#byhardt

Last batch of doodles and wips. Now, boy-themed (...with Hilda and Edelgard lol)

M!Byleth x Linhardt

rating: t

ongoing, 5 chapters, 35k words

Summary: Recruited to Golden Deer by the charming new Professor, Linhardt navigates personal growth as well as his developing feelings while he tries to hold on to his pacifistic values in a world ever falling toward violence. Follows the events of the game but with a focus on original scenes and moments that happen in-between the plot, rather than a strict novelization of canon.

Excerpt:

“Blood makes you ill?” He swallows. He really wishes he was asleep right now. “Yes, well. Some people are such.” Byleth pauses, then arrives at a hardened sort of seriousness. “What happened to you today was my fault. I’m sorry.” He’s surprised. A bit. He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t an apology. He manages to meet Byleth’s eyes again, because he’s intrigued now. The professor lets go of his arm, now that he isn’t trying to escape any more. “Sorry? …Ah, perhaps you’re still getting accustomed to being a teacher. I believe you’re supposed to scold me now.” That tiny crease returns to the spot between Byleth’s eyes. “For what?” Linhardt isn’t sure if the professor is testing him, or if he’s just as socially ignorant as he himself can be. “I’ve been told by all other teachers that it’s a big problem for a student of the Officer’s Academy to have such an aversion to…well, the exact goal of combat.” “Garreg Mach teaches more than combat.” “Mm. Yes, but it’s ultimately the point, isn’t it?” Byleth glances downward. He has no way to refute that without lying. “But.” Linhardt goes softer, meeker. “I don’t want to overcome that aversion.” He can sense that Byleth is seeking eye contact, but he definitely isn’t up to that. He watches a couple stray cats lounging in the grass at the edge of the courtyard. “Battle is not something I ever want to get used to. I understand that, for some people on certain paths, it’s necessary to become callous enough to ignore the consequence of one’s violent actions. But why is that treated like the norm? Why do people who can so easily end a life want to tell me I’m the one who’s got something wrong with him? I find it not only natural, but right to be abhorred by bloodshed. Maybe if that was treated as ordinary, less people would bleed.” Linhardt realizes he’s been speaking for much longer than most people let him, and chances a glance at Byleth. He finds no trace of impatience there. But he feels self-conscious all the same, so he swiftly brings his explanation to its point. “If that’s a weakness, fine. I’d prefer to stay the way I am, all the same.” He prepares to endure a proper lecture, then, because surely hearing that will make the Professor’s cloudy eyes flash with disapproval. It will be sharp and (goddess grant him) quick, and it will drill down into the same old cavities: the importance of having the right sort of attitude and other such failings. Afterwards, he will retreat with stinging knuckles to a soft grassy haven. All he has to do is wait it out. What the Professor says instead makes Linhardt’s mind go blank.

“Would you like to join my class?”

Let's do it!

Byleth let out a sigh, watching the line sway lightly in the breeze as they waited for the fish to latch. Ever since they returned, they rarely got a chance to relax. And luckily, for the first time in weeks, there was a job that would be just the ticket.

So they sat in their chair by the river, waiting for the fish.

Linhardt sat beside him, constantly admiring their new equipment. "I still can't believe they managed to provide these. The reel will make this so much easier."

"I'm not so sure about that," Byleth said. "Depends on the fish."

"Fair enough. Though given our location-"

Byleth smiled and held back a laugh. Linhardt always seemed to loose himself in a lecture when it was something he was genuinely curious about. And the look of childlike wonder in his eyes just made it all the more precious. They had missed that so much.

A sharp tug on Linhardt's line alerted them both to a big catch, and soon the two of them needed to jump to their feet. Byleth tossed aside their rod, grabbing onto Linhardt's as the young mage started being pulled towards the water.

"What is this?!" Linhardt cried out. "A Goddess Messenger?"

"Whatever it is," Byleth said, "it's huge!"

The two tugged and pulled, trying to turn the reel and keep from being pulled into the water. In a desperate attempt to beat the beast, Byleth wrapped their arms around Linhardt's waist and began to try and carry him backwards. Linhardt pulled back with the rod, exhorting more force than he ever gave outside of battle. Their faces both turned red from the effort.

They pulled. And pulled. And pulled. And with every pull backwards, they were pulled forward twice. Until Byleth's feet were teetering on the edge of the bank, with Linhardt's dangling as they held onto him.

Until the line finally snapped, sending the two stumbling and falling into the waters the rod breaking with a sickening crack before floating down the riverway.

Byleth quickly stumbled up as he helped Linhardt sit upright. They patted his back to knock any water out of him, while Linhardt clung to their collar to keep steady.

And then Byleth saw his hair. Linhardt's long, deep emerald green hair, normally neatly tied back, was now loose and fell around him like waterfalls, covering his face.

"Maybe less waterfalls and more like a sheepdog," they mumbled.

"P-pardon?" Linhardt coughed.

"Your hair."

Linhardt lifted his head up, scowling for a moment before letting go of the Professor.

And splashing them in the face.

"Hey!" Byleth laughed, splashing him back. "That's not very mature!"

Linhardt pulled his hair from his face, his expression now relaxed. "There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t act childish at times."

They continued their battle of will, splashing each other and trying to push the other to fall back into the water. Neither could remember who threw the first mud ball.