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He remembers bodies being brought up from the depths of the dungeon beneath the palace, corpses of the children who he had once served, and he felt relief at each that was not in the shape of his lady. As a member of House Vestra, he was meant to serve all of them, give them attention equally, but he had failed in his duty the moment Edelgard had looked at him with bright eyes and had grabbed onto his hand. She uttered his name quickly followed by the first of many orders he would give him: ‘Stay.’ And he had hopelessly obeyed. His father scolded him for it later, for so blatantly choosing Edelgard so far down the line of succession, but he could not bring himself to regret it.
When she had emerged from underneath the ground it was not a triumphant return. She looked as if the very life had been drained from her. Thinner, eyes sunken in. She had moved as if pulled by invisible marionette strings, and when she had been brought before the Imperial court she had been flanked on both sides by masked mages. The experiment had been deemed a success, the perfect product before them. Disgusting how they had looked at her, the nobility seeing only their bright future she would bring not how she stared back with an empty, hollow gaze. He had wanted to do something, stand in front of her and block her from their sight, but his father had a hand clamped hard at his shoulder and he forced himself to wait until night fell and he could shadow into her room.
He slips in quietly, clicks the door to her bedroom shut behind him, and he can make out her form illuminated by the moonlight. She’s still, laying on her back on her bed, staring upward at nothing. If not for the subtle rise and fall of her chest he would think— no. She is alive. He will see that nothing harms her again. On the soft call of her name she turns, stare lighting with recognition that eases the pressure on his chest somewhat.
She holds out her hand ( so small, in comparison to his own ) and he moves immediately to swallow it within his.
“Hubert, they took it from me.”
The words are agonized, and to his dismay her eyes start to sheen with the beginnings of tears.
“Name what they stole, I will see it back into your hands.”
A ridiculous statement. They had taken everything from her. Her family, the years of her life. He can not return either to her. But, what she asks of him isn’t for him to reach into makeshift graves and bring back the dead. To retrieve the years bled from her.
“My dagger. They tore it from my hands when they…”
Ah. The dagger. She had carried it with her almost religiously ever since it had been pressed into her hands because it is a reminder of the boy they once knew, had met when she had gone into exile and it had not occurred to him to do anything else but follow. It had not been easy to convince his father to let him leave, but the dark magic that flared from his hands at the suggestion that he allow Edelgard out of his sight and protection had done wonders in making the man fold.
They had traveled in their own carriage, he and Edelgard, and the entirety of the voyage she had her head turned to look out the window. Only when they arrived and they exited the carriage, after he had helped her down as is customary, did she stare at him full in the face. She had said that she could have managed on her own, that he didn’t have to come with her. Both things that he had known. Edelgard even then had been strong, willful, and would flourish even in a country so barren and lifeless.
It was him who could not do without her, he had selfishly refused to let her go, to be parted.
It had been them for so long, only them, and he would not have had it any other way. But, days after their arrival there had been a boy that approached them. A blonde-haired interloper who had looked at the pair of them with bright eyes ( so similar, a part of him had wondered if this boy would end up reaching for him as well ) and a smile, and the simpleton had asked if they would like to be his friends.
Edelgard had tensed at the intrusion before relaxing and saying that she would appreciate the company, things have become terribly boring with nothing to do. The boy, Dimitri, had only smiled wider and had offered to take them on a tour of the market. Surely Arundel would not approve, but Edelgard had tentatively smiled back at Dimitri before turning her beseeching eyes on him and he has always been weak in matters that would bring her even the slightest bit of happiness. It would never take the threat of dark magic to make him fold, simply this. He had sighed, and said that they must be sure to return before her uncle realizes the two of them are missing.
Dimitri did eventually reach for him. Another small hand that had grasped onto his own, only to pull him along with remarkable strength that he did not expect from someone of Dimitri’s size and stature.
The three of them had spent the year together. Edelgard refusing to let go of Dimitri like she had once refused to let go of him, and like him Dimitri had bent underneath the pressure of her gaze. They had gotten along remarkably well, though not without occasional incident.
Sometimes Edelgard slipped in her tone, becoming too sharp, enough to hurt Dimitri and send him from the both of them. In those cases, it had been up to him to mend the gap with Edelgard clearly sorry but not knowing how to apologize for something unintended.
On one such memorable occasion he had found Dimitri sniffling near the edge of the forest bordering where they were staying, his eyes dangerously close to overflowing with tears, and he had looked up at him and asked if Edelgard even liked him. Childish. But that is what they are, and it is easily forgiven. He had sighed, explained that it was difficult for Edelgard to let anyone in for various reasons. That Dimitri is, and always will be the exception. He said that if he were to go to her now, she would express regret for the way she had acted.
He had expected Dimitri to run off immediately in search of Edelgard, but instead he had clasped one of his larger hands between two of his own. Had smiled at him with so much clear affection that he could feel his face starting to heat.
“You will have it back, I swear it.”
He will do whatever he has to. He will bring it back to her.
The promise does not keep her from crying, tears silently trekking down her cheeks and she doesn’t attempt to stop them as she once would have. It’s almost as if she doesn’t realize they’re falling.
“Hubert I don’t,” Her voice breaks, and the pain he feels is on par with receiving a physical blow. “I can’t see him anymore, I don’t remember—”
Slowly, he moves. Sits on the edge of her bed in a way that is entirely inappropriate. It is wrong, but she needs him, and that has always taken precedence over propriety.
“Then it is fortunate that I do. I will tell you about him, but then you must rest.”
He tells her about a boy who had remarkably wormed past all their defenses, who had defeated them both with his smile, who she loved. Who he loved.