and after a moment, Linhardt von Hevring sat up, brushing some snow off of his pale face and out of his evergreen hair. He was also wearing a wool coat, although his was newer and of finer quality, with matching mittens and earmuffs as well as his own pair of sturdy snow boots. “Urgh. Caspar, please don’t be so loud,” Linhardt reprimanded. Giving a yawn, the young Hevring turned at the waist to peer at the snow saint behind him, which looked more like a deformed blob than anything else, and shrugged. “I suppose we could play more, although I would much prefer to go inside. My hair’s all wet and I’m cold.”

Caspar sighed, bending down to take a look at Linhardt’s condition. “Well, that’s ‘cause you didn’t wear a hat! C’mon, let's go in and ask Tabitha for cocoa.”

Linhardt’s eyes brightened at the prospect of the head maid’s delicious cocoa recipe (and of no longer being exposed to the elements), and when Caspar extended a hand, Linhardt took it, grasping firmly as his best friend pulled him up. Carefully, Linhardt reached up and wrung out his hair, wincing at the unpleasant tug. “Urgh,” he grimaced, wiping his hands on his coat. “I really should ask Father if I can cut my hair short and leave it that way. I know that my parents both want me to have long hair, but…” Linhardt trailed off, gesturing at his head with a firm point of his index finger.

Caspar shook his head, grinning widely in response to Linhardt’s annoyance. “Nah, I like your hair long.”

Linhardt cracked a smile, the tiny upturn of his mouth as expressive as Caspar’s widest grin. “Oh really? That’s not what you said when we first met.”

Caspar felt his face flush with embarrassment, and he could tell that the bridge of his nose was already colored crimson from the memory. “Look--”

“Oh, excuse me miss,” Linhardt imitated exaggeratedly, putting on a falsetto and clutching his hands to his chest, “but where’s uh… what’s his name... Linhardt? My father said I’m supposed to meet him here.”

Caspar sighed, the blush having spread completely across his face by this point. “Ok, so maybe I was kinda clueless.”

“And then,” Linhardt continued, ignoring Caspar completely, “once I introduced myself, you asked why I had long hair, and when I told you that it’s because it was traditional and that my family liked the style, you laughed and said that it was weird and demanded that I play with you.”

“Ok, but,” Caspar shouted, attempting to defend himself before Linhardt could speak further, “I also meant that it was weird in the good way.

Linhardt shook his head in amusement, still smiling. “Well, I got that part, especially since I said I didn’t want to do any running, so you said we would play ‘Knight and Princess’ because my hair was long and pretty and I could sit and be the princess so that you would come rescue me.”

“And I meant it! Your hair is long and pretty, and it’s fun to play with, see?” So saying, Caspar slipped his right hand out of his glove and ran it through Linhardt’s hair, his questing fingers almost immediately snagging in the sodden locks and causing the slim noble to hiss in pain.

“Ouch! Caspar, get your hand out of my hair at once!”

“Urgh! Uh… one sec! My fingers are tangled!”

“I can’t believe this--OW!”

“Hold on, hold on, almost got it…”

After a few more seconds of struggle, with Caspar adding his other hand to the mix and Linhardt attempting to help himself, they managed to wrest Caspar’s hand from Linhardt’s hair, freeing a few green strands along with it. Linhardt shook his head, the corners of his mouth turned down in displeasure as he gave Caspar as weary a stare as a 9 year old could give. “Right, then. Let’s go inside now.”

Caspar gulped, and nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I’m in!” The two bounded toward the large doorway leading to the inside of the fort, eager for warmth and that sweet, sweet treat.

A short time later, they were escorted to one of the empty bedrooms and promptly bundled up in two thick blankets, left to happily sip their cocoa and watch the snowfall through the room’s sole window. Wooden floorboards stretched from one wall to the other, plush rugs spread over the planks, and a neatly made twin bed with a faded red bedspread was pushed back in one corner, making it perfect for the two children to rest against. Between that and the comfortable heat emanating from the crackling fire roaring in the stone fireplace near the bed, the entire room felt warm and welcoming in contrast to the snowy scene outside. Linhardt was leaning against Caspar’s shoulder, the young Hevring trying to decide if it was worth sneaking a nap in before Tabitha came to collect them, before Caspar broke the silence. “Hey, Linhardt?” Caspar asked, placing his now-empty mug on the floor.

“Mhm?” Linhardt replied, not moving in the slightest except to set down his own wooden mug.

“I’m sorry for getting my fingers all tangled in your hair. And I’m really sorry for calling your hair weird when we first met. I didn’t mean it.”

Linhardt sighed and snuggled closer to his best friend, the Bergliez’s natural warmth seeping even through the blankets and making Linhardt feel lethargic and snuggly. It was a nice complement to the warmth in his chest. “It’s alright, Caspar. I don’t hold it against you; plenty of people think that I’m weird, so--”

The air wooshed out of Linhardt’s lungs as Caspar turned and wrapped him up in a tight hug, the comfortable blanket falling from the bluenette’s shoulders onto the ground as his arms encircled Linhardt. “You’re not! You’re not weird! You’re my best friend with really nice hair, and…”

He trailed off as Linhardt started chuckling, genuine happiness in his tone. “...Thank you, Caspar. You’re my best friend too.” They continued to sit in an emotional silence until Linhardt’s eyes grew heavy, and the young noble fell asleep on Caspar’s shoulder, dead to the world. Caspar had become used to his best friend’s sleeping habits by this point, and, not bothering to let go of Linhardt just to retrieve his own blanket, simply readjusted himself to be more comfortable and continued watching the snow, lost in thought. The two children didn’t move an inch until a short time later when Tabitha knocked loudly on the door, summoning them both for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The harsh, metallic clang of steel against shield rang out across the training grounds of House Bergliez’s Enbarr estate, the elite troops serving the Minister of Military Affairs refusing to let even the oppressive heat of the scorching summer sun detract from their training. Shouts of “Hiyah!” and “Hoowah!” could be heard as seasoned soldiers instructed novice knights-to-be in the use of the training dummies, and elsewhere, sharp-eyed swordmasters squared off against formidable fortress knights in exercises to learn strategy and cultivate instinct for facing foes with such varied fighting styles from their own.

On a rolling hill a short distance away from the expansive training grounds, the great number of barracks, and bustling workshops for engineering and experimenting with weapons of war, the Bergliez manor towered above the various facilities, surprisingly small for a minister’s home but placed such that it was easily defensible and only accessible via a single main road that was closely guarded. The house itself was made of brick, the sturdy structure lending itself well to fending off enemy attacks, and rather than gardens or the like, the terrain around the home was flat, allowing the occupants to spot any approaching enemies from miles around. Around the rest of the perimeter was a tall wrought-iron fence that firmly deterred any would be burglars, although the Count’s reputation for being a less than merciful man tended to do most of that work for him.

The large estate was near the outskirts of Enbarr, the distance affording the minister and his men the space to train and test themselves and their weapons without bothering the other titled families, as well as the freedom to shout battle cries as loudly as one wanted to. Caspar often reveled in this fact, as he was too often hushed or ordered to be silent everywhere else and this was one of the few places where he could be as loud as he naturally was without being judged. Today was no exception, with the 12-year-old’s voice ringing loud and proud throughout the estate, although this time, his best friend was here, which naturally made everything all the better.

Despite Caspar’s volume and undue excitement about… well, most things, Linhardt allowed himself to smile at the prospect of spending some quality time with his best friend. It had taken much convincing on his part to persuade his parents that Caspar was not only a suitable friend for him, but one that he should be allowed to personally visit, and after much hemming and hawing and letter writing and stomping and snarling and smirking on his father’s part, he had finally been given dispensation to visit Caspar’s home for the weekend. In Linhardt’s mind, it would be a time of relaxation, away from nagging parents and eagle-eyed governesses and maids who always knew when he was more interested in leisure than lessons. It would be sleeping in during the mornings, and quiet afternoons that could be spent with a good book and good company as Caspar inevitably ran around and played knights or some such game while Linhardt got acquainted with a scintillating story and an even better napping spot. Ah, what could be better than submerging oneself into a sweeping tale of the Saints on a sunny day?

These expectations were dashed almost five minutes after he had left his family’s carriage, however, as Caspar promptly ran over to greet him, seeming like he had been prepared to tackle Linhardt to the ground were it not for Count Bergliez’s steady gaze, reminding him to show some decorum in front of their guest. “Linhardt von Hevring,” the Count rumbled. “It is good to see you well! Come in, come in. You will be bunked in the room across from Caspar’s. Dinner is at sundown; you won't want to be late!” With the greetings out of the way, the Count turned on his heel and walked toward the training grounds, leaving the two children to their own devices.

“...Well!” Caspar exclaimed, clearly not wanting to waste any more time. “C’mon, Lin! I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He grabbed Linhardt’s suitcase for him and excitedly dashed off toward the manor, leaving Linhardt himself feeling breathless just from watching him. If this was a sign of things to come, Linhardt thought, then this much-wished for weekend away would be nowhere near as relaxing as he had hoped.

Linhardt’s prediction had unfortunately been proven true the very next morning; he and Caspar had stayed up late chatting and talking about all manner of topics, most of which he could barely remember now, as they simply spoke about whatever happened to leap from mind to mouth first. The downside of this, however, was that they hadn’t gone to sleep until late in the evening, and were woken up at the first break of dawn by several insistent roosters and the uproarious sound of soldiers gearing up for morning drills and patrols. Caspar, the lucky little lad he was, slept through it all but Linhardt, unfortunately, couldn’t get another wink of sleep and almost took a dive right into his maple sugar oatmeal during breakfast. Caspar had managed to persuade his parents to let the two have some leisure time until the early afternoon, which Linhardt had spent napping in order to recover his strength, but as soon as he had awoken, Caspar had dragged him outside (albeit with much protest on Linhardt’s part) for a “Super Awesome Tour of Everywhere Cool.”

At the moment, Caspar was certainly doing his best to be a Super Awesome tour guide, pointing out each and every landmark that the estate had to offer as the two of them roamed the grounds. “...Aaaaaand over there are the horses, Lin! They’re all big and strong and they can be big ol’ meanies sometimes but they’re also pretty nice if you give ‘em apples! And that’s the chapel of Seiros and the Saints, where the big bell that rings out the time is…” Linhardt let his best friend ramble, covering a yawn with his free hand. His other one was currently being occupied by Caspar’s own hand, which had gravitated to his in an effort to pull him along so that they could see each and every corner of the estate just a little bit faster than Linhardt’s default speed of “sedate walking.” Every so often, he would summon a small breeze to help cool himself off, all of the exercise making him feel hot and sweaty, especially with his long hair partially covering his neck. He would then blow it at Caspar, the other letting out a little yelp as the unexpected burst of cool wind caused him to flinch, before grinning and dragging Linhardt along to the next “exciting” sight.

“This is the weapons workshop! Here’s where--”

 

“Caspar, I hate to interrupt, but it must be getting close to when we have to meet your father.”

At this, Caspar stiffened slightly, looking somewhat nervous, and he squeezed Linhardt’s hand, Linhardt returning the gesture almost unconsciously as a means of comfort. Linhardt couldn’t blame him for being worried; over breakfast, Caspar’s father had announced that he had wanted to see them both near the training grounds when the bells struck two. The very prospect of having to spend time with the Minister of Military Affairs made Linhardt grimace; he had come here to relax and enjoy being in Caspar’s company, not get roped into some no-doubt arduous task that the minister had refused to elaborate on. Still, it wasn’t as if he or Caspar had a choice in the matter; in this case, it was best to just get it over with and complain endlessly about it later. Caspar’s father was as stubborn as the fort he commanded, and no amount of begging, threatening, or entreating would get him to change course from anything he had deemed worth doing.

Caspar gulped, nodding his head and fixing Linhardt with a serious but resolved gaze. He removed his hand from Linhardt’s own, and fleetingly, the young noble thought of how he missed the contact before Caspar’s next words recaptured his attention. “Yeah, I think so. Let’s head over there, and we should be on time.”

The two best friends wound their way to the main area of the training grounds, trying to ease their nerves with some small talk, but the tension only increased as they got closer, heartbeats drumming in their ears. Moments after they stepped foot into the training grounds, ringing bells sang out that it was two hours past noon, and right on time, Caspar’s father, Count Bergliez, stepped forward into the sun-drenched yard.

Count Bergliez, also dubbed “The Man of Countless Conquests,” was an imposing man by any standard, tall and broad and wearing a frankly intimidating set of armor that featured a bear head as one of the pauldrons. According to Caspar, he would only be seen without his armor while he slept, and before his personal servants had confirmed the rumor, the rest of the servant body had been starkly divided as to whether it was true and he only took his armor off for bed, or whether he just slept in a few pieces of his armor, ever-prepared since he could be called upon to serve the Empire at any moment. In the afternoon sun, it was easy to see his shoulder-length locks; his sky blue beard, which resembled a mountain range jutting up from his chin; features were as craggy as the cliffs of the Oghma Mountains; and steely blue-gray eyes that were a frankly astounding match to the polished metal of the giant axe strapped to his back.

Turning his head toward the entrance, the Count motioned Caspar and Linhardt over, his hand curled into a “come here” motion as the two hurried to obey. Once they had reached him, the Count began to speak. “Ah, there you are! Now then, young Linhardt, I thought it wise to help toughen you up somewhat with some martial training. It may not be your specialty, but even mages ought to know how to defend themselves with weapons. You both will start with some stretches, followed by simple swordplay drills against one another. I will supervise.”

The Count narrowed his eyes, scowling with displeasure at Linhardt’s soft, shiny hair. “I have had many a conversation with Count Hevring about the folly of wasting time and money on maintaining one's hair to such a frivolous extent. At the end of the day, it will be filled with sweat and blood, and any extra time that one spends on hair care could instead be spent training. That said, out of respect for your father, I will refrain from commenting on it further. Just be aware that such delicate locks are ill-advised on the battlefield.”

Linhardt, with a great show of politeness and restraint, did not utter the scathing words that he had conjured on the tip of his tongue, burning in response to both the Count’s utterly unasked-for training regime or his stupidly spartan idea of what hair care entailed. Instead, he swallowed them down to be angrily scribbled into his private journal later that evening and gave a curt nod in response. With a final appraising stare, the Count walked off, gesturing to a nearby weapon rack. “Both of you, choose your blades. We will begin weapon practice after a sufficient warm up.”

The next several minutes were spent selecting swords and stretching muscles Linhardt hadn’t even been aware of, leaving him even more sweaty and tired than before. Beside him, Caspar appeared to be as fresh as a daisy, a wide grin on his face, and Linhardt only felt envy--envy and a pervasive feeling of soreness. Caspar must have sensed his plight, because he shoved a full waterskin into Linhardt’s hands, and the young Hevring drank from it greedily, the cool water tasting far more delicious than it had any right to be. He handed it back to Caspar, who drank the rest of it, and he gave a loud whoop as he tossed the now empty waterskin aside. “Alright! I’m feelin’ good! You ready for this, Lin?”

Linhardt sighed, shaking his head and wearing a rather resigned expression. “Honestly, no. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from dealing with your father, it’s that it’s best to just get this over with since the only available option is ‘his way.’”

Caspar gave a sheepish laugh, bringing his arms up in a shrug. “Yeah, well… I know this isn’t necessarily your idea of fun, but he means well! And don’t worry, I promise I won’t go too hard on you!”

Linhardt gave Caspar a rather unimpressed look this time. “You say that, but… we’ll see.”

Caspar grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “Hey, don’t doubt me! I’ve got this!”

At that moment, Count Bergliez strode over to them, locking his arms behind his back and flicking his head in the direction of the weapons rack, looking at them both expectantly. Caspar’s jovial smile quickly morphed into a more focused expression, and meeting his father’s gaze, he nodded and sprinted over to the rack to grab the two training swords they had chosen earlier. Returning with the blades, he handed one to Linhardt, keeping the other one for himself. The Count then walked over to the edge of one of the training areas, and beckoned for them to join him. The two nobles headed over, Caspar with notably more enthusiasm, and they each took their spots on either side of the field. “Ok, Lin! I’m ready when you are!” Caspar called. Linhardt sighed again, but tried to rally himself as much as he could despite his still-sore muscles and genuine disinterest in the entire affair. With any luck, this complete and utter torment would be over soon.

Once again, Linhardt’s wish was in vain; half an hour later, Caspar and the Count showed no signs of stopping or slowing down, and Linhardt felt as though all of the hydration and moisture that had once been in his body had been converted to sweat and was leaving him at an alarming rate. The afternoon sun continued to beat down on both him and the Bergliezes, and yet only he seemed to be having any sort of problem. He’d had to messily swipe at his sweat-soaked hair slapping unhelpfully at his face and neck, seeing as he’d already lost several times to Caspar because of it, and overall, he was just feeling too hot, too tired, and too miserable to go on. “STAND!” bellowed the Count, and Linhardt had to drag himself up off the dirt, tired eyes meeting Caspar’s worried gaze. “Caspar…” Linhardt panted, wincing at how out of breath he sounded and how even that one word made his chest hurt. “Could we perhaps… take a break?”

Caspar huffed, and looked toward the Count. He had tried to take it easy at first, but his father had yelled at him to stop holding back, and as such, he’d started landing heavier blows against Linhardt, his eager smile having slipped away into an obvious expression of worry at least seven rounds ago. They were now gearing up for Round 10, and it was clear to both of them that Linhardt was not doing well. “...You know what, let me ask him something. I’ll be back in a bit; just take some deep breaths, ok?” he asked, turning back toward his best friend. Linhardt didn’t speak, instead giving a single nod before taking a deep breath in and letting it out.

Caspar nodded in reply and ran up to his father, the Count giving him an analytical stare. “What is it?” he intoned, even his regular volume carrying all the way over to where Linhardt stood. Caspar gestured for him to bend down, whispering something in his father’s ear. After a moment, the Count flicked his head back toward the manor, and with a last lingering glance toward Linhardt, Caspar ran off, quickly leaving Linhardt’s line of sight. Well. It seemed like he would get his requested break after all.

With his son gone for the time being, the Count had called over some of his men and began consulting with them on some matter or another. Linhardt brought a hand up to his forehead, wiping away the sweat. Judging by the distance from here to the manor, he had time for a short nap; after all of the exercise he had been through and how hot and tired he was, he deserved it. He--

He was unconscious even before the sword fell from his hand, both body and blade landing with loud thumps on the ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he had collapsed, Linhardt had been rushed immediately to the infirmary. The infirmary was located a short distance away from the training grounds, the stout, two-story brick building placed in yet another easily defendable and strategic location, and Linhardt had been taken to the top floor, which held suites reserved for nobles and other important personages. By the time Caspar arrived, all red-faced and out of breath, clutching something tightly in his grasp, House Bergliez’s personal doctor had just finished her examination of the young noble and was in the middle of informing Caspar’s father of Linhardt’s condition. “My lord. Master Hevring has come down with a combined case of heatstroke and exhaustion due to his below-average stamina. A day of rest and frequent fluid intake will be the best remedy that we can offer at this time,” she explained, adjusting her glasses in a neat, practiced manner. Caspar could see that a bandage had been applied to his face, and he was laying on his back against two plush pillows, practically sinking into them.

The Minister sighed heavily, bringing his arms up and clasping his hands behind his back. “I understand. Thank you, Dr. Colette.” The petite, dark-haired healer gave a short bow at the waist and left the room, presumably to attend to other patients, and gave Caspar a deferential nod of her head as she passed. Caspar’s father turned to face him, a pensive expression on his face. “Caspar, come with me. I must write a letter of apology to Count Hevring for allowing his child to come to harm under my watch.”

“But Father! What of Linhardt? Who will be here with him?”

“One of the nurses, of course. They will ensure that his condition does not worsen.”

Caspar’s hands clenched into fists. “Father… please… Please let me watch over him!”

Count Bergliez raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Caspar nodded in response. “Yes! Linhardt’s my best friend, and it’s partly my fault that he’s here. Please, Father… I should be by his side.”

After a moment of silence, Caspar’s father sighed and began to walk toward the door. “Alright, do as you like. I will inform the nurses.” With that, the Count strode out of the room, closing the sturdy wooden door behind him with a resounding thud.

Now that he had a moment to breathe, Caspar looked around, examining the room. It had one larger window reinforced with steel bars, and a few smaller windows as well. From the door, there was an unlit fireplace against the right-hand wall, as well as a writing desk replete with various pens and inks. Against the left wall was the room’s only bed, and Linhardt was resting on the side closest to the door. The bed was easily big enough for three grown adults, covered with fine blankets and a number of comfortable pillows, and to each side of it were matching nightstands. Two large rugs covered the floors, and tapestries hung from the walls. Overall, Caspar was impressed by just how comfortable the room was in comparison to the rest of the infirmary.

The chair at the writing desk was far too bulky to move very far, but Caspar managed to find a squat wooden stool in the corner of the room, and pulled it up to Linhardt’s bedside, his back facing the door. Taking a seat and drumming his fingers against his knees (it was the best way to avoid playing with the newly-applied bandage on his face that one of the nurses had insisted upon giving him as he’d run in), Caspar stared worriedly at his best friend. Even though the emerald-haired healer-in-training was noticeably taller than Caspar, in here, Linhardt looked so small and frail in the massive bed. Caspar idly adjusted the pillows behind Linhardt’s head and smoothed out the sheets, doing whatever he could think of to make his friend even the slightest bit more comfortable. Linhardt was wearing a long cloth hospital gown, his clothes having been removed and brought to the maids to launder and mend, and Caspar hoped he was comfortable, trapped in dreamland as he was. At least he had finally gotten that break he had been begging for.

Caspar’s gaze drifted down to Linhardt’s hand, which was laying serenely at his side. Part of him longed to take his friend’s hand in his own, to offer him that small measure of comfort, and without a second thought, he reached out--

“Oy! Is the br-- erm, guest up yet!?” boomed a loud voice as the door swung open, and Caspar sighed, his hand dropping to the bed as his older brother Walter marched into the room. Walter was tall and broad, much like their father, and had inherited the Bergliez family’s signature sky-blue eyes, but his hair was jet black like their mother’s, and his features were more severe than Caspar’s, who had far more of a baby face. He usually donned an impressive set of armor, but unlike the Count’s, his was optimized for his class, Hero, and his axe lived on his hip rather than his back. Today, however, he just wore a cotton tunic and breeches, and Caspar didn’t even have to guess why he was here; he had likely made the excuse of checking up on Linhardt to avoid training and was now just here to heckle them. Besides, ever since Linhardt had come to visit, Walter had been the picture of a humble and dutiful host, but as soon as Linhardt’s back was turned or he was out of earshot, Walter would unleash a barrage of insults and rude gestures at the sea-eyed noble. He knew he could not do anything to Linhardt’s face, lest the heir of Hevring complain to the Count about it and action would then have to be taken, but he could, and did, get away with harassing his younger brother and insulting their guest at every available opportunity.

“What do you want, Walter?” Caspar groaned, hoping his brother would hurry up and leave so that Linhardt could rest. Just because Caspar himself couldn’t do much to stop him didn’t mean he would get a free pass to cause a ruckus inside the infirmary, and if he made too much noise, there was a bell by Linhardt’s bedside that Caspar could ring to call for a nurse. His brother would almost certainly beat the stuffing out of him later if Caspar got Walter in any sort of real trouble, but if it meant that Linhardt would get the rest he so clearly needed, then Caspar was willing to take the risk.

Walter gave his brother a cruel smirk. “I just wanted to see how our guest was doing, of course. But oh, what a shame to see how sad and weak someone of our status can be. Why in the world would you pick someone as pathetic as this to be your closest friend, Caspar?”

Caspar’s hands balled into fists. He knew Walter was trying to bait him into starting a fight and have the nurses storm in, evicting him from Linhardt’s room. Well, when he was younger, he probably would have risen to the bait, but not now, not here. He had a duty to protect Linhardt from whatever his brother wanted to do, and that required keeping his temper in check. “Just because he can’t fight doesn’t mean he’s pathetic! He’s smart and kind and he’s working really hard on his Faith magic! He’s--”

Caspar was cut off by Walter’s raucous laughter, loudly echoing down the hall. “Awwww, does widdle Cassie have a crush on the baby over there? That’s so cuuuuuute,” Walter taunted, grinning all the while, and Caspar could feel his face flush crimson in both embarrassment and anger.

“SHUT UP!” he yelled, standing up from the stool. “Linhardt is--”

“What is the meaning of this noise!?” a nurse interjected, annoyance written all over her face and in her tone. “Masters Walter and Caspar, I must insist that you settle down at once! If our guest is bothered, I will have to lodge a formal complaint with the Count.”

Walter gave an annoyed “tch!” at the interruption, seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to pin the blame on Caspar this time. “Fine. I was just about to leave, anyway.” He headed for the door, passing the nurse without another word and tromping out of the infirmary. The nurse sighed, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek.

“Please keep it down, Master Caspar. I will be back later to check on Master Linhardt.” So saying, she pulled the door closed, and once again, Caspar was left alone with Linhardt in the silence of the infirmary room. Caspar sighed, relieved. “You’re safe now, Lin,” he murmured fondly, unclenching his fists and letting his hands fall to his sides. Suddenly, he felt something slip from his palm, and he bent down, rescuing a slightly crumpled white ribbon from the floor. Right! He hadn’t left the training grounds just to give Linhardt a break; he’d gone to get this.

He had gotten the ribbon during a summery Market Day a few weeks ago, a monthly event where every merchant in or near Enbarr set out all of their wares at once to entice commoners and nobles of all backgrounds and businesses to come and buy their stock, or even better, create contracts with them. That day, the chamberlain of House Bergliez, Neilos, had taken Caspar and Walter out to explore the market, and their father had given them each a small allowance to buy what they liked. For Walter, he spent his money on food and some overly-jeweled sword that cost way more than it was worth and was made to be more ornamental than anything else. From then on, he grumbled and complained at each and every booth and stall they passed, demanding that since he was done, they ought to leave already.

For Caspar, however, he hadn’t seen much worth buying, at least until he had set eyes on that beautiful white ribbon. He couldn’t place exactly why he wanted it; considering that he kept his hair at a short and manageable length befitting a warrior, he certainly didn’t need it for himself. This time though, his instinct said that it would be worth it, and even at this age, he had learned to trust his gut completely. He had practically dragged Neilos, and by extension, Walter, over to the stall, where the merchant, a purveyor of accessories, looked at the blue-eyed boys with an intrigued expression. “Well, hello!” she greeted them, enthused. “Can I interest you fine young men in some cufflinks, or in a pin perhaps?” She gestured to some of the accessories on display, which had little placards placed nearby to indicate the prices.

“Um, no!” Caspar replied. “I want this hair ribbon! Um. Please.”

The woman looked nonplussed. “A hair ribbon? Well, don’t you have a good eye! It’s made of pure silk, and woven to be elegant, durable, and beautiful. Anyone you fancy would adore such a piece!” Before she had even finished, Caspar was fishing the money out of his purse, handing her the amount listed on the placard for the ribbon. The woman blinked, clearly having expected their chaperone to haggle for it, but decided not to question it and pocketed the gold, handing him the ribbon. “Thank you very much!”

As Caspar, Walter, and Neilos walked away from the stall, Walter scoffed at Caspar’s purchase. “What’s the point of buying something like that? Who’s it even for? It’s not like you have any marriage candidates, and even if you did, that’s too nice for some peasant and too plain for any noblewoman, you dunce!”

Caspar stuck his tongue out at Walter, blowing a raspberry. “Gimme a break! I just wanted it, ok? It’s nice!”

Walter rolled his eyes in disdain. “Whatever,” he sneered, bringing a hand around to deliver a hard smack to the back of Caspar’s head and hurried along to where their coach would be meeting them. Caspar winced at the pain, rubbing at the sore spot, but he gripped his treasure tightly. Who cared what Walter thought, anyway; his gut said this was worthwhile to have, and that was all the reason he needed.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, and Caspar looked up, surprised, at the smiling face of Neilos. “Do not worry, my boy,” the wizened chamberlain reassured him. “I think that you have found something precious, and even if its time has not yet come, when it does, you will know it.”

As the memory faded and Caspar once again found himself in the infirmary, sitting on the stool with the ribbon in his grasp, he could feel in his gut that this was the time. Slowly, he stood up, and gave a hum of thought. He carefully picked up Linhardt’s arm and arranged it so that it laid over his chest, but groaned as he saw that he still didn’t have the space to kneel on this side of the bed. Well, that was fine; he would just approach this from another angle! Caspar ran over to the other side of the bed, got on his hands and knees, and crawled over to Linhardt. He lifted Linhardt’s other arm so that it crossed with the other one, and gently lifted the other noble’s torso, his gorgeous green hair cascading to the side. Caspar took a deep breath; this was his chance. Carefully, he gathered as much of Linhardt’s hair as he could in his hands, and tied the ribbon around the long locks in what he hoped would be a sturdy hold. There; now it was out of his face, and next time they sparred (if there was a next time), Linhardt would be safe from the dangers of his own hair and, hopefully, heatstroke.


A young Caspar tying back a sleeping Linhardt's hair.

Satisfied, Caspar laid Lin back down and backed up, slipping off of the bed, and took back his spot on the stool, his expression softening as he stared at his best friend. Before he could stop himself, he began to speak, the words coming straight from his heart and bypassing his brain altogether. “Hey, Lin… I’m sorry this happened to you. I never meant to hurt you. But now, I…” He sighed, and swallowed. “I hope you and your dad won’t be too mad. I hope we can still be friends after this. I hope... that you can forgive me.”

Caspar closed his eyes, hands gripping at his breeches as he tried his best to keep tears at bay. “But more than anything else, I just really want you to be ok, ok? That’s all… Please get better…”

Suddenly, Caspar heard the rustling of sheets, and his eyes flew open just in time for him to see Linhardt sitting up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “Mmm, don’t worry, Caspar,” Linhardt drawled. “I’m alright--”

He could barely get the words out before Caspar was hugging him, the shorter noble wrapping his arms around Linhardt and pulling him close, tears rolling down his cheeks as he rested his head on Linhardt’s shoulder. “You’re ok! You’re really ok,” Caspar blubbered, sniffling as an overwhelming wave of relief washed through him. Linhardt shifted out of Caspar’s grasp, the awkward angle making him uncomfortable, but took Caspar’s hands in his own.

“Yes, Caspar. I’m ok.” There was a beat of silence between them as Linhardt looked around, taking in everything. “Were you here the whole time?” he asked, a note of surprise in his voice as his gaze drifted over to the stool, and Caspar nodded energetically, wiping his tears away on his sleeve.

“Uh huh! I was waiting for you to get better!”

Linhardt’s expression turned to one of worry. “But… don’t you have better things to do than--”

“No way!” Caspar exclaimed, cutting him off. “You’re my best friend, Linhardt! I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else!”

Linhardt went quiet for a moment, and Caspar could practically hear him thinking until his face finally broke into a small smile. “Well, that is rather kind of you. Thank you, Caspar. And for what it’s worth, you’re my best friend too.”

“Of course!” Caspar grinned, a warm feeling suddenly spreading all throughout his body. Hearing that Linhardt still thought of him as his best friend really was the best feeling in the world; with any luck, they’d be able to stay that way. Suddenly, a look of surprise crossed his face, and the bluenette brought a hand up to the side of his head in a grabbing motion, as if clutching at something that wasn’t there. “Oh! Linhardt, I--”

Linhardt never learned what it was that Caspar was going to say as the wooden door opened once again, with Dr. Colette walking into the room. She gave a crisp bow to the two young nobles as she approached, and looked toward Linhardt. “Master Hevring,” Dr. Colette greeted, “it is good to see that you are conscious. Your father has arranged to retrieve you early tomorrow morning, so we shall keep you here overnight for further observation and to ensure that you have sufficient bedrest.” Linhardt nodded, honestly quite happy to not have to leave the bed. The doctor then turned to Caspar. “Master Caspar. Your father has requested that you prepare for dinner. Please return to the manor at once.”

Caspar hurriedly stood up, knocking over the stool in the process. “Ah!” He righted it, then gave Linhardt a sheepish look. “Um, bye, Linhardt! See you around! Feel better!” With that, he dashed out of the room, running toward home.

Linhardt shook his head as he watched Caspar leave, a small smile on his face. Dr. Colette looked over his vitals, did some tests, and seemed pleased at the results. “Excellent. You seem to be doing much better.” She blinked suddenly as her eyes honed in on something near his shoulder. “And, may I say, that is a most lovely hair band.”

“Hair band…?” Linhardt echoed, confused, blinking in surprise as he reached for his hair and found that it had been tied into a loose, low ponytail, secured with a fine, albeit slightly crumpled, white silk ribbon. “Huh. Now where did this come from?” Linhardt’s gaze moved up toward the door Caspar had gone through as he considered the mystery. “Well, it is a kind gift, and one that I will not turn down. As for where or who it came from… perhaps I might have some idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linhardt gave a loud yawn as he awoke from his afternoon nap, languidly blinking back into awareness as he flinched away from a bright beam of sunlight shining directly onto his face. The soon-to-be-17-year-old stretched his arms up, appreciating the shade this particular tree had given him as he’d slept, and stood up slowly, brushing dirt off of his uniform. There were a number of people (most notably, the two who bore Crests of Saint Cichol) who would give him grief for “neglecting to properly care for his uniform and display his pride as a member of the Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy,” but as he’d readily admitted to Dorothea, pride was hardly his concern. However… he reached up to twirl his ponytail around his thin fingers, examining his long-held hair band. It looked to be clean enough despite brushing against the bark, and Linhardt sighed in satisfaction before picking up his backpack and setting off for wherever his feet desired. Despite the fact that he’d been almost utterly consumed with worry over whether the saints’ coffins had been damaged at all during the battle that had transpired in the Holy Mausoleum, he had made good use of his time today by starting his studies into what he had been able to see before a bout of sleepiness had struck him, and he’d gone about finding a perfectly sturdy oak tree to rest against. Now that he was more awake, he was fairly sure that he didn’t have any other pressing commitments, so the rest of the afternoon was his to waste as he pleased. Perfect.

His feeling of satisfaction changed to one of discomfort, however, once he noticed just how nice it was today. The Verdant Rain Moon, despite being known for its sudden summer squalls, once in a while yielded a day of shining sun and puffy white clouds, and unfortunately, Linhardt knew full well just how distracting it would be to attempt any sort of research or study in this weather. He would inevitably be lulled into another nap, completely unable to finish any of the books he’d wanted to read today, and curse himself for it before doing it all again tomorrow. No, best to immerse himself in his research now before the demon of drowsiness insisted on afflicting him with its loathsome magics. Looking around for a quiet place to read, he headed to the Black Eagles classroom, smiling happily as he registered that there was nobody else in the vicinity important enough (or impertinent enough) to bother him, and was about to find a seat and resume his research when familiar footsteps came running into the room. “Linhardt!” Caspar exclaimed, panting slightly as he blew in like a storm, scattering Linhardt’s thoughts to the wind.

Linhardt sighed in defeat and turned to face the bluenette; now that his concentration was irrevocably shattered, he might as well see what his best friend needed. “What is it, Caspar?”

“I need to talk to you. About stuff.”

“Stuff,” Linhardt repeated as he stared down at Caspar, hoping that this would prompt the brawler to elaborate.

It did not. “Yeah, stuff!” Caspar parrotted back, practically craning his neck back to meet Linhardt’s gaze, and Linhardt sighed once more, slightly exasperated.

“Alright, Caspar. What kind of ‘stuff’?”

At this, Caspar looked around at the other students before grabbing Linhardt’s sleeve and pulling him over to an empty corner of the room. “Ok, here’s the thing,” Caspar began, lowering his voice to what most people would consider normal volume. “The Professor came and talked to me earlier, and it got me thinking. This whole thing about House Gautier’s Lance of Ruin being stolen… do you think I could wield a Hero’s Relic someday? I’d love to try it! I mean, my dad has a crest, so he could probably do it. If I could do it, I’d be just like Catherine and Thunderbrand, going around Fódlan as a hero and beating up bad guys, making a name for myself! It would be awesome!”

Linhardt hummed and brought a hand up to his chin, considering the idea. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But should I get the chance to study a relic up close, I could possibly figure out the requirements for wielding it, and let you know if it’s possible. Obviously there’s very little chance of you ever obtaining one, but if you did, it would be quite a fascinating topic of research indeed.”

Caspar groaned, bringing his arms up in a shrug. “Awww, is that all I am to you, Lin? A research experiment?”

Linhardt tilted his head at the question, confused. “Of course not, Caspar. You are my close and irreplaceable friend. You also, however, have a penchant for stirring up trouble, and depending on what kind of trouble it is, it could lead to many more fascinating opportunities for study.”

Caspar broke into a grin, his worries seemingly disappearing. “So I’m your close, irreplaceable, and fascinating friend, huh?” he asked boisterously, evidently deciding that his quiet time was over.

Linhardt huffed affectionately and shook his head, unable to prevent his lips from curling into a fond smile. “You would be correct.” His ponytail shook with the motion, catching Caspar’s eye. The brawler blinked, then gave a satisfied smile, resting his hands on his hips as he regarded the ribbon resting just above Linhardt’s shoulder.

“You really do love that hair band, huh?”

Linhardt’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Of course I do, considering it’s one of the few vanities I actually bother with. Not that I know who gave it to me, mind you. Whoever my mysterious benefactor was, I was asleep in the Bergliez infirmary at the time, so I must have forgotten their identity.”

Caspar rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. “At least you keep it cleaner than your uniform. You’re covered in dirt.”

Linhardt pretended to give an imperious sniff. “Says the one who forever smells of sweat.”

“Well, you got me there!” Caspar replied jovially. “Speaking of, I gotta go! See ya!” With a whoop, Caspar tore out of the room, stopping just shy of the doorframe to yell “Let me know what you find out!” before tearing across the courtyard to… wherever he was going.

Linhardt took a deep breath and let it out, sighing in relief. As much as he enjoyed Caspar’s company (most of the time), his best friend could be quite distracting when he wanted to be. Still, this particular research project was an interesting one, and Linhardt vowed that once the opportunity arose, he would talk to Catherine about studying Thunderbrand, as much as for Caspar as for himself. He walked back to where he’d placed his things, ignoring the curious glances of the other students. For now, he had research to do.

Mentally mulling over his memory of the notes he had managed to take regarding the Holy Mausoleum, the Faith user paused to ponder what the focus of his research was to be. It still rankled him that he had gotten to spend so little time actually studying the coffins and artifacts, but alas, there was nothing he could do now but to make do with what he had. Then again, his frustrations with the situation really weren’t conducive to maintaining his focus, as the missed opportunity would be all he could think about to the exclusion of all else. Perhaps it would be best to take another nap in the interest of sleeping off his feelings.

He was weighing the merits of each option when the Professor walked in. Now there was an enigma enshrouded in mystery. If not for the fact that Linhardt had so many other intriguing subjects to research (and the fact that Professor Hanneman had his own eyes on them and thus a well-timed trip to his empty office would yield much of what Linhardt wanted to know), he certainly would have desired to study the Professor and their relic more closely. As it was, though, he was quite satisfied with simply observing such a talented individual, reasonably sure that answers, and perhaps even more mysteries, would crop up as time went on.

He wasn’t terribly surprised when the Professor walked up to him; they tended to enjoy making small talk with the students on their free days, and they were surprisingly easy to talk to about problems and the like. If he had to guess, it was because of their excellent listening skills, vacant yet non-judgmental stare, and almost distressingly thoughtful gift giving. Returning their nod of greeting (the Professor had also never been the most talkative of people in the few months that Linhardt had known them), Linhardt took the opportunity to discuss his less than stellar experience in the Holy Mausoleum with them. They nodded along, listening closely, and he had to admit that venting his annoyance did put him in a better mood; he didn’t even think twice about abandoning his carefully considered question of study or sleep to pick up his pack and indulge in a cup of tea with the Professor. It would be a shame to miss a wonderfully brewed cup of tea and delectable sweets on such a lovely day as this, after all.

Within moments, they arrived at the outdoor gardens, and the Professor headed into the dining hall to prepare the tea and collect the sweets. Linhardt took a seat at an open table, and in what felt like no time at all, the Professor returned with a tray laden with a freshly made pot of tea, twin teacups and saucers with little silver spoons, matching containers of cream and sugar, and a wooden basket brimming with sweets. The Professor set the items out on the table, putting the tray aside and pouring tea for them both as Linhardt stirred his desired amount of cream and sugar into his cup, letting the tea sit and cool for the moment. “I am happy that you invited me, even though it interferes with my nap time…” he started, and although he meant to say more, the captivating scent of Almyran Pine Needle caused him to look down in delight at his teacup. “Mmm, this tea is my favorite scent. So relaxing as to be downright sleep-inducing…” Well, that decided that; this was certainly a sign that after this, he should sleep and conserve his enthusiasm for a better day. Linhardt lifted the teacup to his lips, sighing in appreciation as the refreshing taste of pine needle hit his tongue. He almost wanted to ask how the Professor knew that this was his favorite, but thought better of it; given the Professor’s eccentric personality, the answer could range from “I’ve been observing your movements for an entire week and noticed you reacted favorably to pine trees” to “the leaves are the same color as your hair.”

Fortunately, the Professor broke the silence with some idle conversation about this and that, and Linhardt found himself being drawn in, enjoying the chance to relax and talk about some of his favorite topics with someone who truly bothered to listen. What a difference it made when someone was genuinely interested in what he had to say; it made his appreciation for both the Professor (and Caspar, for that matter) grow all the more.

Once conversation had dwindled, the two sat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying the calm atmosphere, when the Professor’s eyes drifted to Linhardt’s hair tie, and they stared at it in interest. Linhardt chuckled. “This hair band? Someone gave it to me, I think. Yet if that's the case, I've forgotten who.” The Professor gave him a ghost of a smile and a knowing look, as if they could tell that wasn’t the whole story, and Linhardt huffed good-naturedly before beginning to elaborate. “You see, Professor, Caspar and I are childhood friends. When we were young, I was invited to his father’s residence in Enbarr, and Count Bergliez took the opportunity to try to… eurgh… train me. I fell unconscious from heatstroke, and when I awoke, Caspar was at my bedside, watching over me. However, between the time that I fainted under the sun’s cruel rays and the time I returned to consciousness, someone had tied a hair band around my hair, and although it is abundantly clear who would have bothered to do so, he has refused to own up to his chivalrous act. Thus, I am forced to wear this ribbon daily, in the hopes that my kind and ever so mysterious benefactor will one day confess and I can express my appreciation properly.”

The Professor stared at him, wide-eyed for several moments before a rather undignified snort escaped them and they shook their head, taking another sip of tea. “What?” Linhardt questioned, unable to hold back his own quiet grin. “It’s just one of the many things that we tease each other about. Another one is that despite the fact that Caspar is four months older than I am, I’m still about a head taller. It’s just been the way of things ever since we were small, and quite frankly, as much as I want him to confess to giving me this ribbon, it is so very fun to tease him about it.” The Professor gave him a warm smile at that, and he answered their amused expression with a light-hearted chuckle of his own; everything he’d said was true, and while much of it was more personal than what he normally preferred to share, he had a feeling that all of his secrets were safe with the tight-lipped Professor.

The conversation then turned to other topics, and the two chatted about various subjects as they indulged in some of the sweet treats that the Professor had brought over before the conversation inevitably slowed, indicating that it was almost time to leave. The Professor handed Linhardt a fishing float, which he accepted gratefully, before they put their napkin on the table and pushed back their chair, a sure sign that tea time was over. Taking the cue, Linhardt followed suit. “That was delicious. It feels good to relax. Well, I'm off to catch a nap…” he sighed, quite satisfied with how he’d spent the afternoon. The Professor waved him off, and Linhardt turned and made a beeline for the dorms, fully intent on succumbing to sleep.

He was just crossing the courtyard when his eyes drifted toward the direction of the training grounds, and he slowed to a halt. Was Caspar there now, working his muscles as well as he could, striving toward his goal of becoming a great warrior of justice? Or was he perhaps in the dining hall, stuffing his face and almost choking on his food again? Linhardt rarely made a habit of wondering about such things, but with how much Caspar’s name had come up in conversation today, he supposed it was inevitable that thoughts of the blue-haired brawler would cross his mind. Perhaps most perplexing was why he cared so much. Certainly, Caspar was important, even precious to him, but for his best friend to occupy his mind like this was still somewhat unusual, and more unusual still was the warm feeling bubbling up in his stomach at the very thought of Caspar’s signature grin, rivaling even the sun; his unbridled energy and zest for whatever the world threw at him that Linhardt could only envy; and perhaps most telling, the way he always made time for Linhardt, always listened to his problems and offered a shoulder or a listening ear, and always cared about whatever Linhardt cared about.

His hand came up to play with his hair band, twirling the ribbon between his fingers as he hummed in consideration. Perhaps these feelings were best left unexamined until later. Overthinking the matter would only prove to be irksome, as it would distract from his studies, and even if these emotions were something he desired to follow up on, his fate would be decided for him the moment his days at the Officers’ Academy ended. Besides, who even knew how Caspar felt? Did he feel the same sparks of warmth in his chest when… if… he thought of Linhardt? Then again, even if he did, there was practically no chance at all of anything coming of it. Suddenly, Linhardt felt unusually restless, the very thought becoming rather distressing. Sleeping no longer sounded quite so appealing, so he meandered back to the Black Eagles classroom, finding that the seat he’d spotted earlier was still empty. With renewed vigor, Linhardt fished out his notes and began to study in earnest, losing himself in the world of words. He didn’t need to worry about his future right this minute; he was fortunate enough to have a wonderfully irreplaceable friendship with Caspar, and he would be grateful for the time they could spend together before they went their separate ways. That’s right. He still had time.

Notes:

Take a look at the original piece at Dannie's twitter here!
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