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Hubert had been watching Byleth with particular care for the past few weeks. Even those who did not find him intimidating would usually, inevitably, crack under his scrutiny. He studied her movements when they sparred for traces of unspoken emotion, but found only deadly skill. Listened to how she spoke to the other students in their class and asked Lady Edelgard for details of their private discussions, in case the steely caution she showed around him slipped around others.
But Byleth had given nothing away.
She still trained with him, advised him how better to kill. Brought him gifts and invited him to the dining hall no more or less than she sought the company of others, treating Hubert almost the same as any of her other allegedly-cherished students, rather than as a dagger poised to pierce her neck. And indeed, in his eavesdropping on his fellow students, none spoke of her as a friend – instead they spoke that she was inscrutable, her mirror eyes revealing no emotion but their own.
The almost the same troubled him further. It wasn't in the usual manner that people treated him differently – because they were scared of him, or because he held others' utility to Lady Edelgard above all else. Since he had told Byleth he disliked flattery, she had been closed and careful with her comments, less abundant with encouragement than she was with others. And much to his annoyance, he found now that when she praised him, her words did not feel empty. The rare tokens she gave him began to feel like rewards truly earned, and he caught himself beginning to desire that recognition, despite himself.
Hubert was still to decide whether she was withdrawing to a suspicious amount of distance as a ploy to gain his trust, or whether she was displaying a foolish amount of honesty in truly helping him become stronger despite his obvious enmity for her.
He was used to seeing the feelings and motivations of others clearly, but now even his own were clouded. He had logical reasons to focus on her, but they didn't seem important enough for the degree to which his suspicion distracted him. It was an irritatingly emotional reaction, and one he couldn't quantify. He dismissed the idea that it was merely petty hatred. He was above such things. Had tried to explain it as a curiosity, a burning for knowledge, one that pierced his usual shields. All his grasping had done was convince him that there must be something more to her, something dangerous that he must have noticed subconsciously even if he could not presently identify it. A hunch, his finely tuned instinct for danger.
In desperation, Hubert had returned to the copy he'd made of the school's files on Byleth and her father. Hopelessly threadbare, despite Seteth's obvious attempt at his own investigation.
At the beginning of the year Hubert had considered leveraging Seteth's paranoia about Byleth in order to draw the administrator’s attention away from himself and Lady Edelgard, but had eventually decided that the possibility of it backfiring at this crucial stage in their plan was too great to risk. Thus his current predicament, and having to undertake his own research. But half-empty as the files were, Hubert's eye caught on one particular detail.
One particular date.
One that it was just the right time to take advantage of.
---
As he did most mornings, Hubert waited for Lady Edelgard to emerge from her room. She had insisted that there was no need for him to escort her to class, from the point of view of her protection, though he privately disagreed. And regardless, there was almost always something to discuss.
“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, with a bow. He fell into step as she walked, and spoke quietly. “There is something regarding the Professor that I believe presents an opportunity.”
Lady Edelgard's eyes watched him carefully. “Hubert, I realise that you are worried for me, but I fear that the way you push at the Professor is likely to drive her from our cause.”
It was true. Every time he'd tried to force her into revealing something he could use, it was she who ended up learning something about him. His weeks, now months, of trying to outsmart her, tinged with frustration. And yet, perhaps worse, she never seemed to act out of malice, and rarely grew frustrated in turn.
“Which is precisely why I thought to raise it with you first, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said. He normally needed only her vision, and he would worry over the details. But with such a cunning opponent... “As shameful as it may be for House Vestra to rely on House Hresvelg for advice, rather than the other way around. I suspect that in the case of our Professor, your insight would prove rather valuable.”
“Hubert, there is no shame in seeking my aid,” Lady Edelgard replied, lifting her eyes to look at him. “I would rather know your thoughts and plans than have you keep them hidden from me. What is it you've found?”
“It has come to my attention,” Hubert said, sweeping his hair aside with a gloved hand. “That it is the Professor's birthday next week.”
“Yes, I was planning to give her a gift on behalf of the class,” Lady Edelgard replied. “What of it?”
Hubert came to a stop in front of the greenhouse and chuckled darkly, aware that this conversation must be kept from prying ears. “Ordinarily, if I were to ask prying questions about the Professor's past, it would raise some suspicion. However...” he grinned. “If I claim that I am asking on behalf of our class, wishing to give our beloved Professor a gift, I shall be able to ask questions without raising suspicion.”
Lady Edelgard stared. “Hubert,” she sighed. “Again. What is it you're hoping to find out with this?”
Hubert folded his arms. That wasn't the question he had anticipated. Any intelligence would be worth seeking, surely. But the precise thing he hoped to discover, that which would answer what it was about Byleth that drew his attention back to her again and again...
He was certain that there would be some secret at her core that would prove his instincts correct, but at present his very problem was that he could not articulate it. Although Hubert suspected he only needed to grasp at one small thread to unravel her, he supposed it best to return to their largest questions.
“We still do not know why she bears the Crest of Flames,” Hubert said. “Why she can wield the Sword of the Creator. If she has let details of her past slip to others at the monastery, perhaps we can piece it together. Her birthday offers a perfect reason for asking.”
Lady Edelgard considered for a moment, in silence.
“...Very well, Hubert,” she said. “I concede that such information would be useful. It's also an opportunity to take advantage of our classmates' natural curiosity about her without showing our hand. They're likely to have picked up fragments of something useful.” She clenched a gloved hand, and lifted her eyes. “I feel some guilt, for keeping them in the dark. But we can't risk our plan reaching the ears of those it shouldn't.”
“Do not feel guilt, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said solemnly. It was one of House Vestra's roles, to take the burden of working in the shadows. It was a failure on the part of their world that she was down here, scrounging in the dark with him. He longed for the day when she would be Emperor, and he could raise her above him, and into the light. “Your ends justify any action.”
“They're our ends, Hubert,” Lady Edelgard insisted. But she nodded. “And when everything is revealed... I hope they will understand that everything we did was for the good of our people.”
---
Hubert watched Byleth as closely as always through the morning lesson, but he found that he was clumsy. She kept catching his gaze when he didn’t mean her to, and would stare back as she continued to teach. She was, frustratingly, the only person who could force him to lower his eyes first. He gripped his quill so tightly that the hollow shaft cracked between his usually deft fingers, staining his gloves with a burst of black ink. Caspar laughed in unwanted solidarity, and Lady Edelgard glared at him pointedly from across the room.
This was not the kind of task that should have inspired nerves. He should not have been so angry that it would distract him. Whatever secrets the Professor was hiding behind that placid expression, whatever threats this living weapon could pose to Lady Edelgard and their plans – he would work to uncover them, no matter how he must disadvantage himself to do so. Better him than Lady Edelgard.
Byleth stopped at his desk on her way out. “You seem distracted,” she said. Voice even as always, revealing neither suspicion nor concern. “Take a break if you need to.”
In their first month or so of her classes, Hubert might have revelled in such an opportunity. The preparations for Lady Edelgard’s ascension, correspondences with their allies with the Empire – these necessary tasks he was forced to perform by candlelight, given how fully Byleth’s lessons filled their daylight hours. But his mission aside, the part of Hubert that had been tricked into craving her honest appraisal yearned to stay. There were close combat movements he wanted to practice before they next sparred.
“That will be unnecessary,” he growled.
Byleth didn’t argue. She simply nodded and walked on to speak with her other students. Hubert returned to cleaning rivulets of ink from the cracks in his desk with a handkerchief, and waiting for her to leave. Scrubbed until his fingers felt raw even through gloves, until he could no longer tell the stain from the dark wood, as his well-ordered mind ran through its list of people he intended to question. Her students, her fellow professors, her father.
Byleth’s already-quiet footsteps grew distant, as she and Lady Edelgard left for the training grounds. Hubert stood. Their classmates were clustered across the room, beginning the few hours of private study in which Hubert intended to act.
“If I might have a word, fellow Black Eagles,” Hubert said, aware that he had taken Byleth’s position at the head of the classroom. Most turned. Bernadetta was, for some reason, hiding behind the blackboard, but he skewered her with a sideways glance. Lady Edelgard had agreed that, for their classmates at least, it would raise suspicion if he took them aside individually.
“Lady Edelgard has asked that I seek your suggestions on a birthday gift for our... dear Professor,” he said, gesturing with his open hand. “I ask you to share anything you know of her that may inform Lady Edelgard’s decision.”
“...She asked you?” Linhardt drawled, briefly looking up from his desk.
“Yes,” Hubert replied. “She deemed me most skilled at extracting the information required to ensure a suitable gift, while she keeps the Professor occupied with her training.”
“I do not mean to offend, Hubert,” Ferdinand said, rubbing the back of his collar. “But you are perhaps the last person I would choose for such a task. You do not seem like the type who enjoys choosing presents.”
Hubert scowled. This was not going as he imagined. “My personal feelings on the matter are irrelevant. This is to be on behalf of our class, after all.”
“In Brigid, it is tradition to give the present of something you have caught to the person who will be teaching you how to hunt,” Petra said brightly. “To show appreciation in what they have been teaching to you.”
“...She likes to fish,” Bernadetta piped up from the corner. “Maybe we could get her a... a fish.”
“Yeah, but… she hasn’t been teaching us how to fish,” Caspar objected.
“Lady Edelgard was hoping to get her something more… specific,” Hubert interrupted. With their classmates, he could afford to be more direct. And it seemed that he would have to. “Perhaps a reminder of somewhere she used to live.”
He was certain that she must have revealed at least some of her past to the students she favoured. At the very least, this would help him discover which students that might be – much as he had tried to discover it through observation, she gave nothing away.
But the Black Eagles were silent.
“Well, I have no idea about that,” Linhardt said, resting his head back on his desk. Useless.
“I thought you would know,” Ferdinand shrugged.
“I am not particularly close to our Professor,” Hubert replied, teeth gritted. “I assumed that, given the friendship some of you seem to have with her... you may know details that I do not.”
“Hubie, the questions you’re asking…” Dorothea said, her smile tight and dagger-sweet. “Well, she’s so hard to read, but even if I did know, aren't they a little… personal for you to be demanding like that? Perhaps you should have some help from someone a little… friendlier, rather than doing this alone. I mean, have you ever... bought a gift for a girl you admire before?”
Hubert blinked, slowly.
“Oh,” Caspar blurted out, eyes widening with false realisation. He laughed again, far too loudly. “Ha, I bet Edelgard didn't ask you at all! This is your idea, isn't it?”
“If you do need guidance in that regard, I would be honoured to help you,” Ferdinand said, chest puffing up like a preening bird. “A true noble is well-versed in the language of tokens of admiration, and as such I suspect that Edelgard would ask someone such as myself if she truly required advice.”
Hubert stared at them silently, stormclouds of thought gathering behind his brow. He could play along with this allegation. There were certainly some that might be more open with their information if they thought they were matchmaking. But he discarded the thought as soon as he'd had it. He could see, spanning before him, an endless web of unhelpful rumours, engineered encounters and general mayhem perpetrated by his classmates that he would not be able to quell once such pretence had served its purpose.
And Hubert wanted to see Byleth in her entirety, more intimately than an infatuated youth would care to. Her dark secrets and worst memories, not merely her taste in flowers. The admirers such a popular Professor no doubt had could gorge themselves on her skin all they wanted, but he would peel it aside. He wanted to cut open her skull and crack apart her ribs, and familiarise himself with what lay within.
“You misunderstand me completely,” Hubert replied.
Dorothea clasped her hands in front of her. “Well, have you ever bought a gift for anyone? A normal gift from you to a friend, I mean, rather than one from your family.”
Hubert resented the implication that it was possible for him to be incompetent at such a simple task. But beneath her implications, Dorothea had a point. House Vestra's gifts tended to be threats, and perhaps it would be suspicious for him to ask after Byleth alone. Dorothea, though... she was well-liked. People might speak loosely around her, that would cower from him.
“As this is on behalf of our class, I would be willing to accept your assistance,” he replied, with a grimace.
In most cases, Hubert could assume that he would know more of a person’s intricacies than his classmates. But with Byleth… he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. They had strange similarities, to be certain, but he imagined that they must end – that someone such as she must have friends, favourites, confidantes, where he only had his Emperor. The idea that he might be closer to her, at the edge of the distance at which she kept everyone...
It filled him with a strange and hopeful dread.
---
“They used to call her the Ashen Demon,” Hanneman explained. His cup clinked as he settled against the saucer. “I spoke to a great many people from her mercenary days while trying to discover more about her Crest, and they all had the same to say about her. The Demonic Daughter of the Blade-Breaker, who kills without feeling.”
“I find it a little hard to imagine people saying that about our dear Professor,” Manuela said, smoothing her hair behind her ear. She shifted her position, uncomfortable in the hard chairs in Hanneman's office. “She’s always so kind to her students.”
“I don't find it hard to imagine at all,” Hubert chuckled. He had hoped to use Hanneman and Manuela's obvious animosity for each other against them during the interrogation, but it seemed that they too knew little. He had, at least, received some details from Hanneman of mercenaries Byleth had worked with, even if that currently illuminated nothing. She had no close friends aside from her father from her time before the academy, and nothing the other mercenaries had witnessed of her swordplay hinted at a power deeper than practice and talent.
“Hubie,” Dorothea sighed. “I'm not sure how this is helping us think of a present for her. Professor Manuela, do you know anything about what she likes? Jewellery, perfume, flowers?”
“I'm afraid Professor Hanneman and I have been having the same problem,” Manuela shrugged. “I know she's a little unkempt sometimes, but I'm sure any girl would appreciate something beautiful.” She gave Hubert a sympathetic look. “Particularly from a... striking young nobleman who looks up to her.”
Hubert allowed himself some private amusement at Manuela's choice of words. Striking. His countenance was what he needed it to be – memorably imposing. House Vestra had little need for handsomeness. But he truly, deeply wished that this would not keep happening.
Pragmatically, he knew he should prefer people to think he had taken a fancy to Byleth, rather than realise he that was investigating her because he and Lady Edelgard were hoping to use the Sword of the Creator's power to destroy the Church of Seiros, but it was still... less than optimal.
“Manuela--” Hanneman cut himself off with a sigh. He shook his head and, apparently casting about for a change of subject, turned his eyes to Hubert’s cup. “Why, Hubert, my boy, you haven't touched your tea.”
“Apologies,” Hubert muttered. He tolerated a sip of Hanneman's preferred floral blend. It was bearable, if still not to Hubert's taste. Annoyingly, his mind went to the coffee Byleth would give him as an unwanted reward for his hard work. Perhaps she shared his taste in that regard, and would appreciate a similar gift.
No. Hubert had managed to distract even himself. An actual gift was not the purpose of this mission.
“Perhaps she's told you of an important former job,” Hubert suggested, desperately.
“You know, she always says she can't remember,” Manuela replied, pressing her curled fingers against her chin.
“And her former colleagues certainly didn't mention any,” Hanneman added. “Routine protection of merchant caravans and clearing out of bandits. The most noteworthy aspect any of them could remember from their jobs together was her.”
“What about in her spare time?” Dorothea suggested. “I'm sure someone who's spent so long travelling has picked up a hobby or two. Perhaps she collects coins, or reads novels, or likes visiting the theatre.”
Manuela and Hanneman exchanged a blank look. Hubert had looked through Byleth's room himself before, and found it bare. No half-finished craft projects, no souvenirs of her travels, no old letters. No books but those he knew she'd retrieved from the library for use in their class.
“She, well…” Manuela started.
Hanneman grimaced. “Well… I suppose she likes to fish.”
---
“Oh, is it her birthday?” Ashe said. “She seems to remember everyone else's. I think it's nice that you're getting her something.”
“No... I've met Captain Jeralt before, but she wasn't with him,” Leonie said, shaking her head. “I can't tell you anything about her.”
“Once, I saw her beat Thunder Catherine at a game of chess in six moves,” Ingrid said brightly.
“Byleth, huh?” Sylvain said. “I mean, I don't blame you Hubert. She's a real beauty, you know?” His eyes darted to a blandly amused Dorothea. “Not as beautiful as our songstress, of course.”
“Her pockets are always full,” Lysithea mused. “I wonder what she's carrying.”
“Oh, she's the one who helps me answer the letters in the counsellor's advice box,” Mercedes explained, smiling gently.
“She's good with a blade,” Felix muttered. “I don't care about anything else.”
“You know,” Raphael boomed. “She's always in the dining hall, but I don't know what she likes to eat.”
“She told me she likes spicy things better than sweet,” Annette insisted. “I prefer sweet, but it suits her, you know?”
“Hm?” Lorenz said. “I expected that you would know more, given that she's your professor.”
“Sometimes she just stands on the pier for hours after the sun goes down, staring into the water,” Ignatz murmured.
“She likes to fish,” Marianne stammered.
“Yeah, one time she gave me back a washcloth I'd lost a few weeks before,” Hilda drawled. “I have no idea how she knew it was mine.”
Hubert wasn't... displeased, per se, to be able to flesh out his image of Byleth outside of their clashes. But he was aware, very aware, that he had pledged this mission to Lady Edelgard on finding grand answers to Byleth’s mysteries.
And this…
“Hubie, again, I’m not sure how this is helping,” Dorothea sighed. “What is it you want, really?”
Hubert was unwilling to show his hand.
“It is as I said in the classroom,” he said grimly. “I am to ask questions, and Lady Edelgard shall decide what to do with the answers.”
---
Hubert hadn't spent much time around Byleth's father. For one, he wasn't of much relevance to Lady Edelgard's plans. For another, it wasn't hard to discover his deadly reputation, and Hubert did not plan to make an enemy of Jeralt the Blade-Breaker, Captain of the Knights of Seiros earlier than he needed to.
To Hubert's relief, Jeralt was one of the only people he had spoken to who had not made the assumption that he was had an interest in his daughter, and Dorothea had refrained from making any suggestive comments. He had also, however, refused to reveal either of their ages or many details of their travels.
“But you did travel a lot,” Hubert insisted. Returning with frustration to the shallowest aspect of his ruse. This false levity did not suit him well at all, and he suspected it wasn't terribly convincing. “How did you and Byleth celebrate her birthday? Perhaps you have some tradition that we, as her students, could recreate for her.”
“I'd get her things she needs,” Jeralt shrugged. “Replace her old boots or gloves, and the like. Take her for dinner, if we were staying in a town. She's not that interested in material things.”
Hubert had to concede that his own childhood had been similar, at least in regard to gifts. As Dorothea and Ferdinand had correctly surmised, it was indeed not an area he had much experience in. He was a servant of the Empire, as his family was before him, and he had no use for impractical things. Hubert had expected Jeralt to speak of Byleth with the same cold distance with which own his father regarded him, as if evaluating a weapon, but there was... an unexpected warmth there.
“Well, what are you getting her this year?” Dorothea asked. She had tried batting her eyelashes and calling him Captain in an attempt to get him to open up, but he either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared.
“A whetstone,” Jeralt replied tersely. “Anyway, I have work to do. I'm sure she'll be happy you kids are thinking about her.”
Dorothea curtseyed unnecessarily. “Well, thank you for your time Captain.”
She nudged Hubert.
“Thank you,” he grimaced.
Hubert knew of many men who seemed less than their reputations, the kind of corrupt individual he and Lady Edelgard would purge from the Empire when her day came. But Jeralt... the way he called the students noble brats when he thought nobody was eavesdropping suggested a lack of reverence for order, perhaps even that he was less devoted to Archbishop Rhea and the Church than Hubert had expected of a man of his position.
Perhaps Hubert wouldn't need to take out the Captain at all. Perhaps he could work on both of them, to ensure that Lady Edelgard’s wishes for Byleth came to fruition.
He would plan as if Byleth would turn against them until the time came for her to choose, of course. Lady Edelgard was the one who crafted their dreams, and Hubert was the one who destroyed their nightmares. Hubert would not be naïve enough to want, or to hope. That was not what Lady Edelgard needed from him. She needed his cold precision, his steel resolve, his willingness to be cruel.
But…
If Byleth were loyal to Lady Edelgard. If Hubert and the rest of their army could continue to train with her. If she chose to walk the same shadowed path that he did, dark architects of Lady Edelgard's dreams.
All of these would, objectively, be good for Lady Edelgard's plan.
That was what Hubert would he would allow himself. An acknowledgement of a simple fact, and nothing more.
---
Dorothea had helped Lady Edelgard to pick out a piece of jewellery for Byleth, in the end. Hubert had a brief glimpse at it when Lady Edelgard brought it into class. A simple band in their class colours, decorative yet unobtrusive.
“So tell me, Hubert,” Lady Edelgard asked, her voice lowered beneath the chatter of the laundry room as he tried again to wring the ink from his gloves. “What did you find?”
Many small details, of course. But nothing revelatory. “Our larger questions remain unanswered,” he replied. Both the questions he'd given, regarding Byleth's Crest and Relic, and the one he'd had himself, the reason he was drawn back to his suspicions of her over and over. “But I would like to apologise for failing to understand the wisdom of your approach, Lady Edelgard. The specifics of our Professor's nature mean nothing if we cannot recruit her. I cannot promise I shall trust her, and I believe it would only do harm if I were to pretend at friendship. But I shall allow time to solve this matter.”
“Well,” Lady Edelgard said. “I'm pleasantly surprised, Hubert. I'm glad you've come to understand my position.”
“Now, if I may take my leave of you, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said. The sharp, cloth-wrapped package in his jacket pressed against his side as he bowed. “I have one small task to attend to before tomorrow's class.”
“Of course,” she replied.
Hubert knew where she would be at this time of day. He departed the laundry room and walked down the stairs, past the sauna and towards the training grounds.
The sun was setting behind him. A bright line of light from the horizon traced across the sand as he creaked open the tall doors, falling across Byleth’s discarded cloak. She didn’t look up as he entered, but he knew she would have noticed. Her steps quick but forceful, her movements closed to attack. She was living death in human form, a wonder and terror to behold.
Even now, Hubert did not believe he would be able to kill her. However long she had spent training, she did not seem to have tired. She sheathed her sword at her waist, and Hubert cleared his throat. As she turned, he caught the red and black glint of Lady Edelgard’s gift at her wrist.
“I heard it was your birthday, Professor,” Hubert said, with a sinister smirk.
“Yes, or so I’m told,” she replied flatly, dark eyes watching as he approached.
He reached into his jacket as he approached, and withdrew the cloth-wrapped package. “Here,” he said, holding it out towards her. “A gift.”
Byleth stared, her brow creasing very slightly. “A gift?” she repeated.
“Consider it a reward, if you’d prefer,” Hubert continued. “A thank you for all I’ve learned from you.”
She took it smoothly, without hesitation, without fear that this was some trick he was playing. Or perhaps without fear that any trick he could play would harm her. He watched carefully as she unwrapped it, watched her mouth part in the closest he’d seem her come to pleasure, at least while he was present.
“Hubert, this is…”
She peeled the cloth all the way back, and weighed the knife in her hand. Passed it from palm to palm, scrutinising its balance.
“This is the type of knife carried by the Adrestian Emperor’s personal guards,” Hubert explained. An obsidian-black hilt decorated with red lacquer, a silver blade that could tear through armour. A perfect match to the one he wore at his waist. “It’s no Relic,” he snorted. “But I assure you it can be just as deadly, in the right hands.”
She lifted her eyes carefully. “Why are you giving me this?” she asked.
“It’s a gift,” he smirked. “As I understand it, you have no need for fripperies. Make use of it as you will.”
“I will,” she replied. Slowly and carefully, she wrapped the cloth back around the knife. “Thank you, Hubert.”
He would plan as if she would betray them, until she had made her choice. If that is what it came to, he had no doubt – either Byleth would kill him in trying to stop Lady Edelgard, or he would kill Byleth in protecting her. Whether by this blade or another, it would be her hands that would part his flesh. He wanted her to know that he knew that, and anticipated it.
“Simply know this,” Hubert said, as he turned his back on her. “I cannot trust you, Professor. It is not in my nature or interest. If you ever intend harm to Lady Edelgard, I shall kill you with your own lessons. But, if we should find ourselves allies…” Hubert flashed a smirk over his shoulder, unable to keep himself from looking back at her. Willing her to do something, to pledge herself to Lady Edelgard or cut off his head. “Well, now. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
Byleth, as always, gave nothing away. Hubert walked out of the training grounds, seeing, or imagining, at one last glance, that Byleth was holding his knife close.