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Hubert von Vestra had never expected to live a long, eventful life due to his devotion to cutting a path for his liege’s dreams. He had assumed the cause of death would be upon the battlefield. A wretched man whose hands were sullied in blood would rightfully take his last breath upon the battlefield, where he had taken the lives of so many nameless foes
An arrow within his breast. A spear sunk into his guts. An axe upon his neck. A sword within his back. A blast of Thoron electrocuting him to a crisp.
All fitting ends that he had imagined for himself on multiple occasions, but none of these were the true cause of his loss of life. In fact, he was not even mortally wounded, diseased, or poisoned. Yet, he currently sat within his quarters, locked away in his personal study with his head resting upon his arms over his desk. He felt as if he could not move a muscle, and he desired to not take in a single breath more.
Not after the accident.
It had only been a few hours prior, and things had been running as smooth as always. Hubert had met with a few of his men to gather intel from some of the spies he had set up in various houses around the Empire. While it may seem a little off-hand to some in the wake of the rebirth of Adrestia, Hubert was no blind optimist. In order to keep such peaceful times of rebuilding the world anew afloat, it required those who were willing to get their hands dirty.
Hubert was that sort of man. He was willing to take the weight of this new fragile world upon his shoulders without a glimmer of spotlight upon him for the tasks he carried out. He preferred it this way. To keep himself below the public gaze when it came to those nefarious acts he performed by moonlight. Mindless praise and flattery of the masses could inflate one’s ego and cloud their mind. He had no desire for such empty words.
However, he might find minor appreciation in the small smiles and waves he would receive occasionally on trips into the market from random citizens because of his combined works with the Prime Minister. While Ferdinand took the lead on the various proposals they had been partners upon, Hubert’s assistance was still acknowledged and admired by the public.
It was strange, but Hubert might have somewhat liked the feeling of the people looking upon him with gratitude and not apprehension. He owed it greatly to Ferdinand…
Ferdinand.
The cause of his ultimate demise as he waits impatiently to starve to death upon his desk. While Hubert’s mind drifts away from the gentle thoughts of the Prime Minister, he recalls the horror of his well-kept secret being leaked out. A secret that he had done well to keep under-wraps for ages, only to be undone by his own ignorance and a fatal act of miscommunication.
After meeting with various espionage units within a hidden compartment in the Imperial gardens, Hubert had given the order for one of his older, more trusted units, the duty of fetching a stack of reports from his office. He did not have the time to return and collect and deliver them himself, so he gave such a minuscule task towards the ever dutiful woman.
Oh, but how that had been such a mistake.
In his ignorance, he had forgotten that earlier he had been seated upon that very desk with a stack of folded, addressed but unsent letters to a certain Prime Minister who was to never read such...flowery, saccharine words. Having expressed a sudden storm of feelings in the wee hours of the morning, he had been rushing to finish his thoughts, along with revising one last report before leaving in haste to attend his morning tea and breakfast with her Majesty.
Without a thought, he had forgotten that both stacks still rested upon his desk when he gave that order to fetch and deliver the documents. While the reports all made it safe and sound to their desired recipients, what had happened to the letters…?
Hence, when he had returned to his quarters in the late evenings, hanging up his coat and looking forward to brewing a cup of coffee to settle his nerves from a tiresome day, he had been in for a scare like no other. Upon unlocking a secret compartment within his desk, his stash of love letters are nowhere to be found.
Where could they have gone? There was nowhere else he could have misplaced them. He always kept them locked up tight. They only ever sat at this desk, either stowed away or upon it when he was writing them.
His blood runs cold.
Moving so fast he almost topples his chair, he strides down the halls to call for and locate the earlier woman who had been tasked with mailing out the reports. Luckily, she is still within the manor and he catches her, desperately asking the whereabouts of the letters.
“Please, humor me. When you returned this morning to deliver the reports upon my desk, how many did you send?” He asks carefully, his throat feeling dry as he speaks.
“Only the five you had laid out, sir.” She responds calmly, feeling slightly worried about where this sudden questioning was coming from.
“Oh. Right. That is correct.” Hubert mumbles, more to himself as the woman looks upon him with mild confusion.
“Yes, the five all are currently within the hands of their recipients.” She pauses though, remembering a small detail. “Oh! The stack of letters you had addressed for the Prime Minister was also delivered accordingly.”
Those words haunt Hubert worse than any nightmare he has ever had in his lifetime. His entire body feels as if it stops working. No longer breathing. Not pumping blood. His muscles frozen. It takes all of his weary strength to swallow and speak his next order.
“Do not allow for any more disturbances this evening. Tomorrow as well. I will be seeing no one.” He feels a heaviness upon his heart, and a nausea twisting within his guts. “I will be in my study. Not a single person is to interrupt. Be sure the staff knows this. Only if an absolute emergency occurs am I to be bothered. Alright?”
Feeling startled by her boss’s sudden requests to be left alone in solitude, she merely nods and agrees. Although she considers asking him if there were any issues, she does not get the chance as Hubert leaves and heads back towards his study, locking the door. He paces around the room, his mind running in a hundred directions.
Has he seen the letters by this hour?
He must have returned from his evening ride by now…
Hubert stops his pacing for a moment, going to push the curtain aside and glance out the window. The sun was setting. Ferdinand surely was home by now, which meant that he was likely reading the letters at this very moment. The thought appalls Hubert, and he feels his legs ready to give out from under him. He shuffled to his desk, falling upon his chair and dropping his head to the desk.
And this is where he still sat in deafening silence. He closes his eyes and drifts off, trying to push away the humiliation upon his mind. But his mind can’t help but remember all the terribly sappy things he has written in various letters to Ferdinand. Snippets of letters come to his thoughts.
Ferdinand,
The newest proposal around your's and Dorothea’s work with the orphanage seems to have followed through quite nicely. I know it can be satisfying to see such hard work come to fruition, so I must assume that you are elated with the amount of progress that has been made towards the construction of improving the buildings. I also am aware that the two of you are not the only ones delighted by this news.
This evening, when I arrived at your study to discuss the upcoming correspondence with those of the Leicester Alliance, I noted the presence of a gift upon your desk. Within a small, woven basket were a batch of freshly baked sweet buns. At first glance, I had presumed that such a gift, being one of your favorite treats, was from an observant suitor, but you proved me - thankfully - wrong in my thoughts.
Offering me one of these delicacies, I politely declined because such sugary goods are not to my taste in most cases. I also happened to pry about the source of these sweet buns, to which you replied they were from “a gentle soul who ran the orphanage” and were grateful for your support. The relief I felt within my chest was imminent.
You are one to decline gifts from suitors out of fairness and keeping yourself from being labeled as biased or easily bribed. Hence, to hear the sweets were but a gift of gratitude, I allowed myself to watch you eat with a hunger of my own. The sight of the sugary powder upon your lips and your cheeks stuffed full of an entire bun at once was breathtaking. So unkempt. So ignoble.
I felt honored to know you had no fear of acting so natural around me. In comparison to your uptight etiquette at political dinners, your comfort to make a mess before me caused me to feel a fluttering ache within my chest. It is strange, how something so small and meaningless holds such worth within my ludicrous heart.
Silent as Always,
H.V.
Ferdinand,
I feel pathetic as I write this. Truthfully, I should not admit to such humiliation, but I can not get these thoughts from my mind. I am needed by her Majesty early as ever in the morning, so I can not be kept from at least a few hours of rest by the creeping memories and lingering feelings from our most recent discussion over tea within the gardens.
The conversation was nothing too out of step. Gentle banter on proposals, a few jabs and teasing insults to one another’s work ethics, pleasant comments on the status of our fellow friends and acquaintances, and a few hesitant compliments to one another that always linger in the air without any action taken, after such words were spoken.
But this evening, as we quietly laughed and enjoyed the brew of cinnamon tea you had chosen, our hands brushed against one another as we simultaneously reached for the same cup. It was a miscalculation on my part. I had been so enraptured by the way the sun had been shining upon your handsome face that I had mistakenly reached forward towards the handle of your cup and we both met together. Your hand upon my glove.
The blush that had burned across your skin is etched in my mind. I screamed internally for my hand to move, but I allowed it to sit still as your own rested upon it. The silence lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity until you forced a nervous chuckle and pulled back your hand. I followed your example, attempting to play off the act.
When you were summoned to tend to business and cut our meeting short, I felt equally relieved and burdened. I sat upon that chair long after you had left - making promises to make up for the lost evening - and I reached for the cold cup of tea upon your side. Lifting it to my lips, I gently tipped the cup back and let the cool liquid glide down my throat.
Your lips. They had been there but moments before. And how I wished to taste a hint of cold cinnamon upon them than mere porcelain.
Silent as always,
H.V.
Ferdinand,
You are but a vixen, Ferdinand von Aegir. You taunt me without even being aware of it, and that only makes it that much worse. I can not fathom how you are so blissfully unaware of the power that you hold within your hands over me. How could you be so ignorant? Not seeing that your beauty is unmatched?
I should not be so weak, so easily unraveled by the simplest of actions from you alone. I have never been a man to lose my attention in the midst of a meeting, especially discussing a topic like security, which I handle regularly within my work. But you vex me! Sitting upon your chair, your eyes locked upon Edelgard as she spoke of her newest concerns over a measure for security around the capitol.
Yet, your hand did not lie upon the paper before you for notes or counterarguments to make. Instead, it gently twirled a strand of your hair. Your magnificent, bright orange hair. The color is vivid enough that it catches my gaze every time you enter a room. It is warm and bountiful, the waves usually falling upon your shoulders and complimenting the deep amber of your eyes.
How many nights I have lied awake, thinking of running my hands through it. Of pressing my face into those smooth locks, feeling the softness against my skin. Yet, you sat before me and mocked my fantasies, playing with it freely. I wished to rip that hand away to do so myself. To mindlessly twirl a strand around my finger.
Then my name was called, and I blacked out on all that I was to say. What pure shame.
Silent as Always,
H.V.
Ferdinand,
How cruel but kind you are to me. I have been aware of your popularity among eligible suitors since before the war had even begun. You have always caught the eyes of many, but now even more so. Not that I can blame them for merely recognizing that you are an incredibly attractive man. Too much so.
It feels as if every single day I must watch you be swarmed by another suitor. Whether it be through letters, gifts, or in-person flirtations, every single one drives me into a state of misery. How cruel of you to be so sought after by the masses. You should truly consider trying to stick out less with your elegant wardrobe and various eye-catching hair stylings. Stop gaining the attention of idiotic admirers.
But then, on a similar note, you never accept. You are polite - too much so in my opinion - but you reject all the advances made towards you. It leaves me baffled. A man as enamored with the idea of romance as you, I would assume you would have settled for one of your suitors by this point. Many have read right out of your book with their courtly gestures of affection, but none have done well enough, I suppose.
Thus, this gives me hope. A chance to dream that you could find it in your heart to look upon me with such tenderness. I know it is impossible. You belong within the limelight, and I shall never find myself there. But I find myself wishing and imagining for such a reality. A chance for someone as dreadful as myself to make you swoon. Alas, I am content to watch from afar as you light the world in your ceaseless glow.
Silent as Always,
H.V.
Hubert is unsure how much time passes as his mind ponders his own ghastly writing about his unspoken affections for Ferdinand. He does not need to know the time, for he would die within this office and never see the sunlight again. He would make certain of that, for he would rather die in solitude than from the heartache of Ferdinand rejecting his sentiments.
Then, out of the blue, the first knock comes.
“Count Vestra, I apologize for the disturbance, but I do believe this to be a matter of most importance. The Prime Minister is waiting in the parlor. We have informed him that you are not taking visitors at this hour, but he pressed further that it was an emergency.” A man at his door calls from behind the wood, and Hubert feels like he is going to vomit from the rise of nerves within his stomach.
“Tell him I am incapable of seeing him right now. I...I am sickly and must close myself off from others to contain the illness. Please, send him away.” Hubert groans, still staying glued upon his desk in such a pathetic position. He hears the sound of footsteps growing quieter, so he closes his eyes and attempts to block out the rest of the world around him.
Meanwhile, when Ferdinand had been informed that he was still unable to meet with the Marquis, he found himself losing his patience. He huffs, a few letters stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He would not be taking “no” for an answer tonight. He was a kind man, and he usually was willing to go along with the more ridiculous requests and mannerism of Hubert, but this was drawing the line. Especially with the weight of the letters upon his heart.
Ferdinand glared at the various servants of the Vestra manor and shook his head. He asserted his status (which he did not like to do, as it felt crummy) and marched forward down the halls. Afraid to touch and stop the Prime Minister of Adrestia, there were a few hurried words to try and convince him to stop, but nothing more. So, Ferdinand took long, hasty strides across the wooden floor until he arrived at the familiar door of Hubert’s study.
“Hubert! Open this door immediately! Y-You...You--” He feels a mix of his blood boiling and his heart pumping furiously with nerves as he bangs upon the door. “...You have much explaining to do to me! And I require your presence right this very moment!” He sounds stern, flustered for the first time in years over receiving a love letter.
“Leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Ferdinand. I am not seeing anyone at the moment, and that definitely includes you.”
Ferdinand feels his hands clench into fists, banging upon the door once more. He could not believe the audacity of this man! This moment should be utterly sweet and breathtaking but instead, he must treat Hubert like a child hiding in his room from a parent.
“You will not avoid discussing this with me so easily. I promise you that.” Ferdinand puts his foot down, his voice rising in volume. “If you do not open this door within the next minute, I shall break it down, and do not dare doubt me. If you wish to save yourself the hassle of finding a new door, I would unlock this very moment.”
There is a moment of silence. Ferdinand begins to consider what tools he will need to use to push this door down off of its hinges, but then there are footsteps. Hubert rises from his desk, unlocks the door, and just barely creaks it open.
Before he can properly step away from the incoming wrath of Ferdinand, the door flies open with a smack against the wall and a red-faced Ferdinand charging forward as if he were currently mounted upon a horse. Hubert opens his mouth to try and explain himself before Ferdinand's unleashes his full assault upon him, but he doesn't get the chance.
Yanked by two hands upon his shirt, ripping off one of his buttons, Hubert is pulled down into a hot and angry kiss. He does not even realize what is happening until he feels Ferdinand bite upon his bottom lip to gain his attention. The sensation wakes him up from his haze, and he melts within his grasp.
Eyes shut tight, Hubert presses back to meet with the demanding passion of Ferdinand's mouth. He finds himself swallowed, eaten alive as Ferdinand smacks him into a wall and does not stop kissing him even for a second. It is only for a short inhale of air that Hubert tries to speak once more.
“W-Wait, Ferd--”
He is silenced, a tongue dives into his mouth and he feels like he’s suddenly flying. He doesn't waste his energy with any more words. He complies with Ferdinand’s desires, shuddering as his hand loosen their grip, a single one slipping onto the back of his head to pull at his hair.
A string of whines and hesitant moans are devoured by Ferdinand as he relishes in the warmth and taste of Hubert upon his lips. He had been waiting for this moment for far too long. He will not waste it, eagerly accepting the arms that wrap around his neck as Hubert’s tongue rubs against his own with an unkempt yearning for more.
Maybe this was not the first kiss Ferdinand had imagined he and Hubert would share, but it would stain his memory either way. And what a gorgeous memory it would become.
“Hubert…” Ferdinand mutters, pulling back and looking into his captivating green eyes. “...I can not understand you. How positively evil of you to write such tender words, but never send them to me. Perhaps you are nothing but a villain.”
Hubert’s eyes flutter as he regains a lick of sense, his emotions overflowing as Ferdinand speaks so earnestly.
“I never thought…” He cuts himself off. “I...I had assumed you would, ahh-- never...return such affections for one as wretched as me.” A frown taints his blushing face, and Ferdinand can not allow it to stay.
“You are wretched.” Ferdinand mutters without a single trace of mockery. “Wretched to assume my feelings for me. You do not get to do such a thing--” He runs his fingers through his short, black hair and gives a gentle smile for the first time this evening.
“And you are wretched to have charmed my heart with your dastardly words. I was brought to tears, Hubert… You should have never held such feelings for me. Please, tell me, are there more?” He asks nervously, and Hubert gives a slow nod.
“...Yes, quite a few more hidden away.”
“Show them to me. Show them, so that I can properly confess my feelings back to you.”
Both hearts are thumping irregularly, overcome by such displays of passion and repressing pining for far too long. There is an unspoken confession between them at this very moment, but the words would be verbalized soon enough.
“...Alright. I will share them.”