Work Text:
He’d built the pyre on a whim. Hubert was on his way back to their base, so close he really should have continued back to the Black Eagles Strike Force.
To Lady Edelgard.
They would be waiting for him.
Instead, when he strode into the clearing, Hubert could not contain his impulse to do something after three days marching with no end in sight. Edelgard had forced him to take the day off and wandering feet led him here, to gather the dry, rotting wood strewn about and set to work piling it on top of each other. Arranged first in a conical shape of branches leaning together, Hubert found the task completed before he felt he'd achieved anything. Dismantling it proved helpful, as did rearranging it into a larger, more rectangular shape to support the extra wood he kept adding.
By the time he was satisfied, it reached his waist.
Igniting the pyre was as simple as a flick of his wrist; the faint smell of extinguished candles that accompanied fire magic lingered in the crisp evening air.
Flames taller than him licked at the sky, reaching higher and higher as they attempted to feast more, eager to claim the rest of the woods and the heavens too. Hubert knew the difference between the crackle which accompanied burning wood and spitting embers, and the snap of a branch trodden on by an armoured boot.
He’d chosen to ignore it, and enjoy the pure destructive beauty in front of him.
Ferdinand von Aegir was no threat to him, and the footfalls could belong to no other.
Patterns danced in the intense orange-yellow heat. Tracking the moving shapes settled the frenetic thoughts that raced this way and that until they were tangled in his mind, clawing at his gut. Skeletons from his closet danced illuminated in the light--the faces of his dead. Those he would burn for once the Eternal Flames took him.
The devout often claimed to see the Goddess and her saints in the fire. Hubert saw the sinister creeping of the shadows, elongating and growing ever closer, one reaching out to claim him--
Ferdinand’s gauntleted hand grasped his shoulder.
“There you are.” He beamed, fondness clear on his face. Ferdinand's brilliant smile was capable of eclipsing all other light in their pocket of twilight darkness, but the heat of the flames was a constant reminder of all that he'd done.
Why the fool was pretending he hadn’t been there for the past twenty minutes at least, Hubert could not fathom. Yet they were past their days of petty bickering; mentioning it would achieve nothing.
Besides, his presence had eased Hubert's need to be busy. Something about being around Ferdinand allowed him to relax, slipping through the talons that gripped at his mind.
“I-” Ferdinand cut himself off, the warmth of the fire colouring his cheeks.
There was no other reason for it--the towering blaze was the only reason Hubert felt he could combust at any second.
Ferdinand withdrew his hand, and the temperature in the clearing plummeted despite Hubert's proximity to the scalding heat. He was forced to step back from his eventual destiny, towards the inescapable sunshine of Ferdinand von Aegir.
He burned all the same.
"We-" Ferdinand placed an odd emphasis on the word "-were wondering where you got to. Bernadetta expected you in time for dinner."
Not the oddest thing she'd ever done, but unexpected nonetheless. Had he known, he would have hurried back, regardless of how much he'd enjoyed his time alone in the forest, watching it burn for his sins. "I hope you didn't wait for me," Hubert said, mesmerised by the glowing heat that emanated from Ferdinand. He'd call the man divine if the word didn't taste like ash on his tongue.
"Not too long, you know how Caspar gets when he is hungry."
Hubert did indeed know. He also knew how Caspar got when he was tired, when he was bored, when he was overexcited, when he was breathing. It was a small wonder the man was still alive; in truth Hubert had expected him to die of recklessness a long time ago.
A part of him, buried deep in the darkness of his being, was happy they had all made it this far. "How did you find me?"
Ferdinand looked at Hubert, making the sort of face one would show a child who should know better before turning his eyes towards the inky sky.
Hubert watched his movements, following his gaze. Thick grey smoke obscured his view of the rising moon. The beacon was high enough to be seen from great distances, he could tell from a glance. A rare oversight on his part. Luckily, Ferdinand was past calling him out on such foolishness.
Luckily, Ferdinand was past filling any silence with the sound of his voice.
Hubert was acutely aware luck had nothing to do with it, and it was instead a labour of love on Ferdinand’s part to reflect on himself and grow.
In return, Hubert had made an effort himself not to rile the man, yet he seemed more and more disconcerted in Hubert’s presence of late. Something he would have to think on in the future.
For now, he enjoyed the sounds of the night around them: a gentle breeze disturbing the leaves overhead, chirruping of insects feeling safe enough to announce their presence now the worst of their predators had gone to sleep, the scuttle of his kin--creatures of the night--claiming the forest for their own, the hooting of owls claiming territory for their own, and the swish of membranous wings overhead--so faint even his ears strained to hear the bats over the lively hubbub.
In the darkness, they came alive, as did he. No need to hide when the lack of light did it for you.
Perhaps that was why he dared to speak. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hide the genuine sentiment behind snark, or venom, or the air of authority he used when trying to force their peers to be the best versions of themselves. “Ferdinand, why are you here?”
His sentiment was understood, because Ferdinand chuckled at him rather than bristling at the words. “I have been waiting. For you, I mean. At the edge of this forest. It was a foolish idea, you might have warped, or walked a hundred different routes! But in truth, I was hoping to catch you alone.”
A falling log rolled towards Ferdinand, casting his fawn skin in a brighter golden glow, catching in his hair cascading like liquid fire around his face. Ferdinand was too bright himself to burn from the force of it, yet every time Hubert entertained the idea of reaching his marred hands to brush it out of Ferdinand’s face, he was reminded that blackened as they are, there were more ways for his hands to burn.
He crossed his arms to resist the temptation. “And what nefarious purposes required such a scheme?”
“Nothing nefarious.” Eyes sweeter and more golden than honey turned to him, far too earnest to harbour the various wicked, sinful ideas that flashed through Hubert’s mind at his confession. “It is just--” Ferdinand paused again, his face dropping back towards the floor.
There was nothing interesting about it. It was a usual forest floor, devoid of any firewood and underbrush from Hubert’s impromptu bonfire.
“Ferdinand,” said Hubert, his voice firm but not harsh. “Out with it.”
Ferdinand exhaled, his heaving chest straining the strong, well made threads of his coat so tight the seams looked like they were seconds away from bursting.
Hubert found himself disappointed that they held under the pressure.
“Happy birthday, Hubert.”
The only one who knew the date of his birthday was Lady Edelgard.
Why did she tell him?
Hubert didn't get the opportunity to dwell on it. Ferdinand turned towards him, reaching into his pocket to withdraw something wrapped in a silk handkerchief. He extended his hand to proffer the item, tipping it into Hubert’s hand rather than letting their hands brush.
Hubert was the Emperor’s tool, the dagger with which she cut a bloody path for the emancipation of Fódlan. Weapons did not miss the warmth of another's skin, so he buried the tightness in his chest deep down, missing Ferdinand manoeuvre himself down to the floor, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. Hubert picked at the fabric with great care, unwrapping it to reveal a squashed cake.
What did it mean? What did Ferdinand mean by it? By waiting for him, alone, to give it to him?
“I...I am sorry. Dorothea informed me I had perfected the art of making those in my efforts to win her favour and I knew it was your birthday so I thought…” Ferdinand exhaled in a half sigh, half laugh. “In truth, I did not think, because you do not like sweet things.”
Hubert stood, frozen to the spot. Ferdinand made this? For him? For his birthday?
He must be scowling, because Ferdinand shook his head at him. “Edelgard always gives you a day off on the 17th of the Great Tree Moon and, in a more suspicious turn of events, you actually take it. Please, do not blame her, for I practically forced her to tell me."
"I don't," Hubert said, a little too harshly. He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but the feelings lodged in his chest where he buried them are stuck, refusing to budge in an appropriate response to such a display of thoughtfulness from Ferdinand.
Ferdinand, who he'd once thought the most vacuous, insipid, worthless human to grace Fódlan.
Ferdinand, whose smile brightened the sunniest of summer days, attempted to hide his sadness at Hubert's tone behind a flash of white teeth. The wetness in his eyes gave him away.
Ferdinand, who'd forced Hubert to realise he had a traitorous heart that beats for more than his Emperor.
It thumped in his ears now, much too quick, much too loud.
"This was silly of me. I have kept you from your duties for too long, and one of us must mind the blaze to ensure it does not spread. Please, do not wait up for me, I fear this will take most of the night to burn out." Heat from the fire dried the tear tracks on Ferdinand's face, and he was surprisingly skilled at keeping his voice even.
Hubert knew he'd received too much practice at it as a youth.
No need to mention he could extinguish the fire with a wave of his hand, displace the smoke with a short blast of Wind. "Very noble of you, Ferdinand."
He laughed weakly, the sound full of life regardless. "Careful, Hubert! You said the word noble without it sounding like a slur, and that was almost a compliment! You know how I feel about those from you."
"I couldn't possibly leave you to such an important task yourself, you'd find some way to mess it up!" Hubert sneered.
Ferdinand protested--of course he did--launching into a monologue on all the reasons why Hubert was wrong.
He didn't listen, focusing instead on the lively glow of Ferdinand's skin in the firelight. The rare tea merchant he employed to get Ferdinand's favourite tea would be back in time for his birthday, and maybe by then, he would have found a way to speak the words in his heart.
Until then, the letters of written compliments weighed down the secret breast pocket of his coat while the passion in Ferdinand's eyes continued to melt the ice around Hubert's heart.