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It was an obvious trap. Hubert would never fall for such a thing, no, and neither would Ferdinand, both too experienced in the ways of war by now to even spare the enemy’s formation a second glance. The same could not be said for the villagers rallying behind the Empire who were merely trying to help out. Hubert hadn’t cared what they did with their lives, and at most he just hoped they could be of some use before they met their inevitable demise by the hands of slightly more clever enemies.
But, lo and behold, a more noble ally of his could not sit by and watch the villagers be surrounded as a number of soldiers suddenly transformed into divine beasts.
Considering how foolish somebody would have to be to wander so far from the main battlefield and go near the cliffs to be caught in their trap, it did work spectacularly well. There was no reconvening once they were cut off from the rest of the army, surrounded on all sides with the only chance of survival coming from the steep cliff behind them. Hubert knew Ferdinand could recognize what the enemy was planning. He knew the man wasn’t so foolish as to charge in blindly, and perhaps that’s what made his decision to rescue the villagers all the more infuriating.
It would be quite the blow to Edelgard’s morale and forces if they were to lose their future prime minister in battle now--at least, that’s what Hubert told himself as he charged in after him.
Now they have to deal with the consequences.
Oh, but it wasn’t all for naught, no; those idiotic simpletons Ferdinand injured himself rescuing all took the first chance they saw to escape, weaving back into the rest of the army and leaving the man to defend himself against a number of beasts alone. Had Hubert not acted as soon as he did, there’s no saying what would’ve happened to him.
Given, he isn’t in the best condition now, either.
“Ferdinand, can you hear me?” Hubert asks, finally returning to his side once he’s sure the shelter they’re in now will hold.
Laid out on a mossy slab of rock, Ferdinand groans, twisting his fingers into his bangs while he digs the palm of his hand over one of his eyes. It’s a weak noise that just barely scrapes from his throat, and Hubert frowns at the way the other writhes on the cave floor. He may not know much of medicine, but he knows monsters enough to know what kind of foe struck Ferdinand. Of course it would be the strongest of them, its long claws coated in fresh poison from its transformation. Ferdinand reacted immediately to the strike and lashed out with his lance, shattering the base of the monster’s claw lodged between his ribs.
The claw is still protruding from his chest, dangerously close to his lungs. Hubert can only hope that the fact his breathing is fine aside from being heavy means that his lungs themselves were not damaged in the attack. He isn’t coughing up blood or having trouble with the act of breathing itself, but if it punctured any other organs, he would have no way of knowing.
A knock from that same beast sent the two of them tumbling over the cliff’s edge.
Hubert can only pray that somebody heard them fall.
If he can be grateful for one thing, its that he himself was barely injured in the exchange. His shoulder was dislocated temporarily, and even with it popped back into place, he wouldn’t be able to climb back up to find help. Not that he would be able to climb as high as they fell without his fear of heights paralyzing him partway up.
For the sake of avoiding those beasts that could fly, he’d decided their best bet was to hide rather than make their presence known for their allies to rescue them. There’s still an entire battle going on, far enough now that he can no longer hear the clashing of swords or the exchange of magic. No, it’s wiser that they simply sit and wait for the battle to end, and when their disappearance is inevitably noticed, they’ll be searched for. It’s not like it’ll be particularly difficult to find them huddled in this shallow cliffside cave.
Which means he only has to worry about one thing.
It isn’t that Hubert doesn’t know anything about medicine, he simply isn’t a doctor well versed in these things. He knows that it is protocol to wait before removing arrowheads and blades alike from their wounds for fear of the patient bleeding out, but he also knows that there are exceptions to every general rule. Poison is the first.
“Ferdinand,” Hubert repeats, unsure how well the man is actually able to listen to him in this state. “I’m going to have to pull the claw out before the poison can spread. It’s going to hurt.” As long as they can remove it before too much has gone into his bloodstream, the body should be able to dispose of the foreign substance by itself. Hubert can dress a wound, he can’t treat poison.
Ferdinand cracks open an eye to look at him, sweat rolling down his forehead as he nods halfheartedly. “...okay, yeah. Just give me a… a countdown.”
Hubert agrees with a hum and removes his gloves. Even just reaching out to wrap his fingers around the base of the claw embedded deep in Ferdinand’s body makes the man wince, and Hubert has to avoid looking at his twisted face. It’s a pity they’ve gotten close enough for Hubert to actually care whether or not he’s in pain.
“Five… four… three--”
On three, Hubert suddenly grips the base tightly and pulls upward in one swift motion. Ferdinand’s body lurches up along with it, arching in pain as he cries out in a strained gasp. “ Bastard ,” Ferdinand coughs as he rolls onto his side. Like this, blood pours openly from his wound, and Hubert scrunches his nose up at the discolored liquid. What should be a rich, dark red is marred by a toxic addition, making it look darker than it regularly might. But this, too, is an important step in making sure Ferdinand isn’t injured worse than he already is, and all Hubert can do while the wound cleans itself out is sit beside him and let Ferdinand wring Hubert’s hand between his.
“Were you injured anywhere else?” Hubert asks once Ferdinand breathing has calmed to merely panting and no longer cursing under his breath.
“I… I think I hurt my leg during the fall… does it look bad?”
“Which one?”
“The left.”
The armor comes off easily, it’s the rest of his clothes that get in the way. Hubert has to use a dagger kept hidden in his boot to cut a seam up his left pant leg, slicing upwards until he sees anything out of the ordinary. He only has to go up to his knee, and then he stops.
Ferdinand lifts his head from where he’s lying to look down at him, unable to see Hubert’s face. “What is it, is it bad?”
It really depends on their definition of ‘bad’, doesn’t it? If ‘bad’ is a toxic wound that may end up being poisoned without any medical or magic assistance, then no, his leg isn’t that bad at all. But if ‘bad’ means swollen nearly twice his knee’s regular size and will certainly offer no assistance trying to climb out of the ravine, then yes, it’s very bad.
Hubert sighs and runs a hand through his hair, not even realizing it was matted to his forehead with sweat until now. “You make have broken it, I’m not sure just by looking. There’s no way you’ll be walking out of here.”
Ferdinand’s head falls back to the ground with a heavy sigh, then a wince. He stubbornly tries to move that leg experimentally, and Hubert watches him roll his foot with no trouble, flex his ankle and calf, then instantly groan once he tries to move his knee.
“Stop doing that, you’ll irritate what’s already inflamed,” Hubert instructs with a firm hand placed over his thigh. He doesn’t want to touch where Ferdinand’s knee is swollen and purple so he holds his entire leg down instead. “Stay still, I’m going to have to set it.”
He turns around to go through their combined inventory, taking stock of what they have together. Of course they would stop carrying vulneraries and antitoxin once they changed strategy to bring more healers onto the battlefield with them, right when they need them the most… Without any medicine, all Hubert can hope to do is take care of the injuries physically. He takes a hold of his own magic staff, given it’s the only sturdy object without a blade attached to it, and tears the bottom hem of his overcoat.
At the sound of fabric ripping, Ferdinand opens his eyes again and frowns at Hubert.
“...thank you for following me, Hubert,” he says quietly, voice still strained through pain. “I couldn’t… stand by and watch those townsfolk charge to their deaths. I am grateful you had my back.”
“As you should be; you would be dead otherwise. Trying to save them by yourself was foolish as well as suicidal,” Hubert says without looking up.
“Maybe so. But what kind of noble would I be to turn a blind eye?”
A living one, Hubert thinks, without a hole in his chest. But that’s jumping to conclusions. He remains silent while setting Ferdinand’s leg with slices of fabric from the bottom of his coat around the staff he carries. If his kneecap is broken, it won’t help all that much, but anything is better than nothing. All that matters is he keeps that leg from moving, and he has to ignore Ferdinand’s pained groans and the fingers scrambling against the rock for something to hold onto.
Help will come eventually. He trusts their empress not to simply leave without noticing they’re gone, and he is confident Edelgard will quickly dispatch a search party for them as soon as the battle is over. Ferdinand can wait that long, he has to.
Hubert turns to watch his face, the noble’s eyes scrunched closed as he holds a gloved hand over his wound. The hair covering his forehead is wetted down with sweat. Hubert reaches out to smooth the long locks out of his face to provide some momentary relief. Somehow, he’s the one who ends up feeling relieved when Ferdinand sighs and turns his head into Hubert’s hand.
Neither of them are strangers to war. Hubert especially has played a dirty role in the empire’s siege on the church, acting in the shadows where Edelgard would never allow such underhanded tactics to take place. He has interrogated, tortured, poisoned, threatened, everything nasty and disgusting that no noble would condone. By his own hand, he ended the lives of many people who likely didn’t deserve such a fate if only for the fact they opposed her highness. He tortured, watched, and relished in the pain on the faces of her majesty’s enemies.
The things he did to those people were much worse than what has happened to Ferdinand, and yet, he feels a strange anxiety in his chest that was never once extended to those he hurt. Something like empathy, an unfamiliar emotion that he’s only ever felt for Edelgard herself, more than he did for himself. It… makes him uncomfortable to watch Ferdinand writhe in pain. The two of them have become surprisingly close, and he can admit they’re friends by now. But never did he imagine it would come to the point of feeling so worried for somebody else.
He bites the emotions back to deal with another time. Only now does Hubert notice he never moved his hand, freezing it where Ferdinand has leaned his cheek into his palm. Under any other circumstances, he would immediately snatch his hand back, unfamiliar with prolonged contact like this, but to do so now would make him feel… guilty. Ferdinand’s breathing has evened out, despite his temperature still being relatively high, and it feels almost cruel to take away the touch that is calming him down.
Help will come. He knows they’ll be fine, and even in the worst case scenario, they’ll still be found eventually and Ferdinand will recover. Thinking through their situation logically, Hubert knows they’ll be okay.
So why does he still feel so helpless right now?
A weak voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and Hubert immediately wants to admonish Ferdinand for continuing to talk when he should be resting.
“I’m glad… it’s you here with me, Hubert…”
In the cave that usually echoes every word, Ferdinand’s voice is almost silent. It would be inaudible to anyone more than a meter away, and the fact is what makes Hubert realize he’s hunched over his figure to hear him. His hand remains on the side of Ferdinand’s face, gently sweeping the same strand of hair behind his ear and rebrushing it as the furrow between Ferdinand’s brow gradually relaxes.
He must finally find sleep then, because Ferdinand falls silent without waiting for a response. Hubert doesn’t know what he would say, if he even could, if Ferdinand remained awake. He probably wouldn’t have even tried to say anything, unsure what words he could possibly use to offer comfort or return any of the deep sentiment found in Ferdinand’s tattered voice. His words make Hubert’s stomach curl into knots, inexplicably burning with anger that seems to have come from nowhere.
Even when the pegasus knights find them, even when the healers immediately tend to Ferdinand and guide Hubert back to Edelgard’s side, that venomous, seething rage does not fade away.
It takes a few days of travel to return to the monastery. While Hubert rides his horse alongside his empress, Ferdinand rests in one of the carriages towards the middle of their army being overseen by medics. It turns out the poison, although moderate, got to him after all, and it will be a while before he’s physically well enough to ride a horse by himself. The fact he isn’t yet conscious is hardly worth mentioning. He leaves the medical work to those qualified and falls right back into step with his own duties as Edelgard’s right hand.
There is much to be done after every battle regardless of its outcome, though this one was fortunately positive. Their losses were relatively minimal, and they have gained great favor with the villagers after Ferdinand (and somehow Hubert’s) heroic display. Hubert won’t purposely ruin his own image by denying his involvement, but he makes sure Ferdinand’s name is the one they remember.
He spends the next couple days at the monastery writing letters to inform their allies of this recent battle’s results and their next moves. Edelgard and Byleth remain in charge of discussing literal tactics for their next siege, and Hubert follows along with anything they come up with, making sure everything is able to fall into place as they would see fit. He works day and night corresponding with their other bases of operations as well as Edelgard’s uncle, the bastard he is, relying on coffee to keep him awake while he works. Somehow, sleep doesn’t sound so appealing recently.
So he confronts the problem at its source. It isn’t as if Hubert is so emotionally stunted that he isn’t aware exactly what’s causing his distress, even if he isn’t pleased by it.
Ferdinand is sitting up in bed when Hubert walks into the infirmary, and as soon as he lifts his head to see his visitor, his face breaks out into a large smile. “Hubert!” he greets, and by his volume alone, Hubert can tell he’s feeling much better.
He’s dressed not so modestly, a simple undershirt unbuttoned down the middle so the nurses have easier access to his injuries. Hubert can see from here the bandages wrapped around his abdomen, relieved to see they’re pure white and not splotched red. Although a blanket is covering his legs, he can only assume the wounded knee must be doing better if he’s able to sit with both his legs bent up.
Hubert pulls up a chair to Ferdinand’s bed and sits with a heavy sigh. “Your work is piling up on my desk. Surely you won’t be here much longer?”
Ferdinand is able to discern the concern hidden in his voice and chuckles sympathetically. “I’m feeling much better already. Manuela said I should be clear to leave within the next few days, all thanks to your help.”
Before coming here, Hubert had prepared not quite a monologue, but something like a script of predetermined phrases he would say to Ferdinand. Things like ‘your absence is stressing her majesty’ or ‘does it truly take so long to heal’ or maybe even a ‘the garden is much quieter recently’ if the mood shifted correctly. Instead, he falters, blinking in confusion for just a moment before he steels his features again.
“You have no reason to thank me, I was unable to treat any of your injuries.” The part about him diving into battle behind him is a different story he doesn’t want to bring up right now. He could excuse his actions for hours on end about duty and the war and all sorts of things about protecting Edelgard. They would all be true, but it wouldn’t be all encompassing of Hubert’s reason for following him, and being unable to express that fully makes his chest ache in a familiar way.
But Ferdinand continues to smile and shakes his head. “You say that, and yet I insist on thanking you. Even if given the choice, I wouldn’t have had anybody else with me down there.”
He says it with so much feeling, so much sincerity and emotion that’s purely Ferdinand that Hubert wants to believe him. His words don’t make any sense to him, and Hubert looks at him as if he’s speaking another language, but he wants to believe it anyways. The only words that come from his mouth are a confused “What?” that sounds more bewildered than he would have liked. He quickly backs himself up with more composure. “Don’t say such things. Just because I use magic does not mean I am a healer. There’s nothing that I could do for you if it were to happen again.”
Ferdinand doesn’t back down from his words and nods. With his hands folded in his lap, he lowers his head and watches his own fingers worry in the edge of the sheets pooled at his hip. “True, you may not be able to physically heal me, but… I was certain that I could’ve died down there. Knowing I was poisoned, feeling the wound in my stomach, not feeling my leg? I was terrified.”
The images of Ferdinand’s flushed face, panting as he cried out in pain and writhed on the stone returns to Hubert’s mind. He wishes it didn’t.
“But you were there, Hubert,” Ferdinand continues. “Knowing that it was you with me helped immensely. You still helped me with what you could. And honestly? You’re such a logical and rational person, I thought that if I really was going to die, you would’ve been able to tell and just killed me quickly to get it over with--so the fact I was alive meant I would make it!”
He says the last part with a laugh, looking back up at Hubert, but he doesn’t return the smile. A pit has appeared in his belly where all his organs may have once been that only feels empty now. He doesn’t want to laugh, and he wishes Ferdinand wouldn’t laugh either. Almost as soon as Ferdinand sees Hubert’s face harden, he quickly sobers his merry mood and falls silent again, smile dying off quickly.
“I… would never do that,” is all Hubert can think to say.
It reminds him of those strange and horrible feelings he’d had that day, crouched in the cave by Ferdinand’s side. An unfamiliar helplessness he’s only experienced once or twice in his life, all of course by Edelgard’s side. To have them directed towards another person, with a different… emotion associated with them is as odd as it is frightening, and there’s no easy way to reconcile why he cannot reason his way through these meddlesome thoughts. He’s the dagger Edelgard wields in the dark who is able to think and plan fifteen steps ahead. He’s always thinking, his every move and action calculated weeks in advance.
And yet he couldn’t help but come up with a reason for following Ferdinand until after it already happened.
“...I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Ferdinand says, finally meeting Hubert’s eye again. “There is… no proud way to say that I was comforted by your presence and hand on my cheek, regardless of how you were simply trying to keep me from bleeding out in a panicked frenzy. Had it been anyone else with me, I do not know that I would have been able to keep calm under those circumstances.”
It isn’t an irrational fear. If Ferdinand’s heart rate had continued to elevate, the poison would have gone through his body much faster, and he may not have been so lucky in this stage of healing.
Hubert doesn’t say anything, for fear of not knowing what to say. He watches Ferdinand’s chest expand with a deep breath before he’s speaking again. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I’m a grown man, the son of the previous prime minister and heir to the House of Aegir, and back there all I could think about was…”
“I followed because I was worried for you,” Hubert says when Ferdinand trails off. “Doing so and being forced to come to terms with my own shortcomings--being there and yet being unable to do anything, has plagued me for nights. Addressing any kind of… insecurity ,” he practically growls the word, “has left me feeling constantly humiliated.”
He would regret confiding this personal information later, Hubert thinks. These are issues of his he should take to the grave, never allowing anyone the humor of knowing. Not even Edelgard herself should be aware of any petty feelings he might have in regards to his own worthiness or ability. They’re all irrelevant, and silly does not begin to describe the depths of loathing Hubert feels for his own imperfections.
Yet slowly, the smile returns to Ferdinand’s face, and he thinks it may not have been a bad idea to divulge his inner thoughts just this once.
“It appears we both have our own weaknesses, don’t we?” Ferdinand says, and Hubert allows himself to smile as well.
“Who would believe it?”
“Nobody,” Ferdinand says matter of factly. “But--I believe you.”
He feels his heart swell, and the sensation is not as unpleasant as it used to be. That darkness from before that coiled in his stomach slowly begins to unwind as Ferdinand lifts his hand from the bed. Hubert reaches out to meet him halfway and holds his hand. “And I you. I expect you to take this to your grave.”
“But of course. The two of us are locked in oath of secrecy, now.”
Having some reason to be sworn to Ferdinand’s side doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, Hubert thinks. With their hands entwined and laying together on top of the cot’s white sheets, he can’t help but feel like this may be the most intimate they’ve ever been. They’ve had tea times that would drag on for hours, meetings that lasted until wee hours of the night, and have shed blood together on more than one occasion. Even compared to their time in the cave on the cliffside where Ferdinand was wounded and bleeding as Hubert panicked, trying to help him however he could--it doesn’t compare to this moment where they’re both perfectly lucid and choosing to be here. Choosing each other.
“You should rest,” Hubert says. “I won’t cover your work forever.”
“Believe me, I’m itching to get out of here and back to a different stuffy room where I also sit down all day,” Ferdinand says even as he begins to lie down. He’s mindful of his leg as he scoots down the bed to lean back on the two flat pillows stacked at the head. Logically, Hubert thinks he must lay on his side as to not disturb his injured knee. Hopefully, he wonders if it might be so that Ferdinand doesn’t have to let go of the hand he still holds even as he settles back into bed.
With one arm under him and the other holding Hubert’s hand, he can’t do anything else, so Hubert humors him and pulls the sheets up to his chest for him. Ferdinand hums at the favor, obviously pleased and closes his eyes with a content sigh.
“...Hubert.” The smile falls from his face slowly, his eyes remaining closed as he speaks, and Hubert suddenly thinks that he doesn’t want to hear whatever Ferdinand is going to say. “When I thought… that I might die down there. I thought of how you would be the last… the last person--”
“Don’t say anything more, Ferdinand. Please.”
Hubert’s hand tightens around his. Ferdinand squeezes back, not saying another word as his breathing slowly evens out. Even when Hubert’s sure that Ferdinand is asleep, the hand in his doesn’t loosen, and Hubert doesn’t have the heart to let go first.
He does eventually, though, and when Ferdinand eventually wakes in the evening, he is alone. The only company in the room is the comforting scent of rose-petal tea on the nightstand by his cot, hot to the touch. Next to the pot is two cups, and he thinks one of them might smell faintly like it had been used to drink something more bitter, the white inside stained dark brown. It’s obvious the clean cup was intended for Ferdinand to use, but he can’t resist pouring his tea in the dirty one with a splash of coffee still remaining at the bottom.