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Chapter Text

The first thing Ferdinand was aware of was the numbness of his body.

It felt like he was floating. Truly, it was one of the stranger things he had experienced. Usually any numbing was from a medicine, not magic, which didn’t bode well for him.

But why would he be on the receiving end of medicine? What had…?

Ferdinand’s eyelids fluttered, brows drawing together as memories came back. The last battle had been rough… and every image he conjured up was hazy at best. It had been cloudy, and they had been on their way to Faerghus… a Kingdom scouting troop had surprised them, so they had gone into battle…

Everything ended with a bright light taking over his vision.

And now, now everything from his chest to his nose felt…

“Ferdinand, stop it.”

The low voice was like an iron to his skull. Almost instinctively, he dipped his head, the numbness fading to a sensation of something tight.

He could practically hear the eyeroll as another voice piped up. “I believe what Hubert means is that you need to stop moving your head about. You know how he is. Now, I suppose it would be helpful if you could open your eyes, show us you’re awake.”

Ferdinand did as told, though his vision blurred for a moment before settling. Sure enough, Hubert was in a chair nearby, a stack of papers in hand and a scowl on his face. Linhardt, however, was standing over his bedside, hands on his neck. With the numbness, he hadn’t even noticed the touch.

“Good,” Linhardt spoke softly, “now, the medicine will be wearing off soon, so I’ll be going to fetch more from Manuela. I’ll trust Hubert to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, since he’s been so kind as to visit. Try not to speak for the time being.”

With that, Linhardt left, but not before Ferdinand could gauge his exhaustion from the bags under his eyes and the tremble of his hands.

Hubert huffed as soon as the healer was gone, fixing his stare back on Ferdinand. “The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence. I daresay that the perk is hardly worth all of the suffering you’ve gone through, most likely. Let’s hope we remember your name in the meantime.”

Disgruntled as he was, Ferdinand still heard no venom in the comment, choosing to brush off the jest with a look of questioning. Perhaps he was not allowed to speak yet, but Hubert, especially, had gotten better at reading him throughout the events of the war.

Indeed, Hubert relented, giving the information Ferdinand wished for. “A mage got too close to you while you were taking down one of the grapplers. A thunder startled your steed, and you fell – while you were stunned, they shot a thoron at your head. It hit you square in the neck… you’ve been unconscious for a little less than three days, now. It’s a miracle you survived. If you feel the urge to perform such a stunt again, next time do it within the vicinity of Linhardt or Manuela – even Dorothea would have been better. Faith is hardly a strength of mine.”

Raising an eyebrow at that comment, Ferdinand gave another silent question. Hubert tsked, though his words were not irritated.

“Yes, I used a heal spell on you. The situation – the situation demanded it, the spell had fried a major artery, if I hadn’t-”

Cut off by the door opening, Hubert shut his mouth, glancing away from Ferdinand. Linhardt pushed back in, a small bottle in hand. He sat himself at Ferdinand’s side, either unaware of or choosing to ignore the tense air between the two advisors to the emperor. It was with a practiced care that he undid the bandages, though Ferdinand now understood that Linhardt had been correct about his previous dosage wearing off. Every brush of Linhardt’s fingers against his skin left him with a sudden ache, a lasting burning that would have made a lesser man writhe.

This was hardly his first time in the infirmary.

Then again, this was hardly Linhardt’s first shift, yet he still scrunched his nose up with a wince at the sight of the wound.

“Now, once the painkillers are reapplied, we can see how you’re doing. Your breathing has been getting remarkably better with time, but I must suggest you take some pages from my book at relax for a while, Ferdinand. Don’t go and undo all of my work by running around and shouting, I can’t promise I’ll do it again. Keeping you hydrated was hard enough – I do believe that Bernadetta and the professor are preparing some soup for you, if you want that later…”

With a slight stretch along his shoulders, he pulled back, nodding to himself. “It should be fine to try and speak, now. You don’t have any injuries aside from your neck, so if you simply must move, I suppose I won’t stop you. Just be careful with that big head of yours, hm?”

“Very funny,” Ferdinand replied.

Or, he tried to. Instead all that came out was a wheeze that burned deep in his throat, eliciting a sharp gasp to follow. Linhardt immediately turned from where he had settled the bottle on the available desk, blue eyes wide with rare surprise. Even Hubert stilled where he sat, glancing away from the papers again to give them his attention.

Ferdinand was already sitting up, a coiled pit of anxiety lingering in his gut, fists tightly clenched as he opened his mouth again.

Try as he might to call the names of his friends, no sound came.

He only refocused at the sensation of Linhardt’s hand on his shoulder, his voice a sort of calm that always seemed to soothe and calm situations that were growing out of control.

“Slow down, slow down. Whisper first. If that hurts too much, then that’s where the problem lies.”

Ferdinand moved his hands to his side, letting his fingers curl into the infirmary blankets and clutch them tightly. With a slow breath, he attempted the whisper, focusing on the same mantra that he used as sword and shield back at the academy:

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

The words were soft, but they were there. It was only due to the silence of the room that they could be heard at all.

The fact that neither of the other men made fun of the words he had chosen made the pressure in his chest grow heavier.

In an infuriatingly gentle motion, Linhardt pressed his thumbs against the muscles at the front of his throat and frowned slightly when Ferdinand did not flinch. “The numbing set in again, as I said it would… so it’s not a matter of pain from the movements required… try speaking again? No – could you hum, instead?”

Humming. He could do that, couldn’t he? He hummed all the time, familiar tunes from the operas he had attended in his youth. He did it in the stables, or while bathing, or-

The dread that had woven throughout his ribs solidified into a raw panic, sharp and as loud as he was not, and no, no, this couldn’t be happening-

There was a soft flutter of pages as Hubert dropped them to the chair, swiftly coming to stand next to Ferdinand. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of his wrists, tugging it up, then his other, until Hubert was practically holding both of his hands and oh, oh, his nails had begun to dig into his palms, and Linhardt appeared to be saying something, but he couldn’t hear it past the blood rushing through his ears.

“Ferdinand,”

Alarmed orange shot up to meet Hubert’s pale eyes. Hubert gripped his hands back just as tightly as they had held themselves, a feeling that was almost… grounding.

“Breathe, hyperventilating will do nothing but exacerbate any lingering damage.”

Now Linhardt’s voice came back to him, and Ferdinand felt himself nod, easing the grip he had on Hubert’s hands back to something less violent.

Hubert turned his attention to Linhardt now that Ferdinand’s anxiety had lessened, tone considerably more snappish with him than he had been toward Ferdinand, a certain unease tinging the short words.

“What is the damage, exactly?”

Uncertain for the first time so far, Linhardt pulled back slightly, resting his chin in his hand to consider the situation.

“Well – it appears, at the very least, that the magic has left severe damage on his larynx, the implications of which would mean, well… Best case scenario, he’ll be back to normal with a bit of rest. That’s… unlikely, however. Most likely, however, the injury is irreversible, and his larynx is destroyed… in which case…”

Ice seeped along Ferdinand’s bones as Linhardt shifted, clearly thinking through all of the possibilities in his mind.

“His voice would be gone permanently.”

Chapter Text

It had been two days since Ferdinand had been discharged from the infirmary. Two days since he had been damned by Linhardt’s words. Two days of practically going out of his way to hide in his dorm, away from his peers, his friends, to try and figure out just… what this meant for him.

Rarely was it ever quiet enough somewhere that whispering would work. That simply wasn’t a solution, especially once the medicine began to wear off. It did hurt to make the motions of speech, sound or not, and while part of Ferdinand was more than willing to push himself so that the pain would fade, another part worried he would hurt himself more.

A slightly manic voice in the back of his mind said that everything was fine, this wouldn’t matter! He could still contribute to the war efforts. He could still fight without his words, after all.

He just… couldn’t give orders to his men midbattle. Or contribute to war meetings. Or offer swift, concise arguments to Edelgard and Hubert.

It was fine. He was fine.

He had done a fairly good job of avoiding people until the professor himself knocked on his door. He couldn’t call out a come in or yes?

No, he had to get up and open the door himself.

Despite the neutral look the professor usually sported, now his face was pinched, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness that Ferdinand really didn’t want to be on the other end of.

“Ferdinand…”

Ferdinand turned away, pulling his hair over a shoulder, refusing to look. He didn’t want – didn’t deserve the professor’s pity.

A gauntleted hand rested itself on his shoulder, a small squeeze of his fingers accompanying his next words. “This… this is my fault. I should not have assumed the nature of your wounds. If I had… If I hadn’t waited… perhaps I could have…”

Byleth sighed, shaking his head, bangs obscuring his green eyes. “My apologies. I wish time could be rewound to that extent. I’ve… failed you, as your teacher.”

Ferdinand couldn’t see the way Byleth took him into a hug, not with the way his vision blurred over with tears. He didn’t understand what, exactly, the older man meant, but to know he was even causing the professor pain…

He was supposed to better people, to make them happy, not… not this.

Dorothea had been even worse.

She had never truly been the type to knock, not with how close they had grown in the war. The constant fighting had been affecting the both of them, and Linhardt, the hardest, so it was only natural that they’d grow closer.

Dorothea had barged right into his room the second he forgot to lock it, and before he knew it he had been trapped on his bed in a tight hug.

The needling voice in the back of his mind reminded him of how much Dorothea would look down upon his singing back at the academy. She had never liked the way he constantly spoke, had always wanted him to stop offering opinions. She was probably happy about the situation.

Flames, everyone was probably rejoicing while he hid himself away.

But… if that was the case, then it didn’t really make sense that Dorothea was crying on him. For him.

Unless it’s an act, the traitorous whisper came again. Dorothea was a marvelous actress, after all.

But no, no, this was real. It was real. His friends cared about him.

So it was… okay. It was okay if he clutched her back, if he buried his face in her shoulder, if he cried as well.

Not that anyone could hear him.

Chapter Text

Ferdinand was doing his best to ignore his situation. In some ways, he could pretend nothing had changed. His horses didn’t mind; they still let him kiss their necks and brush their manes. The monastery dogs didn’t care one way or another, the Aegir hounds still nipped at his toes and begged for treats when he passed.

Then again, animals did not require tact. It was kind, yet thoughtless words that succeeded in reminding Ferdinand just how much was to change.

Caspar had only meant a compliment with his greeting of “Hey man, hope you’ve got something for the meeting tonight, your ideas are way cooler for fights than Edelgard’s! Can’t wait to hear!”

For the first time in a long while, Ferdinand entered the cardinal room with his head ducked low, meeting no one’s gaze as he clutched papers to his chest. He took his usual seat at Edelgard’s left, across from Hubert, and sorted his stack in order to find the pieces that would relate to the present agenda.

Now the question was just how to articulate his views…

Ferdinand was an orator. Everyone on the strike force knew this by now. One of his greatest gifts was his power to move people with his words, able to argue in such a manner that anyone could understand his viewpoints. Along with his natural eloquence and penchant to be charming, these were the qualities that any proper prime minister would need, and now, now, those plans were dashed.

He was a general who couldn’t order, an advisor who couldn’t guide, and a minister who couldn’t inspire.

A hand rested on his shoulder, warm and cautious, and Ferdinand knew it belonged to Byleth. The man peered down at him with mild concern on his face, already seeing through him.

“Breathe. May I see your notes?”

Ferdinand slid them over while he attempted to school his respiration, kicking himself for lacking even the slightest control over his anxiety. It wasn’t a new situation, hardly, but it seemed now anything and everything was one step away from setting him off.

Ferdinand hated feeling like this. It was like he was a boy again, unsure if what he was doing was right, was noble enough, and whether or not his father would approve-

No, think of absolutely anything else right now. Not him.

The meeting went… not quite as badly as Ferdinand had feared, but it was far from present. Too many times did someone ask for his opinion before looking dreadfully embarrassed, suddenly aware of the circumstances.

Byleth was a help. Hearing the professor bring to light some of Ferdinand’s ideas and argue on his behalf was… touching, at the very least. It was nice, as well, that Edelgard was far more willing to give in to Byleth than Ferdinand himself.

Byleth didn’t always make the points Ferdinand would have. Byleth didn’t argue with any sort of passion, simply clear and unfazed facts. It left people with the notion that it would be the best plan, with faith in their professor, but where was the inspiration of it? They followed the professor because they believed in him, not in the strategy itself, and…

Well, it left something empty in Ferdinand, even when his peers gave kind remarks about how good his ideas for cavalry placement were. They all flashed sweet smiles and encouraging words, and it was all wrong.

He almost – he almost wanted to be called a brash fool. He wanted Caspar and Petra’s immediate, reckless support, he wanted Bernadetta and Linhardt’s unease and hesitant acceptance, he wanted Dorothea’s slow nods and Edelgard’s sighs and he wanted to hear Hubert argue against him, determined to get his way.

Instead, the man in question stared at him, not speaking up unless questioned. When Ferdinand caught his gaze, all Hubert did was raise an eyebrow.

It was – It was a familiar gesture. Ferdinand understood at once. With a small nod, he agreed, letting a soft smile take up his face for the first time so far in the meeting.

“Well, that wraps up today’s concerns. Thank you for participating, everyone. We managed to get everything done far quicker than usual… I am glad.”

Moment ruined, Ferdinand dipped his head, wincing at Edelgard’s words. She didn’t mean any harm, he was sure, but she had to know why everything went so smoothly.

“The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence.”

Maybe… Hubert truly wasn’t the only one that was pleased by the ordeal. If he couldn’t speak, then all further debates would not take place, and everything would run smoother… maybe even better, without his input.

Quickly, Ferdinand stood, abandoning his reports to leave as fast as he could while the others dawdled and chatted amongst themselves. He had almost succeeded in his escape when a hand gripped his elbow, slowing him considerably.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, von Aegir? Did you not agree to take tea after this?”

Hubert.

Inhaling deeply, Ferdinand turned to face his companion, Hubert’s face set in a peculiar frown. How could he respond? It was nowhere near quiet enough in the hall, not with the others still talking, so there was no way for Hubert to hear any whisper. Besides, that still hurt when attempted.

As if sensing his concerns, Hubert huffed, releasing him to fold his arms.

“Ferdinand. Cease. I’ll have you know that I’m more than capable of reading lips. It is an essential skill to have in my areas of expertise.”

Oh. So it was.

“I am still willing to take tea with you,” Ferdinand mouthed, looking away from Hubert as the faintest grin threatened to reappear. “Thank you.”

“Let us not waste time, then,” Hubert replied with an only somewhat exasperated headshake.

Perhaps not all things had to change.

Chapter Text

It was quiet. Far quieter than usual.

Somehow… it was still comfortable.

Hubert didn’t make any comments about how he could no longer speak. He never had, not since Linhardt had confirmed it. Instead, instead he was patient, patient in a way that Ferdinand had never expected would be directed at him, not from Hubert. It ached and burned in the best way, almost enough to let him forget.

Hubert was the quiet one, truly, but knowing that he could understand – that even when the wind was too loud, or other noises cluttered the courtyard, he could still read his lips with startling accuracy – greatly encouraged Ferdinand to speak in his own soundless way. Whispering took more air than speaking usually did, and for his generally long-winded rambles he needed as much as he could get.

Hubert had rarely watched Ferdinand when he spoke before, the man much more likely to be staring at his coffee or his lap than looking up. Now his attention was fully on Ferdinand, and Ferdinand…

Well. It was a lot, was all, the weight of Hubert’s gaze. Surely if Hubert met his eyes, he’d melt on the spot.

“Will you inform me as to why you were in such a rush to flee the room? You did not seem… entirely present, Ferdinand.”

Ah. So he hadn’t quite escaped the situation previous, not yet. Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, Ferdinand looked away, doubt and shame and regret coiling around within him like an angry mix of vipers.

Hubert had been listening this whole time, but Ferdinand still found himself unable to respond.

Something changed in the weight of Hubert’s gaze, and the man seemed to sigh through his nose, glancing away for the briefest of moments before he changed the topic, drawling and light in his words.

“I must admit, I have not been to such a dreadfully boring council in years. Frankly, I did not quite agree with many of Byleth’s proposals,” Hubert waved his hand idly, “it was easy enough to see that he was hardly prepared to present them. Even so, it would have been folly to argue with the professor. Anything he offers is immediately accepted…”

Ferdinand could not help himself: he brightened, smile tugging back at his face as he covered it with a sip of tea. A sidelong glance showed that Hubert, too, had a soft little grin, his pale eyes crinkling at the edges just enough to notice.

Hubert had missed him, in the meeting, and he was deliberately acknowledging it because he knew it would make Ferdinand feel better. Some part of Ferdinand longed to reach out to the hand that rested on the table, to kiss its knuckles.

“If you so dearly desire to bicker, my friend, we have all the time we can afford to it,” Ferdinand let his smile fall to something smaller, something sadder, as he stared at where his own hand lay not too far from Hubert’s. “…I was afraid that I was lost to the conversation. I fear I no longer have any place to be present for strategy meetings. If nothing else, I… I feel as though it will not be long before I am… drowned out, if you will, amongst our companions.”

Daring, Ferdinand allowed for his pinky to stray, brushing it along Hubert’s own. “I am… useless, like this, and I feel as though everyone… well, no one is particularly upset about it. Now the only person who has to deal with my incessant thoughts and feelings is… me.”

It wasn’t fair that the voice that lingered in his head, the one that reminded him of how flawed he was, the one that reminded him that everyone would be happier, now, sounded low and condescending, a voice from the monastery, Hubert’s voice. Hubert didn’t deserve it.

Not now, not after all these years, not when Hubert’s own gloved pinky tentatively reached out in return, hooking on Ferdinand’s. Neither mentioned it, neither retracted their hands. Ferdinand could not help but stare at where their hands were joined, even as Hubert looked away from his lips and to the ground at their side.

“My apologies, Ferdinand. I’m afraid that there’s no chance of you going unnoticed by everyone. I’d tell you why I think such, and yet…” the softest tint of pink marked Hubert’s ears, the mage still stubbornly looking away, “I’ve no pen nor paper with which to write, at the moment. You are simply going to have to take my word for it, even if you are so often inclined not to.

“As it is, I feel I must remind you of this, given your concerns. Ferdinand,” Hubert clarified, finally bringing himself to look back up at the man before him, “it is actions that speak far louder than words.”

With that, he took the hand that was hooked with his with both of his own, bringing it up to press a kiss across the tanned knuckles just as Ferdinand had envisioned himself doing prior. Now, now it was Ferdinand’s turn to flush; he only did not startle at the tender contact because of how quietly insecure the words were that came from Hubert’s mouth.

Even when Hubert relinquished his hand, Ferdinand kept one held in his own, perfectly capable of using his other to drink tea.

Perhaps this was why sharing silence with Hubert had been no chore. It was nice to simply spend the time with him regardless, even as they tiptoed around their poorly hidden feelings. They did not have to address the slight kiss. It could remain here, at their table, just with all of the other stray glances and fond touches had in the past. They were braver here, bolder away from prying eyes. They did not need to bring these infant affections elsewhere, parade them about for their friends.

So Ferdinand was surprised, somewhat, that Hubert continued to hold his hand in his even when they stood to leave, materials replaced.

Surprised, perhaps, but not upset. Letting his fingers intertwine with Hubert’s own was not a bad thing to take outside of their little world.

Hand in hand, they could communicate in a language all their own.

Chapter Text

War could not wait for people to catch up should they stumble and fall. Ferdinand found this out the hard way. No amount of newly blossoming love could keep him steady as their army continued its war.

It was nice to be in a saddle again, working through a new batch of cavalry in mock drills. Petra was advancing her own flying units while Caspar strengthened some infantry, and Ferdinand had faith in his men. He easily laid out a plan of attack before the drill for them to read through, simple enough.

At least, it should have been. Yet it seemed that Caspar had changed tactics halfway through, and suddenly Ferdinand’s men were at a disadvantage, they needed to regroup and try something new and-

-and no matter how much Ferdinand yelled, throat burning as the freshly healed muscles tried their best, no one could hear his orders.

***

It was ridiculous, really, how Edelgard requested time to speak with him. She seemed to wish to have private conversations regarding tactics with him since he had difficulty getting ideas through in meetings, but Edelgard was no Hubert.

He’d craft a marvelous and thoughtful point and shoot it back at her without hesitation in his argument only for her to be looking somewhere entirely different.

Edelgard was spooked easily, he knew, sometimes. Easily distracted, if nothing else. It wasn’t exactly fair to assume she’d spend all her time affixed to his face. (In fact, even Dorothea had trouble keeping up, and she had only laughed when he had mentioned that Hubert had no trouble. “Not all of us spend so much time naturally staring at your lips, Ferdie.”)

Regardless, it still hurt not to be heard.

***

Byleth accidently signed him up for choir practice, one weekend.

Ferdinand, like the fool he was, had gotten excited over it. He loved to sing.

He was halfway to the cathedral before he realized.

***

Having to make yourself known was harder than Ferdinand had assumed. He was used to stealing attention through his vibrant looks alone, though it had always helped when he entered a room with a cheerful call or greeting. Now…

Now, lanterns in the library would be blown out by a passing guard, and he couldn’t call out that someone was there.

Now, if he wasn’t careful, a relaxing trip to the bathhouse ended up in mortification. How was he to respond to someone’s shout of anyone in there? if he could not shout in return? He wasn’t sure what had been redder: Bernadetta’s face or his own.

Now, if he wanted to speak to one of his companions, he couldn’t simply call their name across the courtyard. He had to hope he could run them down before they left, and Sothis, he was still out of breath from recovering.

He considered the book of hand signs that he found when perusing the shelves of the library before he put it back in its place.

They wouldn’t be of any use if he was the only one to know them, after all.

***

Duke Aegir was dead.

His last words to Ferdinand had been that he was a coward for coming to see him only to not speak up. No backbone, he had spat. A traitorous whelp with his tail between his legs, cowering behind her Majesty and her frightful retainer.

Ferdinand let himself cry that night. No one would be disturbed by soundless sobs.

***

Nights were the worst. Ferdinand would lie under his blanket, curled on his bed in his dorm, silence surrounding him. All of the thoughts that he had not been able to share throughout the day ricocheted around in his head. How would Linhardt have felt if he was to start covering both Caspar and Bernadetta? Did anyone ever mention to Petra that her lance form was too stiff in training? What was the next topic of the war council?

Was there something he could do to help?

The words piled up and crowded each other in his mind. They never really seemed to leave: instead, they got louder, louder, reminding him of what he could no longer say, no longer do.

Edelgard didn’t deliberately ignore him when he refuted her ideas. Didn’t she? It wasn’t like her to be so childish, but all Ferdinand could think, deep down, was how relieved she was now to no longer deal with his prattling. Though he certainly did not make any habits of challenging her to duels anymore, now he hardly could. She could either not look at him and as such, miss his words, or completely ignore anything written.

It wasn’t just Edelgard that was benefiting from his silence. He would never again startle Bernadetta with a too-zealous acknowledgement, he would never say something that made Caspar want to brawl him then and there, he would never harass Linhardt into training, he would never be too loud, too arrogant, for Dorothea, he would never confuse Petra with his phrases of speech… He wouldn’t irk Hubert anymore.

How many times had he driven Hubert up the walls with words alone? He had always succeeded in goading him at the academy, or at least offering a sharp and witty retort. Now he could not provide nuanced speech at meetings to purposefully set up a strategy that Hubert would despise. Finally, finally…

“The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence.”

Funnily enough, the dark voice in his head hadn’t been Hubert’s for a couple of days now. No, it wasn’t the smooth drawling that he had grown to care for and seek out.

This voice was far more obnoxious, higher in pitch and incessantly loud, more of a shout within his mind than what had been Hubert’s low musings. There was only one voice, now, that could truly bring to life the vile loathing and disgust that echoed in Ferdinand’s head:

His own.

***

At least he hadn’t been forgotten. Perhaps he could not shove his identity down the throats of others any longer, but… surely, surely, he was not easily forgettable. He could command presence. He could make a difference, even if no one could hear him, could bear witness to him trying.

Couldn’t he?

Chapter Text

“I hardly find this sort of plan agreeable, Edelgard. You can’t be serious when you say that-”

She probably wasn’t serious, but Linhardt wasn’t used to bickering at a war council, how would he be able to tell she was goading him?

“I’m quite serious, Linhardt. Dorothea may also know Physic, but you’re quite more talented at white magic. Byleth and Manuela cannot use the spell, so it’d be most feasible to have you take a position in the center of the field; you would be able to attend to everyone that needed it most easily there.”

“In order to get to the middle of the field that would propose for me to begin battle on the frontlines. I can’t just – I won’t just allow myself to be a target! If I’m fulfilling my role as a healer, I won’t have any focus on the enemy, not that I’d want to focus on them. I’d be downed in the first five minutes.”

“Whoa, hey, Lin, we’re not just gonna let you get killed-!”

“That’s quite enough. It’d be better to pair Dorothea up with Bernadetta, now that she’s become a bow knight. Bernadetta can bring Dorothea to the center quickly, and the cavalry battalion will match their pace and keep people from picking them off.”

Right, because they needed a new cavalry general. It would be a waste for a cavalry battalion to be given to infantry or armor, given their strides, and since he couldn’t lead a battalion anymore, it would be Bernadetta’s…

“What we really need is to put Alois in the frontlines. He’s a tank, he’ll be able to take the first hits easily.”

“But he’s far too slow, Dorothea. Armor units should be the last line of defense, separating oncoming enemies from the healers, and staying close in case there’s a pincer movement. Frontlines are almost always for cavalry members, especially generals with battalions. Of course, our foremost Great Knight can no longer lead a battalion, but-”

Ferdinand squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the sting of the remark as though it had been a smack. The way Byleth spoke made it sound as though he was some… some invalid. He was here! Right here in the room, same as everyone else!

“That hardly matters. Alois will be a Great Knight soon enough, he’s easily replaceable. It’s not as though he has anything to offer that any other fresh recruit can master in a day.”

Instantly, Ferdinand snapped his attention to Linhardt, who was waving his hand as he drawled as though he had anything better he could speak about. Really? Had Linhardt truly dismissed him so easily? Linhardt had always been rather blunt, harsh at times, but-

“He can’t handle fighting anymore anyways. He’s far too fragile for this sort of thing. Honestly, it’s… sad.”

Flinching at Dorothea’s words, Ferdinand turned to look at Hubert – surely, surely, Hubert would come to his defense? At the very least he’d notice that Ferdinand was still present, still here, and he’d attempt to save face?

Ferdinand nearly choked as he watched Hubert nod, focused solely on everyone else’s conversation.

“If I am having honesty, I am not certain why we are having him on the field of battle. He is not displaying any use, yes? It is always of importance to be hunting the lame deer of the herd. He should just be staying behind if he does not want to cause hindrance.”

“Ugh, who are we even talking about again? I stopped paying attention-”

“It’s not that important, Caspar.”

If Petra’s words hadn’t made the air leave Ferdinand’s lungs, Caspar’s certainly did. But to hear Edelgard’s flat dismissal – to brush him off as unimportant on top of Petra’s useless, of Dorothea’s pathetic, Ferdinand could have screamed. But…

Look at me! I’m right here! Tell it to my face! Tell me myself! Stop pretending like I’m not one of you, like I’m not a member of the strike force, like I’m not just as equal in strength as any one of you!

He couldn’t. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t yell, couldn’t throw a fit. So he did what he could: he threw his chair back, only stumbling a bit as he ran from the room.

Ferdinand didn’t really know where exactly he was going; the walls and floors all looked the same, gray and blurred when viewed through tears. It was childish. It was childish, and he knew it was childish, Goddess, he hated himself for such an outburst, but he couldn’t just… just…

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t sit there, ignored, forgotten, he couldn’t let himself be trodden over, not even if they were-

Not even if they were right!

It was stupid and he was stupid for pretending he was still capable, that he could do something to help the war effort. His father had said all the same before his death. But what could he do outside of the war? He had nothing to return to. No home, no lands, no person. He still had no clue where exactly his siblings, legitimate or otherwise, had ended up.

He was alone, unwanted, uncared for, unneeded; he would never bring the Aegir name out of the muck, never make any difference to the people of the empire. All he was, was-

Vapid. Obnoxious. Oblivious. Simpleminded, simplehearted. Arrogant. Shallow. Useless, useless, useless, useless!

No one in the world will remember your name long enough to spit on your grave!

Goddess, he couldn’t even figure out how to fucking breathe!

Ferdinand choked on his next attempted inhale, eyes and lungs burning as he felt himself fall to the floor with a thump. He wanted to scream so badly, so, so badly, to do something to vent the overwhelming sensation that had swamped him, so he did, and he screamed and yelled despite the unbreaking silence until his throat burned to match the rest of him, until his vision became almost entirely overwhelmed with black spots. Fingers knotted into his hair and pulled, nails digging into his own scalp as Ferdinand vaguely debated ramming his damned head into the wall.

His panic wasn’t normally so… destructive. When he had panic attacks after a rough battle, or back at the academy after a particularly harsh day, or back at home under the stern teachings of his father, all he had ever done was shut down and balled himself up somewhere quiet. He was used to wanting some peace. He had never considered the possibility of being so silenced that his very body ached to shout.

It was as if every bit of noise he hadn’t made since his injury had piled up, blaring like alarms and sirens in his brain, a voice that sounded too much like what he remembered of his own berating him for how pathetic he was being, how childish, how stupid-

A hand, out of nowhere, gripped onto his wrist, another joining on the opposite one, causing Ferdinand to flinch through the haze of anxiety. Gasping and curling in tighter, his automatic response was to struggle, to lash out, but the end product was only him sharply tugging on his hair as his hands flailed to punch.

With how dizzy he was becoming, somehow Ferdinand did not think a punch would have been all too deterring to his attacker.

Sure enough, the hands that had grabbed him drifted upwards, wrapping around his own hands with a slight hesitance before attempting to undo his fingers’ locked positions. Faintly, a voice different from the one running rampant in his mind pushed through, even if it sounded so, so far away.

“Ferdinand – stop, stop this, you’re just hurting yourself. Ferdinand, let go, I don’t have an immediate desire to break your damn fingers-!”

Finally, the person succeeded, uncurling Ferdinand’s hold from his distressed orange waves and slowly bringing his hands away from his head. Both of his hands were then held together gently by one thin one, the other drifting back up to his head in order to gently knead the attacked area.

Ferdinand thrashed again when he felt himself being brought closer to something not-quite soft, but certainly warmer than the wall, this attempt having even less success than the first. He found himself being held quite securely to… a chest?

That notion hardly helped his state of mind. Of course someone would’ve followed him, stupid, he should’ve known, how humiliating-

“Ferdinand, breathe. You’re hyperventilating, that’s hardly going to help anything, you…” the faint voice stopped for a moment, a pause that felt infinite to Ferdinand, “Ferdinand, I beg of you. In on my count, out on my count.”

Softly, more from the gentleness of its tone than volume, now, the voice counted up to five before starting over, slow and patient. After some time, Ferdinand began to match the numbers, easing to the feel of spindly fingers in his hair despite the throbbing of his skull.

When he zeroed in on the voice, he couldn’t keep up with his other racing thoughts. Slowly Ferdinand’s mind emptied of everything but the low, soothing words, and after a few minutes, his breathing was almost normal again.

He was… tired. Exhausted, really. Ferdinand let himself rest against the person’s chest, too worn out to bother trying to escape again, letting himself find the calm that had previously left him, even if he still trembled from the left over anxiety, even if his eyelashes were still wet. He felt his company breathe a sigh before a soft press of lips touched his forehead, and only then did he fully take in the black clothing and thin frame.

Of course. Hubert.

Weak and drained, Ferdinand only endeavored to press his face against Hubert’s breast, the tremors halting with every second he was embraced in his warmth. Eventually he felt Hubert trace his fingertips from his scalp down his neck, eventually going to gently rub his back.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

From Hubert, that sort of command was its own kind of beg, especially when it came to Ferdinand, the one person who disobeyed his orders more often than not.

At least without a voice, his mouthed words would not waver. Ferdinand reluctantly pulled away enough to be seen, though he could not meet Hubert’s gaze.

“My friend, please… do not, do not endeavor to mock me. To be so… patient when I make an even bigger fool of myself; I am already useless, I wish not be seen as… as helpless, as well.”

Brow furrowing, Hubert gently cupped Ferdinand’s chin in order to draw back his gaze. His eyes were red, tears still lingering.

“Ferdinand, I will not even begin to entertain the notion that you are either of such things.”

Ferdinand winced at that, staring below Hubert’s chin while citrine eyes gazed even more deeply into his own. When no response came, some part of Hubert seemed to deflate.

“…Is a friend all I truly am to you, even now? I had… believed us to be courting, ever since…”

With a quick motion, Ferdinand pulled free of Hubert’s grip on his face, not yet daring to make a stand with how much the dizziness still lingered.

“Maybe, yes, maybe we are, but – but these, these feelings, I’ve had them for quite a while, and never once before did you seem at all interested. I think – I’ve begun to understand, you, Hubert, you’re just like the others, deep down. This is an improvement, to you! Do you remember what you said when I first – when I was first instructed to be quiet? You held it over me, how… how annoying I was, am, and I know it is no joke. Now that I can’t – can’t bother you or anyone else with the brashness of my words anymore, only now am I worth any time pursuing, now that I can’t possibly grate your ears nor argue ad nauseum. You only care for me because I’m silent, now!”

“Ferdinand, that isn’t…”

“Are you blind? Deaf? It’s so terribly obvious whenever anyone so much as gives me the time of day, if they even notice I’m there. Everyone is overjoyed to find I’m no longer a disruption, so much so that I hardly exist to them anymore, I can’t – I can’t lead, I can’t advise, I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t-”

“Ferdinand, you’re only serving to make it worse again!”

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter, I don’t matter at all, not anymore, you’re even talking over me because you can, you’ll drown me out, everyone will drown me out, there’s no point-”

Ferdinand made a choking sound as Hubert tugged him forward, hand gentle at the back of his head, into a kiss. Ferdinand didn’t struggle this time, instead gasping when after a few moments Hubert pulled back, concern threatening to cross his face. With utmost care Hubert pressed his forehead to Ferdinand’s, thumbing back the stray locks of orange that had fallen in his face before running his finger under the fresh tears.

“Breathe, Ferdinand. I have been infatuated with you most ardently for months. I only did not make a move because I could hardly believe you’d be interested. As for the others – no one is happy about your condition, Ferdinand. Every single one of us has made remarks to each other about how… we miss your bright optimism that you would put into your rants. Even… Lady Edelgard, she even mentioned she wouldn’t mind hearing you ask her for another duel, even though you’ve grown past that. Where are you getting this nonsense of people liking you better like this?”

Oh. Oh.

Slowly, every ounce of energy drained from him, Ferdinand moved his head from Hubert’s and down to his shoulder. A deep breath. The way Hubert held him, touched him, so gently. The way he now moved to run a hand down through his hair, the movement jerky, almost as though he had been waiting ages to do it. It was with a long, heavy sigh that Hubert spoke again, at last.

If it was what Ferdinand needed to hear, he would never hesitate to say it.

“I did not become enamored with you because of your voice or lack thereof. I can’t begin to understand why you view that as your only important feature – you are far more than your spoken words alone. I found myself enraptured over time, over battles, over meetings, over tea. Just being near to you was enough to burn me to my core, Ferdinand. It was as if I had been pitched into the bloody sun.

“All of the best parts of you don’t require your voice, Ferdinand. You needn’t speak in order to… brighten a companion’s day with a smile, inspire your men, fight with all of your strength… You do not need your voice to love and care as passionately as you do. You, at your very soul, are your heart, and no possible muteness could ever silence that.”

Hubert was right. Hubert was right, and he had gotten himself worked up for nothing. Even more:

Hubert truly cared for him.

Ferdinand nodded into Hubert’s shoulder, sitting back and palming at his eye while Hubert observed him. He must have deemed him calm enough to carry on because a hand rested on Ferdinand’s own, texture of the glove soft against his skin.

“The meeting has ended for the day. Are you at all interested in having a drink at our usual table? Or would you prefer to-”

A small shake of the head was enough to answer him, and Ferdinand rose easily enough when they stood together, even if he felt as though he might yet stumble.

Such notions hardly mattered; Hubert was here beside him. They would take coffee and tea, and they would enjoy the silence of each other’s company. He wouldn’t need to force himself to converse, not again so soon, and perhaps… perhaps it would be alright, he would be alright, even without anything being spoken. He could handle it, after all: he was Ferdinand von Aegir.

Nothing had to be said. Ferdinand von Aegir would not be forgotten so easily, it seemed.

Most certainly not by Hubert.

Chapter Text

Every time Byleth called for a scouting mission, Hubert swore another hair of his turned gray. The ruffians and bandits had become more and more often likely to truly be enemy soldiers from Faerghus, and Hubert could have made money betting on what sort of demonic beast or monster that they would see in each fight. The foggy woods they were in for this fight was a prime location for some unholy creature, and worst of all, they were short on torches.

Mages were of utmost importance because of this. It was their magic that lit up the spaces to cut through the mist, and as such, it was entirely key to stay nearby at least one of them. The strategies had been laid out for a swift, easy take down.

Now without proper vision, chaos had begun to reign.

It was all Hubert could do to stay close to Edelgard’s side, her vibrant uniform easy for him to focus on while surrounded by gray. Byleth had gone off to fight more freely, his Relic easily seen flashing throughout the area much like Aymr. It was unfortunate that those were the only Relics present company had, especially since the glows of those which had been blessed by supposed-saints was far softer, unable to cut so easily through the dark.

With Byleth out seeking for the enemy leader, that left for Linhardt, Dorothea, and the newly acquired Lysithea to guide the remainders of their group, Hanneman and Manuela having stayed behind for this mission, while Hubert remained by Edelgard at the rear, just in case an attempt for a pincer attack would be made with the fog as an aid. There were only ten of them, not including their battalions, but the fight should have been simple, the fog only an annoyance.

It had certainly seemed that way when the once-professor had returned, shaking the blood from his sword with a curt nod, having slain the commander. It was enough to let Hubert give a breath of relief. No reinforcements, no surprises, just bad weather. All they needed to do was wait for the others to finish their part and find their way back–

Even Hubert tensed at the sound of a horrible shriek, the noise still unable to mask the sharp, desperate cry that it threatened to trample:

“Caspar!”

Any shout like that coming from Linhardt, of all people, was never good news. Considering the panic and pain that could be heard, and the large burst of light from a Bolganone spell in the distance, Hubert could safely bet that for once it wasn’t Caspar in trouble.

It was a miracle that none of the three of them tripped over any rocks or roots when they ran in the direction of the growing fire, the spell having caught on a couple of the trees nearby and what appeared to be the remains of a giant wolf.

The sight was gruesome when they arrived, shortly after Caspar himself appeared: lit by firelight and the glow from the Relics, the only thing distinguishing their healer from the green of the grass that surrounded him was the dark crimson blood that had begun seeping into the ground. Though the blue eyes were wide open, he did not appear to be seeing anything, incapable of anything other than gasping for breath.

Not that that appeared to be doing much good, Hubert noted with a scowl; the gash down Linhardt’s neck and chest was continuously seeping blood as the sticky redness bubbled at his lips to match.

“Shit,” Hubert swore, just as Edelgard grabbed Caspar by the bicep to stop him from acting rashly.

“Stop, stop it! Caspar, you will just make it worse – Hubert,”

Without another moment wasted, Hubert acted on Edelgard’s intention, kneeling down to call his meager faith skills to his hands. It was hardly a skill he used, a fact that seemed to be haunting him as of late.

He had already failed Ferdinand with his poor healing. Now it was Linhardt’s life on the line.

“We need to retreat.”

As much as those words were sudden, the stoic tone unwavering despite the clear immediacy, Hubert did not turn to look at Byleth, focusing on his pitiful ministrations. The blood loss was only continuing to grow.

“We defeated the commander, did we not? Professor, to abandon the area without eliminating remaining troops-!”

“I understand your concern, Edelgard, but we have no choice.” Short and curt, the words cut through the fog with knife-like sharpness. “No matter what actions I take, I cannot… I cannot prevent disaster. No matter how many times I start the battle over – no matter what formations, tactics, we are always overrun once the beasts draw blood should we continue on.

“I only have one left,” Byleth’s voice took on a soft, rarely-heard plead, “and I cannot bear to use it and leave us with no safety net. Not unless someone dies.”

Despite the low light from the flames and density of the fog, Hubert could still easily see the way pale lavender eyes darted between their old professor and prone healer. Edelgard was shaken, it seemed, with how rattled Byleth was acting. Hubert could hardly blame her, his nerves were almost entirely frayed as well.

“So – So be it. The others-”

Caspar and Edelgard both whirled at the sound of nearby footsteps charging closer, though all postures relaxed minutely when Dorothea and Petra emerged from the darkness, Petra’s sword raised and Dorothea’s hands glowing gold from the aftermath of magic. Blood dripped steadily from a cut above Dorothea’s brow, but otherwise the two looked relatively unharmed.

“Edie, Professor, what – Lin!”

It was not the first time Hubert had been bodily tackled by Dorothea, and frankly, he was quite certain it would not be the last. In all honesty, he was more than relieved to have her take over his shoddy attempts at administering faith magic.

“We had been doing battle against the enemies to the east of the field,” Petra explained, “when we had heard the most horrific of noises coming from where we are being now! We did not be thinking about the fighting left and ran towards the flames! We will be retreating, now, yes? Where are-”

“Just as you both did, the other three ought to come here immediately to find out what happened,” Hubert deduced, leveling Petra and then Byleth with a steeled look. “Lysithea led them north-east, further than you went, so it’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

“The commander was near that area, and there were few other enemies by the time I turned back,” Byleth returned, eyes lit by the orange fires, “It shouldn’t take them this long. Not with Ferdinand’s horse. Those girls are light – all three could ride easily.”

The ex-mercenary took a deep inhale, nodding to himself as he appeared to consider something beyond Hubert’s understanding.

“I’m going to go find them. Hubert, with me.”

Hubert was hardly going to argue with such orders. It was unthinkable, really, in any sense. Though he loathed the entire concept of leaving Edelgard – leaving all of the gathered Strike Force, really – behind, shaken and in danger, the very notion that he had no eyes on Ferdinand made his nerves threaten to bring magic to his fingertips.

Vestras thrived in the silent, clouded darkness, of course, but they did so when alone. Hubert had made the mistake of growing attached to his peers five years ago, and now he had to suffer the consequences of such actions. He had let Bernadetta grow on him as a sister would; he had accepted Lysithea as someone that could understand Edelgard’s past perhaps even more than he himself could.

He had let that damned Ferdinand von Aegir warm him to his very core and press the faintest of kisses to his cold, blackened heart.

No harm could be allowed to befall them.

It wasn’t as though he had long to dawdle on such thoughts, however. He had been following Byleth through the fog for a mere minute before the screaming began. This time it was far more familiar to their ears than Linhardt’s shriek–

Bernadetta.

“Professor! Professor, professor pleeease! Oh goddess, oh goddess, I can’t do this, I can’t do this alone!”

Hubert ran the sharp turn Byleth gave at the cries, letting a miasma warm his hand with a snap from his fingers: let their old professor tend to the girl, and Hubert would off the foe causing such distress, and yet…

There was no such foe.

The Sword of the Creator illuminated the small area surrounding them as they found Bernadetta, her small form cowering behind a tall shrub as though it would hide her any better in the mist. Hubert found himself entirely unable to stop his relief of seeing her relatively unharmed come out as shortness when he caught his breath.

“Bernadetta, what could be your damned reason for-”

It was only when the woman jumped up to grab Byleth’s arm that Hubert began to understand why she hadn’t simply run toward the flames from Linhardt’s spell.

Where Bernadetta had been hovering Lysithea’s form could now be seen, blood on her temple as she remained eerily still.

“There was this – this huge monster out of nowhere, and it, it just, wham, it knocked us both over, and she, she hit her head really, really hard, and she wasn’t waking up so, so I didn’t know what to do-!”

“She’s alive,” Byleth hushed Bernadetta softly, observing the faint rise and fall of Lysithea’s chest, “but we can’t spare Dorothea’s efforts to heal her just yet…”

Frankly, Hubert found the solution quite simple. “Bring the both of them back to the others and retreat from that point. Take the wagons and horses, head back to the monastery, to the infirmary and Manuela.”

“But, but you-”

“Will find Ferdinand and retreat as well upon his horse,” the dark mage leveled Bernadetta with a look, firm, “as swiftly as we can. Lysithea appears to be relatively stable in her condition, but we cannot know that until a healer gets a proper look at her, and refocusing Dorothea’s attentions from Linhardt is clearly out of the question. You simply need to tell me when Ferdinand had the audacity to split from your group. Professor,”

Byleth caught Hubert’s gaze with a nod of agreement, lifting Lysithea cautiously as he beckoned Bernadetta to speak. With no small amount of anxiety, the archer did just that.

“He – Ferdinand, when we got attacked he, he just went to drive the monster off! Please, please don’t be mad at him for separating from us, if he hadn’t charged it then we’d probably be dead! Ohh, the two of us would just be little strings of jerky, of little Bernie jerky, all wrapped up in that thing’s huge teeth!”

A pair of green eyes stole Hubert’s waning attention, Byleth nodding his head to the rumpled grass that was clearly trampled. Not waiting for his reaction, the man disappeared, Lysithea in his arms and toeing Bernadetta along just the same.

Hubert set off searching once again. Both luckily and not, it became quite clear he was going in the right direction when he found himself nearly struck by a panicking horse.

Grabbing the mare’s reins, he steadied the beast as quickly as he could calm it. There was no doubt that this was Ferdinand’s mount, Hubert would recognize it anywhere, but every moment the creature thrashed and neighed was a second spent with Hubert unable to listen for movement around him. Sight any further than a few feet in front of him was out of the question, and the giant wolves had far keener senses compared to him.

All Hubert desired was a flash of vibrant red hair. That was it. They had not yet slain Fódlan’s false goddess, so if she was to give any pity on her would-be killers, now was the time.

Hubert did not get the bright locks he desired as he walked the horse further back. Instead, the only change in scenery was the murky brown liquid that flooded the ground, the mere sight sending the ice encasing Hubert’s heart straight down to crash in his stomach.

It was no giant wolf that had attacked Ferdinand’s group. No, those creatures bled just as red as any human.

This was the blood of a demonic beast, one with the green blood of dragons that had mixed with humanity’s crimson. The acidic smell and tinge of purple poison at the edges only confirmed the matter.

Ferdinand was missing on a dark, foggy battlefield where their most concerning enemies could pinpoint them from smell alone. Ferdinand could not yell for help like Bernadetta, nor could he send a flare of fire or thunder like Linhardt had done. He was completely and utterly alone without even his horse for company and there was no way for him to get Hubert’s attention, not like this. He didn’t even have a battalion to aid him or make him more easily noticed.

Hubert never enjoyed applying the term desperate to himself, but for this occasion he had no choice but to allow it.

The desperation only grew when he found the massive corpse of the demonic beast, Spear of Assal glowing faintly from where it was ledged in its side, with no sign of the man who wielded it.

Hubert’s grip grew slack as he took in the sight. If Ferdinand had bested the monster on his own, that was a feat any reasonable person would respect. The notion that Ferdinand hadn’t returned to Bernadetta and Lysithea afterwards, or headed towards the fires…

“Ferdinand!”

The yell was stolen from his throat, raw and pained at the very thought edging the corners of his mind. With a more frantic need, Hubert skirted the area, abandoning the horse, looking toward every tree and hole and stump that could possibly be hiding the man he loved.

“Ferdinand! You daft ass, you – come out from wherever you’ve hidden yourself! Some sort of… this is hardly a game, dammit! Ferdinand – damn you, Aegir, give me something! Give me anything to work with! There is no reason to be this vexing! Ferdinand!”

No clank of armor. No orange waves loose from their tight battle-ready updo. No gasps or groans or the chiming of the little bell he had been gifted.

It was no joke, no prank, not even a damn body left for Hubert to at least have the knowledge of his love’s fate. Ferdinand was lost, lost to him, and the only possible way he could be found was if Hubert lingered night and day for the weather to better itself. If he was healthy enough, Hubert could still be too late to find him, even if he woke from unconsciousness, even if he was free to move. If he wasn’t sound enough in body…

It hardly mattered then, if that was the case. Ferdinand would be dead, and Hubert a fool for waiting.

All it left for Hubert to do was attempt to steady his breathing, forcibly blink back any moisture that had accumulated about his eyes, and make for the horse once again, pulling the sacred spear out of the flank of the creature as he did so.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t, give up, of course. Such an action would be incomprehensible. No, he would simply… regroup with the others and explain the situation, stay behind as they went ahead, wait a night without worrying Edelgard as to his whereabouts…

His hand clenched as he reached the mare, smothering the dark magic that had built up with his emotions. With perhaps more anger than the steed deserved, Hubert once again took up her reins, snapping his wrist to pull her head away from where it sniffed at the demonic beast’s claws, barely sparing a second glance to where the natural weapons dug into the ground. Into the dark dirt, into the grass muddy and flooded by monstrous blood, into the scraps of fabric from tearing into Bernadetta, into Lysithea, into Ferdinand–

Into Ferdinand’s body, Hubert realized with a deeply strangled noise. Not wasting another second, the imperial minister dropped to his knees, discarding the lance as he drug the scaly foot up, off, away from the man who was staring at him with bright, bright orange eyes filled to the very brim with fear, with pain, with tears.

Hubert didn’t need a proper light source to tell that the frantic word mouthed by Ferdinand was none other than his own name.

“Hubert!”

With a wretched gasp from both of them, Hubert pulled Ferdinand up into an embrace, arms trembling about him. Ferdinand’s forehead, sticky from blood and sweat, tucked away against Hubert’s neck was the most satisfying feeling Hubert had ever known.

“I’ve got you. You’re not alone any longer. I… I’m sorry.”

They could make as many adjustments as it took to make Ferdinand confident and as near normalcy as possible in the day-to-day moments and tasks the war presented them. Even on paper, small changes could be made to allow Ferdinand to fight to the best of his ability without needing his voice to command, to lead, to inspire.

There was no way to properly equip a mute man to fight in practical moments of war such as this. Not with their limited time. Not with the resources they had. Each battle could be hit or miss depending on its conditions, and now, now Hubert understood the gut-wrenching anxiety that had plagued Ferdinand since he had lost his voice. Ferdinand was not a liability to the army.

He was a liability to his friends. Hubert could not weigh Ferdinand’s battle prowess against his life, not when keeping him safe, out of battle, would prevent times like this where Hubert would rather spend night and day searching for a speechless soldier having fallen in battle.

Ferdinand being unable to call for him wasn’t enough to ruin his credibility as a general: it was simply enough to make Hubert doubt and worry consequences that would never have existed otherwise.

“Are you injured?” Hubert asked when he himself found his words, voice low. With a sinking heart he watched as Ferdinand attempted to speak, the words far too fast for Hubert to catch with such low vision.

“I’m going to need you to nod yes or no,” Ferdinand stilled at the comment, hands trembling where Hubert held them in his, “Are you injured?”

This time, the question was answered in a way Hubert could see. A slow dip of the head before hands moved to his ribs, tender in the movement. It was with a frown that Hubert realized such a dark stain could not be from blood alone.

“Ferdinand, were you poisoned?” Perhaps a little sharper than intended, he received both a nod and flinch, eyes darting past his form to the body remaining behind Hubert. “Can you ride until we reach the others – can you stand?”

Another quick succession of nods, the two men pulled each other up unsteadily, Hubert ignoring the incessant tugging of his sleeves and prodding by Ferdinand as he bent again to retrieve the weapon he had dropped.

“We must retreat immediately, stop struggling, I’ve no idea where you might have stashed an antitoxin if any and it would be wiser to meet up with the others as swiftly as possible, Ferdinand–”

With a bare hint of worried frustration, Hubert found himself cut off as he stood back to full height as Ferdinand wrenched Hubert’s hands away, wildly swinging the Spear of Assal in their grasp as it struck deeply into the head of the now rising demonic beast behind him. Hubert only found himself able to watch, aghast, as the monster only now was well and truly slain.

Ferdinand stumbled immediately after the hit, falling against Hubert as the mage quickly retracted an arm to hold him up. Between the haggard breaths, Hubert managed to pick out the faintest of whispers brush up against his ear.

“Don’t you dare ignore me again.”

“My apologies,” the two moved slowly to the horse, and with an effort, Hubert found himself sitting behind Ferdinand on the saddle. The one time he ignored any sign of Ferdinand’s desperation to communicate, and the consequences were almost deadly. “Forgive me, truly.”

With a small glance that let Hubert know that for now he was forgiven, Hubert turned Ferdinand to look toward the flames licking up the trees, yet dying all the same, in the distance.

“Everyone should have retreated from that point. The professor informed Lady Edelgard that we best take the meager victories we have and desert the area before it becomes entirely overrun. There have been too many casualties and it would be disastrous if an injury turned into a more permanent loss.”

Again Ferdinand turned back to look at him, this time paler than ever, eyes hazy. In return, Hubert dug his heels into the horse, urging it to move a little faster through the darkness as he felt his hands remain glued to the deep, oozing wound found in Ferdinand’s side.

“Aside from Lysithea, Linhardt is down. Everyone should, by now, be evacuated to the – Ferdinand?”

Anxiety once again curled, heavy and unpleasant, in Hubert’s stomach as he watched Ferdinand’s head dip forward somewhat haphazardly, reaching to grab where the younger man held the reins. Pressing Ferdinand back closer to his chest, Hubert tried to gauge the condition he was in while keeping the horse moving straight ahead.

Pulse fluttery and skin hotter than it had been when Hubert had first found him, he realized that Ferdinand must have been poisoned more badly than he had originally believed. It made sense, Hubert swore to himself as the distant look on Ferdinand’s face only grew more ill in pallor, with only one foe for the demonic beast to fixate on. With the proper action over, Ferdinand wasn’t even fighting him as he took full control of the horse, letting Ferdinand rest back against him, shaky and wheezing. It was enough to let the blood in Hubert’s veins run cold.

Somehow, he had discovered a sound from Ferdinand far worse than silence.

Chapter Text

It took two days to flush the poison from Ferdinand’s system. Two days of pacing, of arguing, of frayed nerves and heightened anxiety among the strike force.

All of the minor injuries weren’t seen until several hours had passed, back at the Monastery. In the meantime, cuts were bandaged, wounds disinfected, breaks were set, and all by normal means – every available healer was too busy for such low-priority issues.

Lysithea awoke at sundown upon their return, confused and unsure of what was going on. A concussion, but little else worse. She would recover.

Ferdinand only ever woke fleetingly, and often in distress. With most healing being direct, antitoxins were vital in his recovery, and even then they all knew the importance of not consuming too much of any elixir. The ride in the imperial caravan back to the Monastery had been…

Even Hubert could not dwell on how grim it had felt. Dorothea and the professor both had some sense for white magic, but they had also spent energy in the fight. They were unprepared for Ferdinand to start spasming, choking on his own spittle – a haunting image even now, especially with his silence.

Once the antitoxins had done their job, he had at least seemed to stabilize. He displayed clear lucidity the first time he had emerged into consciousness after those two dreadful days, able to acknowledge where he was and who was around him. Manuela had insisted he remain in the infirmary for a few days yet, knowing that he would likely need to continue to build strength to recover from his wounds now that he was no longer ill.

It took a full five days before Linhardt gave any sign of life. Five days of Caspar wallowing in guilt, the professor close behind him. Five days of shallow breaths, snow-pale skin from blood-loss, and intense, impressively sober supervision from Manuela and Dorothea both.

A near week of Hubert minding Ferdinand’s bedside, even when he was too tired to mouth words for him. When he went back into slumber, Hubert spent his time shaking down Hanneman, desperate for something, anything that could be done-

And always, the same answer. “Yes, I have read texts on experimental modifications and augmentations after amputations, but this – it is far too specialized, and I have no talents in healing. No magic of mine would be of use, I fear. Forgive me.”

A non-answer, yet a pointed hint all the same. Hanneman could not give him what he sought, so there was likely only one person who could:

The same person unconscious in the sickbed before him, green hair done in a clumsy braid that spoke loudly of Caspar’s handiwork.

When Linhardt had first woken up, he was so disoriented that his condition immediately destabilized, Manuela issuing a sleeping draught to relax him. Such potions rarely worked their fullest on the healer, but it was enough to bring him down to a calmer demeanor. Since then, he had only woken once or twice, but appeared properly lucid each time.

It mattered not. Hubert was a patient man.

Indeed, his patience paid off.

Hubert’s eyes flitted up from the book he was reading at the softest sound of movement, watching as Linhardt’s head shifted lightly upon the pillow, minute twitches of his nose and eyes signaling his waking. Putting the novel aside, Hubert leaned forward, steepling his hands.

Finally, blue met topaz. Almost instantly came a deep, guttural noise of irritation, Linhardt heavily considering turning over or pulling the pillow over his head but not committing to either.

“It is good to see you capable of life, Linhardt. You’ve been out for quite a while.”

“Save me the pleasantries, what work have you brought for me? I am not you, Hubert, not everyone can immediately pick up on the war front after near death.”

“…It does not immediately relate to the war effort. It is a more… personal affair.”

A suspicious glint erased some of the sleep from Linhardt’s eyes. “I don’t even want to begin to ask what sort of personal affair you would come to me with.”

Hubert let his gaze drift away, the fringe he had left doing a poor job of obscuring his face. It meant little in this moment; Linhardt was bright, despite his productivity, and he was uncanny at reading some of his fellows after five years of being stuck with them.

“It regards Ferdinand.”

“Oh.”

Linhardt moved to sit up, skin losing the scant color it had as he did so – Hubert was quick to stand, moving the pillows to better allow for him to be upright without a word. A kindness, something they both knew would not have happened while still in school.

They had all grown in their own ways.

“Caspar told me of the battle’s outcome. I was surprised at first that the professor did not, but he likely didn’t want me to feel obligated to worry over any healing.”

Hubert barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes; it was obvious that the professor was right, and that Linhardt felt guilt even so, as though he himself wasn’t securely in his death bed.

“Ferdinand is stable. The poison has cleared out of his system, and his wounds were comparatively easy to treat.”

A small swell of approval as Linhardt’s shoulders untensed, his thumbs still fidgeting in his lap. The sigh that came was heavy, nonetheless.

“Caspar was amazed that you managed to find him. I don’t know how embellished his reporting was, but I can assume it doesn’t really matter. You realize, now, just how dangerous it is to have a comrade that cannot signal easily for help while in battle. No doubt you’ll start arguing for his removal from battles at the next war meeting, though you know he’ll fight tooth and nail against it.”

“Astute as ever, when you wish to be.” Hubert sat stiffly on the bed’s side. “I know it will hurt him severely, but if I had to weigh harming his physical wellbeing against that of mental and emotional… there is yet more he can do alive than dead. For the war effort.”

“For the war effort,” Linhardt parroted, deeply unamused. “We both know I cannot heal him, Hubert. I tried. Nothing short of the saint Cethleann herself would have any hope for this malady.”

That was an idea yet, Hubert supposed. They did not know where Flayn was, but if they captured her along the way… “I have been spending ample time pouring over research and textbooks. Hanneman had a few on the intersection of magic and amputation, and how there have been a few records of those who have lost limbs replacing them with artificial ones. They work through strong faith magic, spells woven into their design to feign that of a living limb, allowing one to use it as such. The magic sustained in the appendages can connect to the body as though false nerves.”

“I… have read some of those books, myself,” Linhardt chewed his lip lightly, crossing his arms. “Mostly because I was convinced, early on, that Caspar would lose some part of himself by the end of this. But that speaks of arms and legs, there haven’t been any recordings of something more… internal.”

“The professor doesn’t have a pulse. Stranger substitutes have happened.”

“The professor is a whole other case,” Linhardt hissed, fingers squeezing into his own arms.

Still, he did not say anything when Hubert reached over and pulled his hands away from himself, back toward the blanket, which could not have its blood flow cut short. “Hanneman believes any average physician with an ounce of faith could make a proper one.”

“A proper finger, or foot, Hubert, not a-”

“Linhardt.” Hubert forced their eye contact, voice soft, but stern. “You are no average physician, nor do you have such a meager amount of white magic. I may put little stock in the Goddess or Her saints, but the truth of their strength and your lineage is undeniable. You are one of the brightest minds of our generation, and your healing is exemplary.”

“Caspar didn’t tell me anything about you getting knocked in the head during the fight, just Lysithea-”

“I am being serious,” Hubert urged, composure threatening to drop completely. “I am not demanding you perform the miraculous, nor do I dare have hope that it is even a possibility, but I am… I am asking you to try. For Ferdinand.”

He would do the same for you was left unsaid, yet understood nonetheless.

“I guess it sounds interesting enough to try,” Linhardt drawled, twisting his braid around a finger. “Using faith magic to connect and amplify a damaged larynx while still being outside the body. How hard could that be?”

The question haunted Hubert for a fortnight. The entire strike force’s nerves seemed laid bare, with some losing hope after their recent disastrous fight, and others trying to find the delicate balance between resting and marching on.

Every night Linhardt had spent once discharged from the infirmary had been in the library. At some point, Lysithea and Hanneman had joined him, arguing over his head about the nuances of such technical work.

They were not the only ones at odds.

Just as Linhardt had predicted, the other foot had to drop. Edelgard dismissed Ferdinand from the next skirmish, providing a poor excuse of him still needing to heal that everyone saw right through.

Ferdinand had gone on to demolish a training dummy, and did not turn up to tea or bed with Hubert later. Hubert knew that the odds of Linhardt manifesting his solution were slim to none, and that even if it were possible, it could take months and would surely prove quicker under peacetimes–

–so he was beyond surprised when a small box was handed over to him the moment they returned from that same controversial skirmish, having also remained behind in order to rebuild strength.

“It worked when Caspar yelled himself hoarse,” offered a Linhardt that looked more exhausted than Hubert had ever seen him while hale, “as poor a comparison as that is. If it doesn’t work, there’s no more I can do.”

“And if it does,” Hubert held the parcel delicately in his hands, knowing just how precious this cargo could be, “if it does work, know that you shall be completely exempt from any training session you do not wish to attend. Neither I, Lady Edelgard, nor the professor himself shall drag you out of bed for magic drills.”

“And I’ll hold you to it,” Linhardt retorted with a yawn, stretching back slightly. “Now, I believe that Caspar has some sweet buns waiting for us. Last I heard, Ferdinand was moping in your usual spot. A little songbird might have mentioned the professor gifting him a new blend to try to apologize for pulling him out of fights, and I know nowhere else he’d be.”

A lesser man might have equated Linhardt to Goddess-sent, but Hubert knew better.

They were all doing their part to try and prove to Ferdinand that they still cared.

The information proved true, in the end. When Ferdinand did not react to his approach, despite Hubert being within line of sight, the mage simply walked behind him, taking orange tresses into his hands. He could practically feel Ferdinand raise a brow at him, but he did not let that distract him from plaiting his hair.

“I am well aware that your grooming routine is haphazard at best when you withdraw yourself, so you must at least let me attempt to style it into something that won’t catch on a stray branch.”

A soft huff of an exhale, shoulders dipping down. Defeat. A quality that Ferdinand von Aegir, of all people, did not display naturally.

Once finished with his work, Hubert sat down across, accordingly. With purposeful bravado, he let the toe of his boot trace up Ferdinand’s ankle, a scarlet flush rising upon his freckled face in response.

“You need not coddle me. I know that the decision was… what was wisest. I am a liability.”

Hubert frowned, not humoring the words that danced soundlessly across Ferdinand’s lips. “You are an important general of our faction, Ferdinand. I stand by such a statement, voice or no.

“Even so,” he acquiesced, placing the box upon the table between them, “I was hoping this gift might elevate your mood.”

A suspicious, cautious look came over Ferdinand’s eyes, not unlike as if he were poking at a nest of vipers instead of picking up and opening the parcel. Hubert felt himself softening at it, the uncertainty and hesitance rather similar to how Ferdinand had approached him in their youth.

Hubert von Vestra was still a snake, but his venom was impotent around his fellow jewel.

In short manner Ferdinand found himself holding a leather choker, bending the material and approving of its sturdy nature. Flexible, yet tough, something that could be worn even into battle.

A delicate pattern was stitched upon its front, white petals forming a familiar flower.

“Edelweiss,” he mouthed, fondness shadowing his face, “our professor always said that this flower reminded him of you. Of… us.”

“It is imbued with magic,” Hubert explained, holding out a hand that he might adorn Ferdinand in it. “I asked a favor of Linhardt. We are well aware that you continue to attempt to speak, you do so even now, but hopefully the spells woven within act as a protective balm for your throat.”

An easy enough lie, one not even entirely false. Hubert gently wrapped the choker about his neck, ignoring the deep, pale scars from the magic that had damned him in the first place. He could feel Ferdinand chuckle under his touch, shaking his head lightly as he whispered, knowing his lips could not be read.

“Terrible man. I fear I do not deserve you.”

The choker clasped, Hubert faintly brushing his thumb along the back of his neck before moving to sit back down. “False. It is we that do not deserve you, Ferdinand. Even without communication available to you, you fought off a demonic beast on your own, and you saved Lysithea and Bernadetta. Even when I did not heed your warning, you still put the monster down on your own. You are, by far, one of the greatest assets the Empire has. Irreplaceable. Especially to me.”

Ferdinand took the gloved hands upon the table in his own warm ones, feeling affection swell in his chest in a way that ached. With a slight squeeze, he decided to respond with the one thing he had been wishing to tell Hubert most since he had been made silent.

“I love you.”

Peridot eyes widened as the edelweiss pattern glowed a faint white, tendrils of magic leeching up and down what was still exposed of Ferdinand’s throat, seeping into the scars he had just covered.

“Hubert,” a hand retracted, moving over his mouth in surprise as hot pinpricks of tears started forming. “Hubert, what did you – Hubert, I can-!”

Hubert let his smile be free as Ferdinand shot up from his seat, the very image of ecstasy. “It will likely only work when you’re wearing it, so in baths or in sleep you may still find yourself without words, but-”

“Hubert von Vestra!” Ferdinand shouted, ignoring a startled shriek from Bernadetta across the way. Hubert moved to stand as well, unable to distract himself from the heat that settled in the pit of his stomach, hearing Ferdinand call his name in such a way. Ferdinand jabbed a finger accusatorially at his chest, grin as blinding as the sun. “I, Ferdinand von Aegir, am ardently infatuated with you, and the whole world will know!”

Hubert stepped closer, thumbing away the burgeoning tears. If there was a growl to his voice, it held no real threat.

“Ferdinand, I do insist that you shut up.”

The giddy, affronted squawk died off as Hubert pulled upon his shirt and into a kiss.

This, perhaps, was a way of silencing that Ferdinand could learn to live with.