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A pained shout burst from Hubert’s throat and seemed to echo around the whole of Brigid. Just a few paces away, Professor Byleth recalled the Sword’s blade back to its hilt, eyes fixed on Hubert. He let out a huff of amusement even as blood dripped onto his boots. “No more I can do here,” Hubert said, catching movement from the corner of his eye. More former Eagles had crept up in a poor attempt to surround him. At the forefront— perched proudly on his horse, overgrown hair whipping behind him— was Ferdinand von Aegir.
A quip about the fury of lovers scorned flit through Hubert’s mind but his ankle gave an angry throb. This was not the time. His wounds were too great to instigate another fight. Instead he called out, “Troops, remember your orders! I must withdraw.”
The last thing Hubert saw was Ferdinand dismounting his horse, taking up his lance with intent. Then, in a swirl of magic, Hubert warped away.
Unfortunately warp spells only took one so far, and Hubert’s were weaker than most. He hit the forest floor only a few yards away from where he and the Professor had exchanged blows. Pulling himself to his feet, one hand on his side to staunch a deep wound there, Hubert took off at an ill-advised run.
This loss wasn’t a total surprise. Brigid’s terrain had been a complete mystery to Hubert and his battalion. With Petra on the Professor’s side, Hubert had been prepared for defeat from the outset. What he had not counted on was the possibility of his injuries keeping him from the Empire’s rendezvous point. Sentimentality, though clear on the Professor’s face all the while, had not stopped them from coming at Hubert with everything they had.
“ Hubert !”
Ferdinand’s voice carried with it a wrath Hubert had never known from the teenager. A hardened warrior now chased Hubert through the forest, close on Hubert’s heels and clearly determined.
Technically the Church’s army had won this battle, therefore Ferdinand had no reason to give chase. That fact did not stop the cracking of branches behind him. And so Hubert found himself half running, half staggering through Brigid.
In an effort to distract himself from the pain, he concentrated on more abstract things. How to report this to Her Majesty. What moronic letters from whiny generals would be waiting on his desk back home. The devastation on the former Black Eagle’s faces when Hubert had stopped their easy escape. How Ferdinand’s face in particular…
Perhaps best not to dwell on that particular line of thought.
Another shout broke through the sunset-painted trees, much closer than before. Hubert slid on a patch of strange moss and cursed before he could stop himself. Regaining balance, Hubert ran on— then stumbled again almost immediately, barely catching himself on a tree trunk. His ankle screamed in pain. Teeth clenched around a similar scream, Hubert straightened in time to face his pursuer.
Ferdinand jumped a fallen log, missing the moss entirely, and landed just a few feet from Hubert. Sap had stuck parts of his long hair together. His red and navy coat was splattered with mud and blood, his boots were caked in worse, and the gauntlet on his right hand had been dented in several places. He held his silver lance in a tight grip, glare murderous.
This close, Hubert could see his lip was bleeding— but a scar Hubert didn’t remember shined just beside it, dipping down into Ferdinand’s jaw. It struck Hubert how strange it was to not know how Ferdinand had acquired it. Back in Garreg Mach, Hubert had been intimately familiar with all of Ferdinand’s scars. From cooking burns on his hands to disciplinary lines on his back.
Hubert had known each story, and kissed each one as it was told to him.
Pushing the memory of that night away, Hubert put forth a smirk. “Chasing down someone who has already admitted defeat? Not a very noble practice.”
Ferdinand sneered and pointed his lance. “I will not let you get away. For your part in this war, I cannot allow you to leave so easily.”
“Always so dramatic.” Hubert raised a hand, gathering a spell with a flick of his wrist. He was out of his more powerful hexes, but he didn’t need to win this fight. Simply surviving and fleeing again would do.
“Will you come willingly?” Ferdinand asked as he dropped into a stance. “Or would you prefer I make you?”
Hubert snorted. “Well now, that all depends. Did you think to bring anyone else out here? Or did you charge off in a fit of impulse?”
Ferdinand’s confidence visibly faltered. “I…”
Hubert let out a genuinely amused chuckle. Some things never changed. “This isn’t like our old trysts, Ferdinand. It’s best not to come alone if you intend to—” He was forced to spin out of the way of Ferdinand’s lance before he could finish his taunt. The action agitated the wound in his side, and Hubert pursed his lips to keep back a grunt. He shot out his Miasma, more to drive Ferdinand away than to cause harm, and dodged around another tree.
“Have I touched a nerve?” Hubert goaded, eyes scanning the area for any break in the foliage he could take advantage of. The Empire encampment couldn’t be far, but another run in his current state was out of a question.
“How dare you speak of that time!” Ferdinand’s boot cracked a twig just on the other side of Hubert’s tree. “How dare you bring up your lies!”
Hearing Ferdinand move to the left of the tree, Hubert took off to the right, nearly falling into a horrible looking purple-thorned bush. It came up to Hubert’s elbows and its roots broke the ground in spots. He skirted the edge of it, mindful of the thorns, until it stood between him and Ferdinand.
“We lied to everyone about the war,” Hubert said as Ferdinand came into view. “There’s no need to take it so personally.”
“I am not speaking of the war.” Ferdinand swung at the bush, chopping off the top third and ridding Hubert of most of his cover. “Everything you said to me back then was a lie. And like a fool I—” He cut himself off with a thrust forward, the action accompanied by a wordless cry.
Hubert stepped back out of reach, readying a fire spell in both fists. “What are you talking about?” He snapped.
For Ferdinand had truly lost him. Hubert had been a master of keeping track of his stories back in school. From covering Edelgard’s various disappearances when she had to don her Flame Emperor persona, to playing dumb about Jeritza’s alter ego— Hubert had kept who’d been told what consistent. That Ferdinand now accused Hubert of some lie he didn’t recall was at once baffling and insulting.
At a run, and with the help of his lance, Ferdinand jumped over the bush, cape barely clearing the thorns. Hubert retreated another step and put up his hands to release his fire— but his back connected abruptly with another tree and the spell fell away as he lost concentration. The lowest branch connected perfectly with the gash in his side, and Hubert barely stopped a cry of agony falling from his lips. His ankle protested when he put weight on it— but the point became moot when Ferdinand braced his lance across Hubert’s chest, pinning him to the tree, leaning close enough for Hubert to count his freckles.
Not that he needed to. Hubert knew each of Ferdinand’s freckles well. Even the ones currently obscured by a bruise across his right cheek.
Once again he pushed such thoughts away. Hubert tried to gather another spell but his magic was sluggish to respond. The pain— and those damnable sunset eyes— drew his attention too harshly.
“You lied to sway my allegiance,” Ferdinand all but growled, eyes filled with that persistent, uncharacteristic fury. Hubert found he did not like it on Ferdinand after all. “Our— Our relationship was nothing more than a farce. A ploy to entice me to the wrong side of this war. You lied to me at every turn. The things we did together and the whole time… the whole time , Hubert!”
Suddenly Ferdinand pressed harder. Hubert let out a grunt as the lance dug into what was surely a broken rib. “Admit it,” Ferdinand hissed, voice meant just for Hubert and not the surrounding trees. “Admit it was all a lie. Tell me you did not mean a word you said.”
Perhaps it would be easier to. Perhaps telling Ferdinand what he wanted to hear would kill the knot of regret in Hubert’s own chest. A knot that had loosened bit by bit over the years but had coiled tight again at the sight of Ferdinand on his horse in the middle of Brigid.
Hubert still found himself hesitating. He dropped Ferdinand’s gaze and focused instead on his impossibly pristine cravat. “Is that what you have thought all this time?” He asked.
“No more games. Admit it.”
“I can’t.”
Hot breath ghosted over Hubert’s chin as Ferdinand leaned closer. “Admit. It.”
Swallowing thickly, Hubert let the pitiful amount of magic he had amassed fade. His hands were empty as he raised them to cover Ferdinand’s own on the lance. Ferdinand flinched but did not back off.
“I cannot tell you that because it isn’t true.” Hubert met Ferdinand’s waning glare. “What you and I had was only ever my selfish desires. It had nothing to do with the upcoming war or the Empire, or even Lady Edelgard.”
“For you, everything has to do with Edelgard,” Ferdinand interrupted.
“Not this.”
“No? Did you not leave my side in the Holy Tomb to stand with her instead? And what’s worse— you went to bed with me the night before knowing full well you were going to do exactly that! What was that if not a strategic, heartless move?”
Hubert held fast. “It was an indulgence.”
“It was another lie! Another memory for you to laugh at!” Ferdinand let out his own mirthless snort. “I bet you and Edelgard found me so amusing. All the things you compelled me to believe as you strung me along. You have had five years to tell her every story, every confession, every—”
“I never told Edelgard a thing about us!” Hubert finally shot back. His nails dug into the back of Ferdinand’s hands. “Nothing we did aided or hindered her in any way and so I rarely spoke of it! Must you always think yourself so important as to be a factor in every plan?”
Ferdinand’s knuckles flexed as his grip on the lance tightened. “Forgive me for thinking I was ever so important to you as to factor into anything! I have had five years to scold myself for ever thinking such and shall not be making that mistake again.”
“You truly think I spent my nights at school with just anyone?” Hubert’s fire was dying out again. It used to be so easy, almost fun, to argue with Ferdinand. But now, there was little he could do to convince Ferdinand of something he seemed so sure of. Something he had been sure of for five years too long.
“I think you would spend the night with anyone, if it met Edelgard’s goals.”
“I would not. It was only ever you. Only you could make me act so selfishly.”
Ferdinand shifted his hands farther apart, out from under Hubert’s. “Drop the act.”
And here Hubert took a shallow breath through sore ribs. He already knew he would hate himself for saying these things. Such words had no place between enemies with the scent of blood so heavy in the air.
Still: “I loved you, Ferdinand. That, I have never lied about.”
The pressure of the lance disappeared instantly. Hubert slid to the base of the tree, finally letting out a gasp of pain as more blood gushed from his wound. The tip of the lance found his chin, urged his head up, made him look Ferdinand in the eye.
Ferdinand stared down at Hubert with emotions he couldn’t decipher. If Ferdinand shifted the lance but an inch, it wouldn’t matter any longer. Hubert almost welcomed it. Nearly anything was better than such a conflicted gaze from the only other person Hubert had wanted to warp out of the Tomb that day.
The lance nicked his chin and drew a dot of blood. If this was to be their last conversation, all Hubert wanted was to be sure that Ferdinand understood.
“But no longer.” Ferdinand’s statement came out as a plea.
There was no need to torture Ferdinand any further. “No longer,” Hubert lied.
With a nod, Ferdinand withdrew his lance and stepped back. “Get up.”
Hubert did so, gingerly, keeping one hand on the trunk of the tree to stay steady. “Allowing me the honor of dying on my feet?” He asked dryly.
“Neither of us deserve to die so far from home,” Ferdinand said. He moved as if to help Hubert, but stopped himself. Hubert felt at once grateful for and frustrated by his restraint. “Consider this my last act of kindness to you. Go.”
He turned away, his back to Hubert.
An opening.
Hubert summoned his magic, called upon it for his final Mire, felt the thick power of the spell respond and gather at his fingertips, imagined how devastating the loss of a prominent general would be for their enemies—
And once more let it dissipate. No, neither of them deserved to end here.
“Ferdinand!”
Another familiar voice. One that still caused Hubert to tense to attention. “Ferdinand, give it up! We have to leave!” It sounded as if Professor Byleth was just beyond the next copse of trees.
Ferdinand looked back. His lips parted as if he intended to speak. Hubert waited, willing him to do so. He would take any word at this point. As long as it was not said with the anger Ferdinand had come here with.
But there was nothing. Ferdinand merely nodded and marched off towards the Professor’s call— again missing the slippery moss. Hubert watched him go, half expecting the Professor to burst from the trees and try for another round, one that Hubert would be powerless against.
And again, nothing happened. Restless silence had taken back the forest. The fight was over at last. Many things were over at last.
Hubert clamped a hand over his side, turned on his heel, and headed east. There would be healers at the Empire encampment. A boat ride to Fódlan’s Fangs, a carriage west to Enbarr, and this would all be behind him.
Except— memories ran through Hubert’s mind with a vengeance. That fateful encounter in the training grounds when Ferdinand, apparently not for the last time, pinned Hubert with a lance, realization hitting them both at once. The night spent in Ferdinand’s room running calloused hands and soft lips over one another’s scars. The first of many days he had mapped each of Ferdinand’s freckles. Solemn oaths in the Goddess Tower despite Hubert’s previous objections to the location.
The heartbreak on Ferdinand’s face in the Holy Tomb as Hubert spirited Lady Edelgard to safety. It was an expression that had haunted Hubert for years. The reason Hubert had avoided him during the siege of Garreg Mach.
None of it mattered now. Hubert’s words back then might as well have been lies for all the good baring his heart had done them both. Gritting his teeth against a fresh onslaught of regret, Hubert trudged onward.
“No longer,” he murmured to himself.
As if in answer, the image of a younger Ferdinand, short hair disheveled and lips kiss-bitten, grinning up at Hubert and cupping his face. “I love—”
Hubert pressed into his gash. A savage cry of pure agony followed, tears of pain running down his cheeks unimpeded. His steps faltered. He found himself leaning against another tree as the world spun around him. “No longer,” Hubert asserted again to the indifferent forest.