Chapter Text
The truth of it is that they are losing the war. The truth of it is that Ferdinand cannot bring himself to care. The last five years since that night in the cathedral have been exhausting in ways he could not ever have anticipated as a boy. They’re at a stalemate with Dmitri chomping at the bit on one side and Claude on the other, cunning and ready to seize any opportunity to tip things in the Alliance’s favor.
His father is on house arrest no matter the outcome of the war, his future remains precarious. Some days it seems easier to fall in battle than to have to sort out the mess of his fortunes - then he’ll at least be remembered as some sort of hero.
“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, drawing him out of his reverie.
Ferdinand shakes his head and smiles, “Ah, excuse me. I fear my skills as a teatime companion are lacking today.” Ferdinand isn’t sure when it became habitual to make time for tea with Hubert in his weekly schedule. The last five years have been long and difficult, and his friends have changed so much. Hubert has become a sort of anchor for them all, he supposes. He’s changed too, of course, but less noticeably.. Hubert is… safe. Reassuring. Something that they have all grown used to leaning on from time to time.
“Hm,” Hubert says, taking a swig of his coffee. “I have never been one for tea in general, so I suppose I can let it slide.”
The tilt of Hubert’s head betrays his teasing, distracting Ferdinand from his dark thoughts. At the very least, moments like these have come from the war. “Oh? The emperor’s shadow is feeling generous today, I see. I appreciate you not cutting my heart out and offering it to Edelgard as a penalty for my lack of attention.”
Hubert’s mouth quirks, “That would only be necessary if you were to ignore Lady Edelgard.”
“Ah, so I may ignore you as much as I please then?” Ferdinand says, leaning back in his chair. “I wish I had known that back at the academy.”
Hubert laughs, and Ferdinand finds himself wondering how Bernadetta could have ever found it terrifying. “You couldn’t ignore me if you tried.”
Ferdinand does not deign to respond. He can recognize bait when he hears it, after all. Well, he can recognize it most of the time.
“Hubert!” Edelgard cries, running over to them. There’s a flush to her cheeks and a wild look in her eyes - no concern for appearances at all.
Across from him, Hubert jolts to his feet, bowing stiffly. “Lady Edelgard. Is something the matter? I-”
“Hubert she’s back ,” Edelgard says, her voice thick with emotion. Ferdinand has never seen such unrestrained happiness on her face before; it makes her look so very young. Edelgard, stopped in front of them, clenches her fists at her sides, face still clear with joy. “The professor’s back.”
-
There has not been this much hope in the air at Garegg Mach Monastery since before the war began. It’s contagious; Ferdinand is drunk on it. A small party, Edelgard had said, just something to celebrate them all having lived long enough to see Byleth again. And it is small, just the original Black Eagles holed up in the common room on the second floor, none of the generals or other members of the Imperial army.
Edelgard sits pressed against the professor’s side, smiling so wide her cheeks must ache. Ferdinand does not think she has left it all night - he keeps catching her staring at Byleth, like the woman will vanish if not kept under constant surveillance.
He understands the feeling. The professor’s return feels too fortuitous to be true. He keeps expecting this to be a dream, for the smiles on everyone’s faces to melt away. Every minute that passes drives home the truth of the matter a little bit more, but he is not sure that he’ll ever truly believe it.
It’s late in the evening and he cannot tell if it’s the wine or the excitement that’s getting to everyone. Dorothea is more lively than she’s been in years and Linhardt has managed to stay awake the whole gathering. Even Hubert seems pleased. He hasn’t expressed it as outwardly as the rest of them, but Ferdinand saw him touch the professor’s arm earlier and lean in to whisper something in her ear.
“Reflecting, von Aegir?” Hubert says, sitting down in the chair next to him and breaking him out of his reverie. “That’s quite unlike you.”
Ferdinand laughs, “And I could swear that I saw you smile when Edelgard presented the professor. What is happening to us?”
Hubert looks at him for a long moment, “Who can say.”
The expression on Hubert’s face is… strange. He’s smiling, almost imperceptibly, but there’s a tightness to his eyes that suggests he’s still on guard against something. Ferdinand doesn’t know what it means. Ferdinand takes a sip from his wine glass, turning his attention back to the festivities. Dorothea is at the front of the room singing, and it has been so long since he’s seen an opera. The common room isn’t very large, especially with all of the Black Eagles in it, and her voice fills the whole room easily. After Dorothea’s sung a few songs, Petra jumps to her feet, rushing to the front of the room and grabbing Dorothea’s hands excitedly. Her voice falters as Petra begins to lead her in a dance, and never quite recovers as she attempts to sing and dance at the same time. As lovely as she’d sounded, Ferdinand prefers her this way, laughing so hard that she can barely get any of the notes in her aria out. Caspar cackles, and there’s a smile on Linhardt’s face that Ferdinand has not seen in far, far too long. Edelgard is laughing, her eyes bright and shining like a girl’s again. Bernadetta sits in the corner by herself, but there’s a flush to her cheeks and a tentative smile on her face.
As these things go, it’s not much of a party, but Ferdinand is thankful for it nonetheless. He turns to look at Hubert again, taking in the angles of his face. War has not been kind to Hubert: his eyes are sunken and his mouth is thin. Even so, there is a lightness to his eyes that Ferdinand had not even realized was missing. Hubert needed the professor’s return just as much as the rest of them.
“This still does not feel entirely real,” Ferdinand says.
Hubert nods, “I thought it was a trick, at first. Some clever disguise meant to throw us off in order to assassinate Lady Edelgard.”
He would mock Hubert for his paranoia, but it almost seems more likely than the truth. “But you think it is truly her?”
A pause, and then Hubert nods. “I questioned her. She knew things others would not, remembered private conversations between the two of us.”
Ferdinand turns his gaze to where the professor and Edelgard sit. Edelgard is talking, animatedly, and Byleth nods slowly, cupping her chin in her hand. It’s unthinkable that someone else would be able to imitate the professor’s mannerisms so accurately. “So you are convinced?”
“I am,” Hubert replies. “Are you?”
Dorothea breaks away from Petra and rushes over to the professor, taking her by the hand. Byleth shakes her head mutely, but Dorothea laughs loudly and ignores her, pulling her to her feet. “I think so,” Ferdinand says. “It will take some time for me to feel secure with the knowledge. Regardless, I am pleased that she is back.”
“As am I,” Hubert answers.
Dorothea and the professor have started dancing, Petra having pulled Edelgard to her feet as well. “I must get going,” Hubert says. “They will doubtlessly try to have me dance, and I have work I should finish before the day’s end.”
Ferdinand does not want him to leave. “I should go as well.”
Hubert smirks, “Oh? But I thought you loved to dance?”
“I also have work that needs doing,” Ferdinand says, squaring his shoulders. He’s not sure if Hubert believes him, but he at least doesn’t question him further.
“I see,” Hubert says.
“I will probably finish up my reports over a cup of tea,” Ferdinand says. He’s had just a little too much to drink and doesn’t want to be alone; that is surely the reason why he is so desperate to stay in Hubert’s company a little longer. “Would you care to join me?”
Again, there is that strange look in Hubert’s eye. “I suppose it is too late for coffee. Very well.” He turns and catches Edelgard’s eye across the room, bowing stiffly with one arm behind his back before turning and walking away, barely waiting for Ferdinand at all. How Hubert managed to convey his intentions to her so swiftly, with no spoken words at all, Ferdinand does not know, but he does not doubt Edelgard would be able to find them in an instant if needed. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself and follows Hubert out of the room.
-
Their celebrations do not last as long as any of them would like. Dorothea jokes about their temporary show of happiness as she knocks her shoulder against Hubert’s, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She used to smile so easily, and now Ferdinand wishes he knew a way to make it so once more.
With the professor back, everyone’s dedication to the war effort has increased tenfold. Troops already prepare to mobilize, and the professor and the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force have been hammering out last minute plans for their next attack. They’re set to leave in the morning and Ferdinand is already filled with the same sort of anticipation he gets before every battle. It’s not nerves, but the thrumming in his veins and restlessness in his limbs hints at something akin to them. Preparations are always afoot the day before they leave, and throughout it all Ferdinand is always intimately aware that this could be the last time he ever sees the monastery. Amongst it all though, Edelgard is steely, a sea of calm in the chaos. Hubert stands at her side, ever the same. Even here, with all of the strike force crowded around their war table, the two of them are unreadable.
“Ferdinand, how have arrangements for the cavalry been coming?” Edelgard, as always, sounds like she has never doubted any of this. Of course she hasn’t; she’s been planning this war since she was a child.
“Morale is up.” Ferdinand says,“Some of the soldiers had begun to have… doubts, as of late. Nothing of any significance, but there were worries that the war would not progress past the stalemate.” He is underselling the morale problems slightly, but there isn’t any point in worrying her over something already in the past. Besides, Ferdinand sympathizes with the troops and their uncertainty. He supports Edelgard wholeheartedly, of course, but he has had his moments of doubt as well. They were small, private moments, never shared with anyone, but they have still plagued him. Now though, having seen Edelgard’s glory and success in battle and with the tide of the war finally starting to change, he can’t help but hope that he’d banished his doubts for good.
“That’s good to hear.” Edelgard says distantly, her gaze sweeping over the battle map. At her side, Byleth nods, her face unreadable. He wishes he had her talent for concealing expressions; he is far too quick to show emotion.
“Once the Bridge of Myrddin is under our control, we are free to go after Derdriu,” Hubert says. “The sooner we deal with the Alliance, the better.” He steps closer to the table, pushing one of their units over to the bridge. “Judith von Daphnel is a formidable foe. We’ll have to strike quickly and focus our efforts on her before she can summon reinforcements or attempt to outmaneuver us.”
Byleth nods again, then gestures for the rest of the table to look towards the map, opening her palm towards the ceiling, “We could have a small, fast team run up the side of the battlefield to create a diversion.”
Edelgard taps one of her nails on the table, “They would likely focus their efforts there instead of the bulk of our forces, who could then march up unobstructed and attack Judith head on.”
Hubert steps aside to let the professor rearrange some of their units, and for some reason - Goddess knows why - he steps to the left, directly into Ferdinand’s space, instead of back to his spot at Edelgard’s side. Ferdinand cannot recall Hubert ever being this close to him, except maybe to yell at him. None of the others seem to take any notice of it, not even Hubert himself - this close, Ferdinand can see the fine, short hairs on the back of Hubert’s neck. It’s odd that he’s staring, surely, but he can’t stop himself. Hubert takes such better care of his hair now than he did in their academy days, and Ferdinand has an inane desire to reach out and lay his hand on the back of Hubert’s neck. He lets himself indulge in the fantasy of that not being out of the question for just a moment: he’d rest his hand there, swirl his fingers in the hair at the nape of Hubert’s neck. Ferdinand jerks his gaze away from the back of Hubert’s neck, his face burning. He has no idea what has come over him, and he would really rather not dwell on it.
The professor steps back, leaving plenty of room for Hubert to step away from him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns back towards the table, still far too close for comfort. All he can think about is the few centimeters of space between their bodies. It’s almost as if he can feel the heat coming off of Hubert’s body. He wants to tell Hubert to - to something. He needs to tell Hubert to move. He needs to tell Hubert to step away. He needs to tell Hubert to make up his mind and stop being so distracting.
Hubert moves.
He turns back towards the war table, but in doing so his shoulder presses against Ferdinand’s. Ferdinand’s heart is in his throat, and for no good reason. Hubert has surely touched him before, hasn’t he? Goddess, is this all it takes to drive him to distraction these days? He shakes his head, trying to refocus.
“Yes, Ferdinand?” Edelgard says, stopping mid-sentence. “You disagree?”
He was so focused on the gentle press of Hubert’s shoulder against his that he has completely missed whatever Edelgard was saying. In vain, he tries to come up with anything passingly intelligent to say, but it’s no use.
“Disregard it,” he says, “I have no meaningful complaints. I am simply concerned about fighting Judith. I know this will be a difficult battle.”
Edelgard nods, although he can’t tell if she bought that or not. To her right, Byleth raises an eyebrow but doesn’t remark on his non-answer. Ferdinand tightens his grip on the table. He is going to focus for the rest of the meeting. He is not going to think about the warmth from Hubert’s body that is slowly seeping into his bones, making a home there.
Hubert doesn’t move for the rest of the meeting, and Ferdinand never quite manages to regain his composure. It was such a simple gesture, but any expression of sentimentality (if this could even be called that) from Hubert feels more significant than affection from the others.
“Alright,” Edelgard says at last, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I think that’s a solid plan for the battle. We’ll depart in the morning. Try and get some rest before then.” She turns and walks out of the room, Hubert a half-step behind her, as usual.
Ferdinand turns to leave, his thoughts still lingering on Hubert. As he heads towards his room, Byleth falls into step beside him.
“You’ll be focused on the battlefield, won’t you?” she says.
Ferdinand straightens his back, trying not to let his embarrassment show. He’s always been taller than their professor but goodness, he looms over her now. It’s unsettling; to think that he’s grown and changed and she looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. “I am always focused when we are fighting,” he says. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir, legitimate heir of House Aegir, and I do not get distracted during battles!”
Declaring himself the legitimate heir of House Aegir no longer has the same ring to it, nor does it produce the same slight smile it used to in Byleth. Instead, it reminds him of his father, still on house arrest and stripped of his titles. He is no longer the heir to anything at all, nor is his name something to be proud of.
“Just be careful,” the professor says at last, once the two of them have reached the door to his room. “I want all of you to live to see the end of this war.”
Ferdinand squeezes the professor’s hands and musters up the most convincing smile he can. It had not truly occurred to him that the professor would need reassurance as well. “We will, I promise. I will see you in the morning.”