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The first time Ferdinand attempts to court him, Hubert refuses.
“Allow me to court you properly. Have tea with me tomorrow afternoon,” says Ferdinand.
Smoothly, unflinchingly, Hubert responds, “I haven’t the slightest interest in courting, von Aegir, but I will take tea with you, if you are still so inclined. We can go through the latest batch of reports.”
They’ve just adjourned another war council, which undoubtedly spells another series of sleepless nights for Hubert, what with all the papers he must meticulously sift through. The last of the council members had left, and Hubert had been on his way to his office to begin that arduous process before Ferdinand stopped him in the hall.
Ferdinand’s face falls, if but for a fraction of a second, and then it is replaced with a dazzling smile, as bright as those long locks of orange hair cascading over his shoulders. If Hubert hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed it. But Hubert always pays attention to Ferdinand.
The Prime Minister is a mess, after all, though decidedly much more competent than the bloviating excuse for a noble Hubert avoided at all costs five years ago. Admittedly, the Ferdinand now is a completely different man, one Hubert works with closely in service to Lady Edelgard in her quest to end the war. Still, under the veil of shadows through which Hubert operates, he watches Ferdinand closely, scrutinizing his every move for signs of weakness, for mistakes. Just as he silently and secretly vets every other individual in the Imperial army.
Failure is not an option for them, after all, and Hubert will snuff out any problems before they even have a chance to break the surface.
“Very well,” Ferdinand exclaims. “Tomorrow afternoon, the gardens. You can bring the reports, and I will bring the drinks.”
Hubert grimaces. “Or,” he suggests, “you can meet me in my study. It’s a much safer location for discussing sensitive matters.”
Ferdinand lets out a shaky laugh. “Right you are, von Vestra. I shall see you there tomorrow, then.”
“Indeed.”
Conversation over, Hubert turns on his heels and continues down the darkened hallway from the deserted war room to his personal office.
~o~
Hubert’s study is dimly lit, surrounded along three walls with bookcases, most of them filled with thick, heavy tomes. They’re all neatly organized by shelf, by topic – the different classes of magic, research on poisons sorted by their effects and pathways, history, weapons and their various techniques, types of warfare and appropriate battle strategies. Some of his notebooks are strewn across his desk, which faces the doorway, but most are below in his laboratory. For now, his focus is on the stack of papers directly in front of him, detailing various supply and equipment orders, with much wordier negotiation documents hidden underneath. Those are for later, when Ferdinand arrives.
Hubert does not care for surface politics, for outward appearances and false smiles that don’t reach eyes. Operating in the dark, in his lab, with his spy network – that is where he belongs. One must become a shadow to understand how they function, after all.
Ferdinand, on the other hand, though at times overly excitable and prone to fits of emotion, has come to excel in his dealings with the other ministers, as much as Hubert is loath to admit it. His cheerful demeanor, his gregarious smile – his assets are made for winning people over. Unlike Hubert. If Ferdinand shines in drawing people in, Hubert’s proficiencies lie in taking people out.
There’s a knock on his door, and it opens before Hubert can say anything. He swiftly waves his hand to disarm his magical traps just as Ferdinand strides into the office, carrying a tray of porcelain cups and pots.
Ferdinand beams at him, flashing pristine white teeth, his eyes aglow with mirth, and says, “All right, my friend, it is time for our tea break!”
“One day, you are going to get yourself impaled on a dark spike if you show no caution prior to entering my workspace,” retorts Hubert.
“Nonsense, I know you would never allow any harm to befall me,” Ferdinand chuckles, all naïve exuberance, tossing his radiant hair back.
If Hubert has grown to find his blind trust somewhat endearing, it’s mostly drowned out by the way it grates at every nerve. He wrenches his gaze from orange locks, bends back over a weapons checklist, tosses a quick glare from beneath the dark bangs falling over his face. “One day I will be too busy to dispel them in time.”
“Too busy for me?” Ferdinand has adopted a tone of mock offense, but he is far too genuine a person to pull that off. “I highly doubt that.”
Hubert glowers at him. “Do not make the mistake of assuming you are more important than the Adrestian Empire,” he warns for what feels like the millionth time. “Given the choice, you know where my loyalty lies.”
Ferdinand shakes his head at him with a sly grin and a click of his tongue. “My dear von Vestra,” he chides lightly, “a man of your cunning will always find a way to do both.”
“Hmph.” Hubert shrugs off the compliment with the same ease he applies upon receiving magical attacks on the battlefield. Ferdinand is still casting his shadow over him. “Sit yourself down, von Aegir, we’ve got work to do.”
“Work to do, but more importantly, warm beverages to indulge in.”
A gentle clanging noise, and the tray is deposited on the far edge of Hubert’s desk, just in front of the stack of parchment. Hubert finally looks up, and properly notices the two pots on the tray, the two very distinct smells: one earthy and bitter, the other light and fruity.
“Ferdinand,” he says, startled, “did you bring tea and coffee?”
His freckles stand out like stars against his blush. “You prefer coffee, and I prefer tea,” he says, voice softer now, though no less resolute. “This way, we can each drink to our liking. Here, allow me.”
Ferdinand pours a cup of coffee and hands it over to Hubert with a napkin in hand. When he pours himself a glass of the tea, he adds a small amount of milk and sugar. While both of their drinks had started out dark, despite their distinguished scents, Ferdinand’s now takes on a lighter brown tone. Hubert finds himself slightly mollified that Ferdinand has also picked up on Hubert’s inclination to drink his coffee black.
Then Ferdinand finally sits in the chair across Hubert and raises his cup in a toast. “To an afternoon of wonderful company,” he declares.
Hubert grimaces. “To an afternoon of productivity,” he returns instead, raising his cup of coffee.
Ferdinand rolls his eyes and touches the rim of his cup to his lips. “You would do well to take a break, once in a while,” he says before tilting his head back and taking a sip.
Admittedly, some time to relax sounds positively luxurious. But they won’t have such extravagances available to them unless they win this war, and even then, there will still be so much work to do, what with sorting out any kinks with the reunification of Fódlan, suppressing any small rebellions that will undoubtedly rise in the process, extending their new government’s reach and appointing appropriate ministers for the regions outside the current Empire and then overseeing them, and –
Hubert closes his eyes while he swallows down some coffee. Bitter and harsh, brewed to perfection. Of course Ferdinand would do whatever it took to ensure the coffee was partial to his tastes. Ferdinand gives his all to everything, refusing to back down from any challenge, never satisfied until he rises to the top of whatever task he’s set his mind to. That type of work ethic certainly warrants taking a break from time to time.
“Then we’d better end this war soon,” Hubert replies evenly. “Until then, Lady Edelgard is counting on me to continue guiding her path and accomplishing anything she needs to maintain the advantage.”
Ferdinand scoffs, raising his leg and bending his knee so that his foot rests on the seat of the chair, leans his arm holding the cup of tea over his knee, waving it vaguely in Hubert’s direction. “This is precisely why I would have rather taken tea with you in the gardens,” he declares. “Surely you don’t think Edelgard cannot manage things on her own for an hour or two?”
Hubert bristles. “I never even implied such a thing,” he snaps, placing his cup on the desk with just the right amount of force to make a satisfying enough clunk that does not spill the liquid in the process. “However, it is a pure mathematical fact that less progress is made when less people are working on their tasks. We’re wasting time with this idle chatter.”
Ferdinand’s face falls. He looks a bit like a kicked puppy, with his large orange eyes, the way his eyebrows lift in almost a desperate, pleading expression. It’s gratifying to see him like this, his usual gusto muted thanks to Hubert’s words.
Even so, Ferdinand recovers, and they begin poring over the documents on Hubert’s desk, refilling their cups occasionally when they’re running low, discussing strategy spotted with the occasional debate. Hubert is taken aback when they reach the last checklist in the pile to find that three hours have passed.
“Well!” Ferdinand exclaims when they’ve finished, dusting his hands off after he’s gathered the cups back onto the tray. “Look at that, Hubert. We’ve finished all your work.”
“My work is never over,” Hubert replies smoothly. “There are plenty of other matters I must attend to.” His research in his laboratory, for one, as well as his dealings with his spy network. Neither are tasks he would ever fulfill with a blabbermouth like Ferdinand present. He catches the pained look on Ferdinand’s face, and hastily adds, “That said, this has certainly been a productive afternoon, and I would be remiss if I said I did not appreciate your time.”
The corners of Ferdinand’s mouth quirk upwards, and a spark dances behind his eyes. “Then would you be amenable to making afternoon tea a recurring feature in your busy schedule?” he asks, and Hubert can detect the tentative tremble in his voice, despite the proud way he carries himself, standing tall, chest puffed out.
All things considered, if they can maintain such a work ethic, their partnership will surely aid in expediting the war efforts. And if the company isn’t deplorable, well – Hubert supposes that is a decent bonus. Perhaps he will even be able to share with Ferdinand his carefully crafted magical ink for sending and receiving secret messages, so that they no longer have to discuss every minute detail in person...
Hubert answers, “I would.”
The smile Ferdinand flashes at that is blinding.
~o~
The second time Ferdinand attempts to court him, Hubert refuses again, though at the time wholly oblivious to Ferdinand’s efforts.
They’ve been meeting for afternoon tea and coffee once a week, sometimes twice a week when things are particularly busy so that they can double down on the stacks of reports, for two months now. It’s been pleasant, far from the days when neither could stand the other’s presence. Now, the company is refreshing. Hubert’s mind floats around the word nice.
Today, though, is not a scheduled tea day, but Hubert crosses paths with Ferdinand while on his way to the dining hall, and stops when Ferdinand waves him over.
“Ah, Hubert, just who I was hoping to see!” Ferdinand calls. He’d been walking arm-in-arm with Bernadetta, but he quickly says something to her out of earshot and breaks away to approach Hubert while Bernadetta slinks away.
Hubert frowns. If a matter requiring his attention has come up, he should have been alerted to it by now, rather than wait for a happenstance meeting on the monastery grounds. “What is it?” he demands briskly.
Ferdinand brushes a stray strand of orange out of his face. His freckles almost sparkle in the broad sunlight. “I have been thinking,” he starts.
“What an unusual circumstance,” Hubert mutters under his breath, though it lacks his usual venom.
“Oh, hush,” Ferdinand says fondly, grin still perfectly in place. “Anyways, as you know, we are headed to Enbarr next month for some meetings, and the Mittelfrank Opera Company is currently performing there.”
Hubert quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, Professor Manuela and Dorothea will be sharing the stage, I am well aware.” The plan is for the opera to garner success in Enbarr before embarking on a world tour. His spy network has taken root within the opera company, after all, with Dorothea working closely under him. But Ferdinand doesn’t appear to know that, nor does he need to. “What is your point?”
Ferdinand bristles. “My point,” he declares, punctuating the word, “is that we must procure tickets to see them! I have not been graced with the opportunity to see Professor Manuela perform since I was a child, and it would be so lovely to see our dear Dorothea in a leading role as well, and –”
Skin prickling with impatience already, Hubert interjects, “If you wish to purchase yourself a ticket, I will not stop you.”
“You couldn’t even if you tried, my friend,” Ferdinand says with a smirk, his eyes glinting. Hubert sends him a grimace in return. “But that is besides the point. What I was trying to do was ask if you would like to come with me, my treat. I will arrange for tickets for us both.”
Hubert actually does stop to consider the offer. On one hand, he does not harbor much interest in theatrics, but on the other, it would prove a useful endeavor to observe the company’s functions firsthand. Then again, he has his spies for that, and Dorothea especially. His presence is not required to ensure the smooth function of every single one of his plans. Never mind the fact that Ferdinand, whose puppy-like enthusiasm is admittedly endearing at times, would undoubtedly talk his ear off for the entire performance.
“A kind offer, but I’m afraid I must decline,” Hubert tells him. “I will have much more important matters to attend to while we are in the capital.” He averts his gaze to the hair resting on Ferdinand’s shoulder, so that he is not forced to see the disappointment in Ferdinand’s face.
~o~
Their arrival in Enbarr is immediately met with an endless series of meetings and dinners with various political figures and potential sponsors. Hubert is up at all hours, conducting background screens on every notable individual they associate with. He personally undertakes a thorough research of an overeager tailor who seemed far too suspicious for someone who supposedly simply wanted to outfit Lady Edelgard with a custom gown. Sure enough, his scrutiny is rewarded with evidence of the tailor conspiring with House Goneril of the Alliance, so Hubert cancels his afternoon tea date with Ferdinand to dispatch of the traitor.
They’ve been attempting to keep to their usual tea schedule despite the different location, but the increased workload has put a damper in those plans. While it is somewhat regrettable, Hubert knows Ferdinand sees the importance in their difficult tasks, time-consuming as they may be. He scrawls a quick message in his specific brand of magical ink he’s concocted for use with very specific individuals only and passes it on to an Imperial servant.
“For immediate delivery to Duke Aegir,” Hubert orders, and the servant bows low and leaves.
Duke Aegir,
Another urgent matter has come up that requires my attention. I will not be able to meet with you this afternoon. Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience.
Regrettably,
Hubert von Vestra
What Hubert does not expect is to step back into his office in the Imperial palace later that night to the sound of paper crumpling beneath his boot. He reaches down to pick up what must have been slipped under the door in his absence, only to find it blank but for the top left corner, which bears his name penned by a familiar hand: Count Vestra.
He can’t help but smile at the wash of pride that fills him. The boisterous prime minister has found a knack for subtlety, after all.
He takes the letter over to his desk and reaches into the top right drawer for the spray bottle of the revealer and treats the paper with a few quick spurts. Instantly, the dark outlines of the magical ink appear, slowly taking shape into something legible. The moment the spray fully dries, though, the ink will fade back into the page, so Hubert reads over the message quickly.
Count Vestra,
While disappointing to miss yet another meeting with you, I of course understand. I send my best wishes for your success as well as your safety, and I hope you can find some time in your busy schedule for me soon.
Until then, I remain your faithful ally,
Ferdinand von Aegir
Hubert can practically hear Ferdinand’s voice speaking to him the words written across the page, all neat and looping letters. A pang of remorse drums beneath his ribcage, for having canceled on Ferdinand three times in a row now. He sees the man almost every day, but it’s been two weeks since they’ve had a moment to themselves, to drink tea and coffee and discuss strategy without outside interference. He is surprised to find he misses it.
The ink fades under his gaze, and Hubert shakes himself out of his reverie. “Ugh,” he mutters to himself, rubbing the heel of his palm over his eyes. He tears up the piece of parchment and tosses it into his trash bin. He has more important work to focus on.
~o~
“Hubert, hold a moment,” Lady Edelgard says after adjourning their morning meeting.
All others in attendance shuffle out of the council room, but Hubert remains seated as per his lady’s command. He watches the spread of dull grey and navy blue cloaks making their way out, until his eyes catch on a deep burgundy, splashed by bright orange at the top. Hubert follows the beautiful long hair to where it frames Ferdinand’s face.
Ferdinand meets his glance and his eyes immediately brighten like the sun bursting out from behind the clouds. He smiles, and Hubert’s throat tightens; he gives a curt nod.
The next thing he notices is Edelgard’s laughter.
His eyes dart over to her, but not before they catch the sweeping motion of Ferdinand’s cloak as he exits the room. Edelgard is laughing, holding a pale hand to her mouth as though to stifle it, though that is merely for show. He knows her well enough to know she is absolutely mocking him.
He sighs. “I’m glad I can provide you with some much-needed amusement during these times of war and heavy negotiations,” he admits.
Edelgard shakes her head at him, still grinning. “And I am glad Ferdinand can do the same for you –” her gaze turns suddenly severe “– when you’re not running yourself dry.”
Hubert frowns, a frisson of panic trickling down his spine. “Lady Edelgard, I –”
She raises a hand to silence him. “Halt, friend, I do not mean any harm by it,” she says calmly. Her lavender eyes bore into his, light and piercing, reading him so well as she’s always been able to do. “You know how deeply grateful I am for all you’ve done for me.”
He exhales slowly, and his shoulders lower several inches. He hadn’t realized how much tension had built up in them just then.
Edelgard continues, “I just worry about your health sometimes. You work so hard, all the time. If you don’t take a break for yourself, I fear you will exhaust yourself into sickness.”
Ferdinand had said something similar, before, but Hubert fears he can no longer disregard it if Edelgard has caught on as well.
He tries anyway. “I assure you, I would never incapacitate myself in your service.”
She smiles thinly at him. “I believe you,” she affirms, “though I still wish you would take some time to do something fun. I hear you turned down Ferdinand’s request to join him at the opera tomorrow night?"
Hubert freezes, his body flushing hot and cold all at once. “I – who on earth told you that?”
Edelgard shrugs. “Ferdinand asked Bernadetta to accompany him after you declined,” she tells him. “Word gets around.”
“I see.” Hubert leans back in his chair, suddenly acutely aware of the burning around the eyes that comes with only three hours of sleep. He will have to make himself a strong cup of coffee after this.
Edelgard’s expression softens. “You know it would have been fine if you said yes, right?” she asks gently.
He knows she’ll see right through him, but Hubert forces a smile anyway. “Much appreciated,” he says. He debates for a moment, then adds, “Truly, though, I have no interest in shirking my duties for a night of musical theatre at this time.”
Edelgard sighs heavily but does not pursue the subject. “If you’re sure, then,” she says.
Hubert lies, “I am.”
~o~
An urgent missive arrives in the capital that afternoon requesting aid in bolstering the Great Bridge of Myrddin’s defenses against a coming invasion from Faerghan resistance forces. General Ladislava is appointed the task of leading a battalion, but Ferdinand is sent to accompany her as well.
The rest of the afternoon is a mad scramble to procure supplies, and by dawn the next day, they’ve departed. There is so much to do that Hubert has no chance to say goodbye.
He hates himself for thinking such sentimental trivialities. This is a time of war, and securing the bridge maintains their chokehold against the Alliance – and now, apparently Faerghus as well. Hubert scowls. He will have choice words in his next communication with Lord Arundel and Cornelia.
Plans are made to send messages via pegasus, the fastest mode of transport available to them, in order to keep up with news of what transpires at the bridge. Knowing this, Hubert waffles on the idea for several hours before finally scribbling out a note in his magical ink.
Duke Aegir,
I apologize for being indisposed and unable to wish you the best on this upcoming mission before you left. Please accept this letter instead.
Hubert pauses, the tip of his quill held just above the paper.
I will be sure to set aside time for tea within a reasonable timeframe upon your return.
His next debate is how to sign off on the letter. Simply signing his name seems a tad out of place, but expressions like Yours are far too intimate. Eventually, having grown frustrated, he inks a hasty Best, Hubert von Vestra and sends it off for delivery before he has a chance to second guess himself.
Sure enough, when the pegasus rider returns to Enbarr with reports, there is an invisible message waiting for Hubert. He pockets it for the time being and heads towards the palace dungeons for his planned interrogation of an Alliance spy discovered within their ranks just days ago, and only takes a proper look at it much later that night once he’s discarded his bloody gloves and exchanged them for a clean pair.
My dear von Vestra,
What a joy to discover a letter from you during our travels to Myrddin! I am thankful I decided to bring along the inks you gave me, or this journey would have been that much gloomier without your correspondence.
I must say that my biggest regret is being forced to leave right before I could see the opera. I advised Bernadetta to take our dear Emperor Edelgard along with her to the performance. While it pains me that she would get to set her eyes and ears on such beauty ahead of me, it would do the people good to see their leader in such a relaxed environment, and I imagine it would help negotiations with our sponsors as well.
We do not know how long we will be stationed at the bridge, so it is my turn to apologize for postponing all tea breaks for the foreseeable future. Hopefully these dreadful matters will be sorted swiftly and we can reconvene soon.
Your friend,
Ferdinand von Aegir
To not respond at this point would be rather callous, and while Hubert is used to being an all around dreadful human being, there is literally no harm in continuing this communication, so he does.
Dear von Aegir,
I can confidently express that Lady Edelgard thoroughly enjoyed the performance, as did Bernadetta. It seems you’ve a knack for personal relations even in absence; our alliances have flourished as of late.
While I personally believe you should be thrilled at this opportunity to prove yourself in battle and promote our good name for the sake of the Empire, I suppose it is only human to wish for selfish indulgences from time to time. I’ll tell you what: if the Mittelfrank Opera Company has not commenced their world tour before you return, I will accompany you to a performance. I hope you will find that satisfactory.
Your frfriend,
Hubert von Vestra
The letter he receives in return is practically brimming with excitement; the letters are larger and loopier than usual.
My dear Hubert,
It warms my heart to hear that my intuition was correct and that Emperor Edelgard enjoyed the opera. Please, do continue to send me news of home. Surely there must be other interesting events going on that I am missing; I would like to hear of them.
We clashed with Faerghan soldiers over the bridge yesterday. It was a hard-fought battle, but with the aid of troops from House Gloucester, we were able to drive them off. There is a possibility that they will plan a new attack, so we must remain on guard. I daresay they will soon realize they were no match for the great Ferdinand von Aegir or his stalwart Imperial warriors.
As for your offer, I would be delighted to accept. Nothing would make me happier than to have a lovely evening at the opera with your wonderful company. Anticipation of this future commitment has sharpened my resolve – I vow to end this petty conflict as soon as possible so that I may return to see it to fruition.
Yours,
Ferdinand
As the letters begin to fade, Hubert sprays them once more with the magical revealer so that he may read the letter once more. When his extra time runs out, he sprays them again, and again.
Something warm and fuzzy is blooming in his chest, and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it. He thinks, absurdly, that he misses Ferdinand’s presence. Misses the way the sunlight glows across his hair, sparkles in his eyes. Misses his freckles and his dimpled smile.
Those thoughts are all too distracting, however. He has to prepare for another round of interrogations with the captured spy, which will require single-minded concentration and effort. He fills his mind with ideas for psychological games and methods of torture, exchanges his current pair of gloves for one that he does not mind bloodying, and places Ferdinand’s blank letter in his desk drawer with the rest.
To anyone else, it would be highly unsavory work. But Hubert thrives in these environments, prides himself in his meticulous planning and cruel methodology. Part of him wonders how Ferdinand would react if he knew the extent of Hubert’s true duties, if it would permanently mar Ferdinand’s opinion of him. It’s not selfish to wish for the sun to continue shining on him, rather than hide behind clouds. After all, he operates in secrecy. He would never divulge the darkest secrets of his work to anyone, even if he wanted to.
Time to focus. Perhaps he will have time to pen a reply later.
~o~
Fortunately, the opera has one week of performances left when Ferdinand returns to the capital. Hubert knows this not due to any particular attention on his part, but because his ears pick up on the bounding strides in the hallway with barely enough time for him to disable his sigil traps before Ferdinand comes bursting through the door to his study.
“I have returned!” he practically bellows. The door slams back into the wall with the force of his thrust, and he recoils with the noise, instantly converting to red-faced and sheepish. “Ah, my apologies,” he winces as he goes to check if there is any damage. “I suppose I am a little overexcited to be back.” His face brightens again and Hubert still hasn’t had a chance to supply a scathing retort. “But it appears I’ve come back to the most fortuitous circumstances!”
Finally, Hubert sighs, “And what would those be?”
In lieu of a verbal response, Ferdinand reaches into his jacket pocket and thrusts two pieces of paper in Hubert’s face.
Hubert leans back slightly so as to avoid being whacked across the nose, then squints at the fine print of the opera tickets. A performance in two nights’ time, and…
His breath hitches. Somehow, Ferdinand had managed to secure two seats in an entirely private box.
“Well,” he says. “Most fortuitous, indeed.”
Ferdinand beams at him, his cheeks aglow just like the rest of his skin, his eyes, his hair. “I am so delighted that you agree. I trust that this provides you with enough notice to settle any affairs in your schedule?”
Hubert’s mind is already sifting through the various duties and evening interrogations he must attend to over the next few days before the words are out of Ferdinand’s mouth. He did give Ferdinand his word, after all.
“Your consideration is appreciated,” Hubert tells him. “That will be sufficient time to rearrange a few matters of import, thank you.” He winces internally at how formal he sounds. Ferdinand deserves exuberance, but that is not him.
Ferdinand claps him on the shoulder and it burns; Hubert wants to latch onto it and keep it rooted in place, but he has work to do if he wants to ensure he is not negligent in two nights’ time.
“Excellent!” he exclaims. “I must give a report to Edelgard, so I will take my leave.” He releases Hubert’s shoulder from his grip and waves on his way out the door. “I am looking forward to our foray at the opera!”
As the final strands of orange disappear into the hall, Hubert says, “And I as well.”
~o~
Ferdinand arranges their transportation, so that is how Hubert is stepping past the gates of the Imperial palace with Lady Edelgard accompanying him when he finds a horse-drawn carriage waiting for him.
He stops in his tracks, his chest constricting as Ferdinand approaches from where he’d been conversing with their driver to greet him. He’s wearing a perfectly fitted three-piece burgundy suit, accentuating his broad shoulders and powerful yet slender physique. His hair billows brightly over his shoulders, and Hubert wants nothing more than to tangle his fingers in their depths.
Mercifully, Edelgard spares him the torture of rediscovering words for the time being. “Good evening, Ferdinand.”
“And to you, Edelgard,” Ferdinand says jovially. He turns to Hubert and smiles warmly, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you, Hubert. I should have anticipated that you would not own an outfit of any other color.”
Edelgard laughs and Hubert’s cheeks heat up. “He has dressed only in black for as long as I’ve known him,” she says, and Hubert grits his teeth together.
“Lady Edelgard,” he warns.
Edelgard grins good-naturedly at him. “Come now, Hubert, I was only speaking in jest,” she says placatingly. “But don’t let me keep you lovebirds from your evening.”
Hubert’s blood runs ice cold, and he does not miss the way Ferdinand tenses up as well. “We are not lovebirds,” he hisses, glancing around to make sure they are out of earshot of their driver and anyone else who might be strolling nearby.
Edelgard blinks, then relaxes into another smile. “Whatever you like to call it, then,” she says, but she doesn’t get it, and Hubert has to cut off this train of thought before there’s even more damage –
“Do not call it anything, because it is nothing,” he snaps. “I am simply making good on my word to join him for the evening, nothing more.” And with that, he marches past them to the carriage, refusing to glance back at either of their reactions.
He’s not even sitting inside for a full minute before Ferdinand clambers in to join him, taking a seat facing him but on the opposite side, giving them both space. Their driver closes the door behind them, and moments later they’re in motion, the familiar creaking of wheels and clopping of hooves a rhythmic backdrop to an otherwise silent journey.
Hubert sits with his arms crossed, his brain rifling furiously for any other instances where someone might have mistaken him and Ferdinand for lovers, if there were any members of their forces that needed to be spoken to and silenced before their reputations were tarnished forever. Just how many people assumed this of them? How many curses did he –
“Would it really be so awful?” Ferdinand blurts suddenly, and Hubert’s gaze snaps up to where Ferdinand is fidgeting in his seat, teasing at his lower lip with his teeth, a question in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” Hubert asks gruffly, even though he already knows.
“If we were to– if we were l-lovers,” Ferdinand stammers out, his cheeks the perfect rosy shade to complement his freckles.
“Such ideations are off-limits,” Hubert says firmly.
Ferdinand’s brow furrows. “You cannot tell me you have not considered the possibility.”
Hubert hasn’t, is the thing. It’s why it was so easy to brush Ferdinand’s initial courting request aside, why he enjoyed Ferdinand’s company without ever wanting for more. Certainly, Ferdinand was objectively a pleasant and beautiful man, but serving Edelgard was of the utmost priority in these times. There was no room for error, for anything that risked stealing away his attention.
He shakes his head, and tampers down the dark pang in his gut at Ferdinand’s expression of hurt and dismay. “We are in the middle of a war, Ferdinand,” he says, soft but resolute.
“We are good friends, and we work well together, and much of our time is spent together anyway,” Ferdinand reasons. “It would not be so different from what we already have.”
Hubert can’t help the derisive tone that escapes him. “Well, for starters, I imagine you would expect there to be sex,” he says dryly, and Ferdinand makes a strangled noise. “You would want to call me pet names, have me call you things like sunshine, I’d presume.” Ferdinand’s face is an oddly satisfying beet-red now. “In any case,” he finishes, “we both have obligations that we cannot afford to squander with the frivolities of courtship.”
Now Ferdinand simply looks confused. “B-but – I have been courting you for weeks!” he exclaims. “Months, even!”
Hubert’s fingers twitch; he digs his nails into the fabric covering his thighs. “I told you I had no interest in courting,” he snaps.
Ferdinand’s eyes are pleading. “Then why did you go along with everything?”
Hubert thinks he might tear a hole in his pants. “I enjoy spending time with you as a friend,” he grits out.
“These activities are the same thing as courting!” Ferdinand sounds desperate now; his voice cracks. “I thought you just didn’t like putting a name to it.”
“You were sorely mistaken.”
Ferdinand hangs his head; his hair drops over his face so that Hubert cannot make out his expression. Hubert lets out a long, drawn-out breath, and moves his palms to press against the cold fabric of the seat on either side of him.
They sit quietly for the rest of their ride, and Hubert is assaulted by a slew of vicious thoughts. Ferdinand is right, is the thing. It would be so easy to claim their recent interactions were part of some romantic courtship ritual. Even now, they are on their way to attend the opera together, with tickets to a private booth. No wonder Edelgard assumed they were involved together.
And now that it’s come up, Hubert can’t stop thinking about leaning over and brushing his lips against the top of Ferdinand’s head, of caressing his scarred and bloodied hands through that magnificently soft hair. Slowly peeling off layers of clothing, revealing the carefully maintained physique Ferdinand has always been too proud of, and doing much more besides.
He shakes himself over. Damn Ferdinand for his cutting words, the way they opened the lid on so many dark thoughts and desires Hubert had been so meticulously hiding away in face of the war. He can’t afford to be so distracted now.
But then, he thinks as the carriage pulls up in front of the opera house, he may as well still enjoy this evening.
Ferdinand seems to have arrived at the same conclusion, for when their carriage stops and the door opens, he lifts his head with the mask of an all-too pleasant smile pasted onto his face. Hubert can see where it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, can judge exactly how they should be sparkling with a grin like that, but he allows Ferdinand this front. He figures he owes him that much, at least.
They thank their driver and make their way through the crowded entrance. It will be easy to lose track of each other amidst the swarm of people, so Hubert grabs Ferdinand by the wrist and tugs gently, leading him to where he knows their seats will be. Ferdinand’s fingers interlock with his own, and he gives a quick, reassuring squeeze.
Sure enough, Hubert’s extensive knowledge of the opera house’s layout serves them well and they make it to their box without further hassle. While Ferdinand removes his suit jacket, Hubert beckons an usher over to order a bottle of red wine that he knows Ferdinand likes. They are at the opera, after all. Might as well celebrate the occasion the way Ferdinand loves best.
The bottle arrives shortly before showtime, so Hubert pours each of them a glass and hands one to Ferdinand, keeping his own raised as he settles into his seat.
“To enjoying an excellent performance from our friends,” Hubert says.
Ferdinand smiles, and this time, Hubert can see a slight shine to his eyes and he knows that this one is much more genuine. “I will drink to that,” he says, clanging their glasses together.
Then the lights around them dim until they are submersed almost completely in darkness, and a single spotlight illuminates the stage below.
The moment Dorothea steps into the light, Hubert glances sideways over at Ferdinand and watches the way his eyes brighten instantly, the way his lips part and he stares, enraptured, as their classmate begins to sing a beautiful solo piece. He watches for every reaction, the passion in Ferdinand’s gaze contagious. Wishes, wistfully, that he could be the one to make Ferdinand look this way.
Hubert doesn’t know how many songs pass before Ferdinand finally notices him staring. In their darkened booth, he can just barely make out an embarrassed blush across Ferdinand’s cheeks.
“Is something amiss?” Ferdinand asks, his voice low. “Is the show not to your liking?”
Hubert shakes his head. “There is nothing I dislike at the present moment,” he murmurs.
Something in Ferdinand’s expression changes, and Hubert can’t quite place what it is. “Hubert?”
“Yes?”
“I just want to know how it would feel,” he says softly.
There is a pit sinking in Hubert’s stomach, and a flutter of something unknown. “How what would feel?”
Ferdinand whispers, “A kiss.”
And whatever restraints were once holding him back snap, because the next thing Hubert knows, he is leaning in and kissing Ferdinand like he may never get another chance, because in the shadows of their curtained booth where no one is watching, this truly is the only opportunity he may ever have.
Ferdinand’s lips are saccharine and sticky from champagne, and Hubert drinks it all in, revels in the taste of him, the softness. It’s sweeter than anything he could have ever imagined, and now that he’s finally allowing himself the indulgence, he never wants to stop.
But he’d said one kiss, so Hubert pulls away slowly, mumbling, “Shit.” He can barely hear the orchestral melodies in the background, the powerful vibrato resonating from what must be Professor Manuela’s piece, over the rush of blood pounding in his ears.
Ferdinand squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and releases a shaky sigh. “I shouldn’t have asked,” he admits. “Now I just want more.”
Hubert reaches out with both hands, buries them in the swaths of exquisitely soft hair at the nape of Ferdinand’s neck – his heart sings triumphantly, at last – and gently guides him closer for another kiss.
He has one hand in Ferdinand’s hair and the other stroking along his jawline; Ferdinand’s hands are traveling up and down Hubert’s chest when the lights begin to brighten all around them.
They stop, instantly rearing backwards, a strand of saliva breaking between them. Hubert wipes his sleeve over his face and rises to his feet while Ferdinand exhales loudly and sinks deeper into his chair.
They applaud politely as the ensemble takes the stage for a company bow, and Hubert stiffens when Dorothea glances over at him and winks. He’s going to have to do some inconspicuous research before he next speaks with her, otherwise she will most assuredly realize he had not paid the show any attention. Lady Edelgard will be out of the question, given the assumptions she already harbors. Perhaps Bernadetta, if he can corner her properly. Strange, to not be able to rely on Ferdinand for matters of the fine arts.
As the curtain falls over the stage, Hubert observes the bottle of wine, still mostly full, just like his glass. Debates taking a long swig, of downing the remains of his glass in one go.
No. He needs his wits about him.
Ferdinand, on the other hand, has much less left in his glass, which he now drains before pushing himself into a standing position. He smiles somewhat uneasily at Hubert, and Hubert cringes before returning the smile.
“Well,” Ferdinand says, and Hubert can see the hesitation before Ferdinand extends a shaky hand. “Shall we brave the crowds and head back to the palace?”
Hubert only pauses for a moment before he takes Ferdinand’s hand in a firm grip. “Let’s.”
They do not let go of each other as they weave their way through the throng; they only separate once they reach their carriage. Once there, it’s like a strange barrier is suddenly erected around them, and they sit on complete opposite ends again, each looking out the window and decidedly not at each other. The ride back to the palace is silent, broken only by the words of thanks spoken to their driver upon their safe return.
Their chambers are down the same hallway, with Ferdinand’s coming up first, so Hubert stops with him at his door, waits for Ferdinand to unlock it and turn back to face him before speaking.
“Thank you for this evening,” Hubert tells him, and he means it. “It was…nice.” Enchanting, he doesn't say.
Ferdinand’s got one foot across the threshold to his bedroom, but he remains there, gives Hubert a thin smile. “I enjoyed myself, as well,” he replies, but he sounds so much younger all of a sudden, his eyes wide and round. “I do not want it to end.”
Hubert’s throat constricts. There is a dark, reckless creature beneath his ribs, threatening to claw its way out if he lets it. “Ferdinand…”
And Ferdinand blurts, “Can we pretend?” Hubert swallows thickly. “Just for tonight?”
There are a million reasons Hubert should reject him. But in this moment, with Ferdinand’s eyes shining like the sun, a warm reprieve Hubert has resisted basking in for so long, he can’t find an excuse to deny him just this one night.
Hubert steps into Ferdinand’s space, crowding into him and leading him into the room, and then he closes and locks the door behind them.
Then his hands are back in orange locks and his mouth is pressed against plush lips and Hubert sheds any inhibitions he has left.
His tongue licks into Ferdinand’s mouth, savoring every texture, every taste, and Ferdinand opens for him eagerly, presses his body flush against Hubert’s, clamping onto fistfuls of Hubert’s jacket and holding him close.
Hubert is alive; his skin buzzes with so much unbridled want, the desire to get closer, deeper. He bites at Ferdinand’s lower lip, gnaws at it between his teeth, and the whine he receives for his efforts sends a rush of heat curling low in his belly.
Ferdinand gasps, “Bed. Darling,” and Hubert chuckles.
“That’s your choice of endearment for me?” he says sarcastically. “Is that what you want, sunshine?”
“Take off your damned clothes,” Ferdinand growls, fierce and determined and eyes full of lust, and – well, Hubert is far more compelled to obey than to fight it, now.
They scramble out of their clothes fairly quickly, discarding them in heaps on the floor, but unable to stop touching each other in the process. Now that they’ve started, it’s far too impossible for Hubert to stop chasing contact, that sweet friction of skin against skin. When they tumble onto the bed together, a mess of tangled limbs, Hubert still has his gloves on and Ferdinand’s pants are dangling from his ankles, but neither of them care anymore.
“Sunshine,” Hubert breathes, no longer remotely mocking this time but far too open and raw and honest, and Ferdinand trembles beneath him. Here, Ferdinand is a bright light beaming down on him, gracing him with so much beauty and strength, and if Hubert drowns in this, it will be the most welcome suffocation.
Maybe they’re just pretending for the night, but the warm body moving against his is real. Hubert sighs Ferdinand’s name and lets himself go.
~o~
Hubert wakes the next morning, his body absolutely burning from the human furnace that is Ferdinand von Aegir draped over him, and orange hair between his lips.
He tampers down the initial instinct to worm away and breathes in deep through his nose. Rifles through the memories of the night before. Buries his face in the pillow as his cheeks heat up.
Next to him, Ferdinand’s eyebrows twitch as he stirs. He lifts his head and blearily blinks over at Hubert before breaking out into what Hubert can only describe as the softest smile he has ever received.
“Morning, darling.”
Hubert opens his mouth, but no sound escapes. Sunshine caught in a lump in his throat. Light filters through the window. Their night is over.
Ferdinand’s smile falters then, and rolls away, disengaging his limbs from Hubert’s person, and Hubert has never felt so hollow and cold. “Ah,” Ferdinand mumbles, a twinge of guilt in his tone. “I suppose the time for pretending is past us.”
Slowly, painstakingly, Hubert nods.
Ferdinand frowns at him, and Hubert hates that he’s still half asleep and unable to properly mask his emotions. He needs his morning coffee, needs to get out of here and focus on what must undoubtedly be a monumental stack of documents awaiting his return to duty on his office desk.
Indulging in a lazy morning with the beautiful man next to him – Hubert cannot afford this weakness.
Ferdinand sits up in the bed, and Hubert flushes when he realizes they’re both still naked, though the blankets are covering them from the waist down. Hubert’s heart hammers. He can’t stay here.
“Forgive me for my insolence,” Ferdinand begins, “But please, allow me to ask you a few questions.”
Hubert pushes himself upright, rubs the heel of his palm over his eyes. “Ask.”
“Do you enjoy afternoon teatime with me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes.”
“Did you enjoy our correspondence while I was away?”
“I did.”
“Did you enjoy our time at the opera last night?”
Hubert sucks in a breath. “Yes. Can you –”
“One more.” Even the tips of Ferdinand’s ears are bright red now. “Was – did you enjoy our time here last night?”
Hubert squeezes his eyes shut, but then he relents. “Absolutely.”
“Then what is the harm in trying?” Ferdinand asks. Hubert stares at him. “I know you are worried about distractions, but our work has not suffered since we first began taking tea together. In fact, you have even admitted that we are more productive when we work together. Obviously the war effort comes first, and I would never demand your attention when Edelgard requires it, but otherwise, there is nothing wrong with trying.”
A fragment of possibility blossoms in Hubert’s chest at those words, and that – it scares him. The prospect that this kind of opulence can coexist with his cruel and bloody work, that he can engage and take pleasure in it and assign a name to it – he doesn’t know how to reconcile it with the life of shadows he’s always been expected to lead.
“Please, Hubert,” Ferdinand says. “Let us simply try it out. If after, say, one week, you think it is impeding our ability to carry out Edelgard’s orders, then we can stop with no hard feelings. That is an entirely reasonable proposition, is it not?”
That Ferdinand has a point is simultaneously the best and worst thing. Hubert does not appreciate being wrong, but he has never wanted Ferdinand to be so right before.
Hubert lets out a ragged exhale, but there’s relief in it too, in accepting, like just maybe something will slot perfectly into place. “All right,” he says finally. “We can try. I suppose I owe you another night at the opera, so that you may experience it properly this time.”
Ferdinand beams at him, and it’s the most beautiful thing Hubert has ever seen.
And if later that day Edelgard happens to notice them walking side by side, hand in hand, over to the gardens for tea – if she happens to meet Hubert’s eyes and give him an approving nod – he supposes this might not be so dangerous after all.