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“So – uh – you and Hubert, huh?” Caspar glances nervously over at the Minister of the Imperial Household. It’s a formal event, something about celebrating improved relations with Brigid – Shez is in the corner with him trying not to claw his way out of the formal clothing that Dorothea had smirked and subsequently shoved him into earlier that evening.
He made it a habit to stick to the Black Eagles as much as he could at events like this. Sure, Caspar wasn’t always keen on following the social niceties but he did know them better than Shez did so he could still take his cues (mostly) off his former classmate.
Shez stops trying to subtly loosen the monstrosity tied around his neck to blink at him. “I’m just going point out that you’re literally holding Linhardt up right now.”
“Yeah, but that’s Linhardt. Everyone knows about us,” Caspar snorted, glancing up as Linhardt’s weight shifted further into him – he made sure his grip on the other noble was strong enough to keep him upright. “He’s my buddy. Hubert totally wants you dead.”
“Not anymore!” Shez protests – glancing at the subject of the conversation, a blush rising to his cheeks. “He even stopped giving me murder forecasts as a sign of trust.”
“So…does that mean he doesn’t want to murder you or that he doesn’t trust you anymore?”
“You two are being loud,” Byleth murmurs as he steps up to them. Cool green eyes passing over them. “Are you certain that’s a good idea? He doesn’t have to go very far to murder you in your sleep anymore.”
“You’re an asshole,” Shez scoffs at his ice-faced counterpart, though he can’t help the wide grin that breaks through not a moment later. “You know that don’t you?”
“I do,” he agreed. “I suppose I should tell my father that asking you to join us and Leonie is pointless?”
“Ah…” he trailed off, looking to Hubert, and smiling a little as pale green eyes slid off Ferdinand and Edelgard’s conversation to them – to him, “Yeah. I think my mercenary days are over. Not that I’m not glad you guys want me just…”
“Your heart belongs to the Empire now,” Byleth’s lips twitched in a shallow smile. “It’s a better look for you than throwing your life away on a battlefield.”
“You’re really not the one who should be criticizing him for being a mercenary,” Linhardt opened his eyes to stare flatly at him.
There’s a soft laugh – more a chuckle – but with someone who had as much trouble expressing as Byleth it was the equivalent of doubling over in laughter, really. “No. Perhaps not. We leave in a few days – you wanted to examine my crest again before that, still? Just send word when you’re free.”
He’d almost forgotten. Jeralt’s mercenaries (which now included Shamir and Leonie as well as Alois and Byleth) had accepted a contract from Claude. One that would take the elite of the company into Almyra.
“How bothersome,” Linhardt gave one of his put-upon sighs as if anyone had managed to bully him out of a schedule that mostly consisted of leisure but nodded his agreement anyways. “I’ll find some time for it.”
Byleth smiled faintly before spotting Ashe trying to melt into the wall while Constance kept him company. “Yuri’s still not here?” he muttered, giving them all a brief nod before he went to go save the soft spoken former knight from an enthusiastic newly-reinstated Lady Nuvelle.
“Byleth’s a way nicer guy than he looks,” Caspar observed with amusement as he shifted Linhardt back onto his own feet now that he wasn’t trying to nap standing up.
“When he’s not paid to kill you anyways,” Shez agreed with a sigh, thinking back to his first encounter with the other mercenary with a shudder.
But…honestly…that night Byleth had still been kind(ish?). In a mercenary way. Byleth by rights shouldn’t have left him alive to seek revenge, not with how many of Jeralt’s men Shez had killed or maimed trying to get to his captain and friends in time to save them. Not with the obvious grudge. In the Ashen Demon’s place he doesn’t think he’d have left himself alive.
And he wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t been stupidly lost in those woods on his quest to prove his strength. It’s not a train of thought he enjoys for all it’s all too common – meeting Edelgard and the others changed his life – saved him in more ways than he can count. The man he’d been before – he’s not sure would have survived fighting that war as one of the many nameless mercenaries that were ground up in the conflict.
If he’d never gone to the Garreg Mach – he’d…well, he wouldn’t have worked for the Empire, probably. The Kingdom and Alliance tended to have had better reputations for mercenaries. He’d probably ended up signed on with a Kingdom lord. He’d be dead, forgotten on a battlefield somewhere just like Ingrid and Sylvain. Or worse, maybe he wouldn’t be dead. Maybe Caspar would be. Or Petra. Or -
“You made the right choice,” a rumble in his ear made him jump from his thoughts – a literal jolt going through him. Though his heartbeat slowed a little at the malicious sounding chuckle that followed.
Hubert was in full Marquis Vestra mode, apparently. And the assholes that they were Linhardt and Caspar had abandoned him for one of the snack tables while he was caught up in his brooding. (It was actually Caspar that on seeing Hubert’s approach decided it was a good time to - for once in his life – retreat. Just in case Byleth was right and they’d managed to annoy him.)
“What choice was that?” he huffed.
“The Empire – the Black Eagles,” Hubert hummed before he moved to stand at his side rather than his back – watching the ballroom. “You chose to walk a path aligned with Lady Edelgard’s. It was the correct choice.”
“One that gave you plenty of headaches,” Shez points out.
“Had your loyalty gone to Dimitri or Claude, or perhaps even them, my life would have been much more difficult. Better the short leash where I might keep an eye on you.”
Shez paused, narrowing his eyes at his lover, before deciding to ignore the present tense in that statement. “How’d you even know what I was thinking about?”
Hubert glanced at him from the corner of his eye, the smirk softening (for a moment) into a real smile. “Your face is not difficult to read, my dear.” The fondness didn’t linger long, a bitter expression replacing it once the gaze returns to watching the room, “I will provide the distraction. Will you remove Bernadetta?”
Shez followed where he’s looking – and ah.
There’s Bernie. Cornered by one of the suitors that her father had pushed at her that the Black Eagles’ collective protective streak hadn’t quite managed to dissuade…yet. As far as he knew this would be the man’s first encounter with Hubert’s more protective nature – most of the annoying ones got ran off by Dorothea before the rest of them even found out. How anyone forgot that Marquis Vestra was a doting protector – and not just of his Empress – was beyond him. (Then again...that phrasing.)
“I’m on it. If I annoy any of the nobles I’m not supposed to I’m telling Edelgard it’s your fault,” he grins widely before he cuts his way across the ballroom, actually careful to avoid the dancing. And on the way he spots Petra in need of some company that isn’t various trade officials. Perfect.
Petra was the only one besides Edelgard with the rank to tell people to fuck off (politely) in the room and Hubert would murder him (well, no, he wouldn’t murder him but he’s look disappointed and sigh about it) for bothering the empress with a scheme. Even one he proposed.
Next to the Queen of Brigid would be a perfect hiding place for Bernadetta.