Work Text:
Ferdinand von Aegir was one of the most decorated war generals of the great war to unify Fodlan. A powerful fighter and general, leading troops with skill and aplomb, and a man who cared for those under his command like friends, doing his most to save as many people as possible. And now in peacetime, he was one of Her Majesty's hands, the Prime Minister of Adrestia and the Duke of Aegir. Powerful, intelligent, capable.
Though, also, he could be. Perhaps. A little bit dense.
While he'd grown out of his childhood naïveté during the war and got better at understanding when he was crossing a line with others' boundaries, there were some aspects of interpersonal relationships that he'd yet to master, and it seemed like anything relating to romantic love was one of these areas. It was ironic, for someone who was such a romantic to be so bad at understanding when others were making advances on him, but at least this density only pertained to others' feelings; Ferdinand had the utmost confidence that he could understand his own feelings perfectly.
That was, until Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand's closest and most dear friend, whom he'd assumed he only felt the most platonic of affections for, sent him a letter. A simple letter, two pages long, in Hubert's typical looping script. A love letter, confessing the extent to which he felt for Ferdinand himself.
At this, Ferdinand realized he didn't quite understand his own feelings as much as he thought he did.
It had been a quite average day, leading up to then, nothing to indicate he would receive such a letter that would flip his perception of himself and his friend upside-down. Ferdinand had woken up, gotten ready for the day, and went on his morning ride. Living in Enbarr, it took a bit of travel just to get to the hillside outside of the city proper, but in Ferdinand's opinion getting to walk through the city while conversing with the people and taking note of how damage from the war was being repaired was only a positive addition to his morning rituals. It wasn't quite a sunny day, the skies blanketed in cool gray clouds, but the temperature was nice and the ride was invigorating nonetheless.
He'd returned to his apartments in the imperial palace to get a jump-start on his work, but upon entering, he noticed a letter that had been slid under the front door, bearing the Vestra seal. Ferdinand's pulse sparked at this—whenever Hubert needed to communicate, he would either send a memo on a scrap of paper, or would come and tell him the news himself. This looked official, and seeing how Ferdinand couldn't think of anything that would warrant this level of formality in the communications between them, this had to be serious. After removing his coat, he picked up the letter, took it to his office, and read it at his desk. And then his life changed.
Perhaps saying that his entire life changed was a bit overdramatic, but for someone whose day to day life consisted of work, meeting with Hubert, more work, tea and coffee with Hubert, finishing up some more work, dinner with Hubert, well. Any considerable news on the Hubert frontier did shake things up.
Upon reading Hubert's letter, Ferdinand's emotional state, much like the stages of grief, went through several phases in a short period of time.
The first emotion: Shock. He truly hadn't realized Hubert had harbored these types of feelings for him. Yes, Hubert treated him much differently than their other friends, but Ferdinand had just attributed that to the spymaster's reluctance to let anyone in past his walls. The only other person Hubert allowed as close as he did Ferdinand was Edelgard, and everyone knew Hubert's relationship with Edelgard was not one that reflected a typical friendship. So it wasn't like Ferdinand had any frame of reference for what Hubert deemed platonic affection toward a friend versus romantic advances toward a love interest. And it wasn't like friends couldn't also express affection for each other too! Every action Hubert took toward Ferdinand could be explained in a platonic way. The outings, the daily beverage breaks, the smiles just for him, the soft way Hubert looked at him across the council table, the brush of a hand against his when walking too close to each other through the halls…
Okay. Maybe Hubert was more direct than he thought. That one was on Ferdinand.
The second emotion: Shock again, but this time at himself. Because while reading this letter from—what he'd thought was—his totally platonic best friend, outlining his—surprisingly—romantic intentions toward himself, one would expect Ferdinand to feel a fond sort of disappointment, at having to break his friend's heart. Because he obviously did not feel the same.
Instead, he couldn't stop himself from reading the letter again and again, face red, smile growing, heart beating out of control. Which, as the minutes went on, Ferdinand could attribute less and less as platonic.
Ferdinand liked the letter. He liked that Hubert felt this way toward him, and even found himself wishing that Hubert had forgone the letter and instead knocked on his door and confessed to him in person on the spot. Of course, he probably chose a letter to convey his feelings due to Ferdinand's own insistence that Hubert keep any compliments to his person in writing—Goddess, Ferdinand had been aware enough to know of the effect Hubert had on him and yet was somehow too dense to properly attribute the reason!—but Ferdinand most of all just wanted to see Hubert's face as he confessed. Would he stand at his door tall and imposing as always, face stony but eyes intense as he outlined his intentions toward Ferdinand to his face, with only a blush to give away the hammering of his heart? Or would he look to the side, hiding his face in his bangs, an uncharacteristic shyness taking hold as he attempted to put to words the feelings he had? Would he let that soft smile that Ferdinand had been seeing more and more recently grace his face? Would Hubert take his hand in his?
The more time Ferdinand spent daydreaming various scenarios of flustered Hubert, he himself became more and more flustered—Goddess, even the thought of holding hands with the spymaster set his heart ablaze as if it was a scandalous activity—Ferdinand realized that he'd once again completely missed something; at some point, between their newly established respect for one another as the war broke out, to their growing camaraderie throughout the war, to now their close friendship in peacetime, Ferdinand von Aegir had fallen in love with Hubert von Vestra. And he hadn't even realized it, until the latter went to confess his own feelings first.
The third emotion: Desperation. Now that he was made clear of Hubert's affections, and becoming increasingly aware of his own feelings, Ferdinand needed to find him. He needed to run to Hubert wherever he was, needed to tell Hubert that his love was reciprocated, and especially needed to learn what Hubert would be like as a lover. The force of this desperation was enough for him to be walking through the halls of the imperial palace with more haste than usual before he even realized he was moving, letter still clutched in one hand.
Hubert and Ferdinand's quarters were not too far from each other, both residing in the section of the palace built for Adrestia's ministers—guest rooms for traveling ministers who preferred to live in their own lands, and larger suites like his and Hubert's for ministers who chose to reside in the palace permanently. Ferdinand had surprised Edelgard when he'd admitted to wanting to live in the palace after the war—with how much he'd waxed poetic about the lush open fields and beautiful beaches of Aegir, many among their strike force had assumed that he would choose to reside back in his home territory. Truth be told, Ferdinand couldn't really step foot in Aegir manor anymore without feeling like his father's ghost was silently hovering over his shoulder, judging him for his choices and cursing him for the lance he'd plunged into his neck years ago. Besides, it was easier to work on reform bills with Edelgard and Hubert and the other ministers while physically in the imperial palace, and he had plans to renovate Aegir manor into one of the schools he was planning on proposing with the education bill he was working on.
All that to say, with his feet and his heart at a breakneck pace, he was practically at Hubert's door in a blink of an eye, and with no hesitation he knocked persistently on the old wood of the door to the Vestra apartments. The seconds felt like hours, nerves making him feel dizzy. And yet there came no response from within. Ferdinand knocked a couple more times, even calling out to him—"Hubert, open the blasted door, there is much we must discuss!"—to no avail. Hubert clearly wasn't home.
Which was odd; at this time of day, around noon, Hubert was always in the office attached to his room, and a knock at the door would be perfectly audible from where his desk was situated. Plus, Hubert clearly had the letter delivered this morning—it certainly wasn't there before Ferdinand went for his morning ride—and to have access to quill and ink, he would be in his office. Hubert was a creature of habit; it would take a significant matter to break this habit. Which meant there was probably an important reason for him to be out.
And the best person to consult about Hubert's behaviors was the Emperor herself.
Ferdinand felt guilty whenever he sought out Edelgard, as he hated to interrupt the important day-to-day work of the Emperor, but as the friendship between the two of them grew, Edelgard had reassured Ferdinand on multiple occasions that any visits from him, whether for a lengthy political debate or for a small friendly chat, were welcome and encouraged. So he tried not to feel a lump in his chest as he made his way through the halls once more toward Edelgard's area of residence.
Luckily, he did not have to burst into her apartments; he saw her outside with Byleth, having lunch together in the imperial gardens. Back at the academy, Edelgard was rarely seen without Hubert by her side; during the war, however, she and their old professor spent more and more time with each other, coinciding with Hubert's growing ability to create and hold friendships with other people. Now, Edelgard was often seen with Byleth outside of any important imperial business. Ferdinand was still getting used to calling Byleth by her actual name and not just calling her Professor; it had been well over half a decade since he was a student at the academy.
Ferdinand waved to the pair of them as he approached, willing his smile to not betray the nerves he'd been feeling since opening the letter. Edelgard was the first to notice him walking over, and she returned his wave, Byleth then tilting her head toward him and giving him a minuscule nod.
"Hello, Edelgard, P- Byleth! May I have a quick moment of your time?" Ferdinand said with a polite bow. To Hubert's never-ending annoyance, Ferdinand still addressed Edelgard plainly, not resorting to grand titles as one in his station should. Once, Hubert had brought this concern up with the Emperor when the three of them had taken lunch together; Edelgard merely laughed, assuring both of them that outside of any political councils or meetings, Edelgard frankly did not care much for titles, especially among her friends. In fact, she'd been trying her best to get Hubert to adopt a nickname for her, or at least call her as simply Edelgard, but so far to no avail.
(It probably should have been telling of his feelings how often he thought about the other man).
"Of course, Ferdinand," Edelgard responded with a small smile on her face, "is there anything you require help with?"
Ferdinand chuckled, "Merely help with locating our most elusive friend. Have you seen Hubert today? He is not in his office, which at this time of day is most irregular."
The Emperor and her wife exchanged a look, before Edelgard turned back to Ferdinand. "Hubert left earlier this morning on a mission; we found evidence of another stronghold held by them, which Hubert has been preparing to infiltrate."
Ferdinand's eyebrows shot up, barely containing his surprise. "Hubert himself let me know of this a few days ago, but I thought he had said that there was no set departure date for this mission yet."
"I was surprised as well; we'd agreed on some point next week, but last night he all of a sudden informed me that he was ready for the mission now," Edelgard sighed, "I've been trying to get him to take his work one step at a time and relax since the war's end, but he still keeps rushing into his work like a candle trying to burn itself out on both ends."
"Wait, so this was not planned?" Another surprising behavior from Hubert. Hubert usually did not take any action without at least three days worth of rumination and thirteen backup plans.
Edelgard seemed to match his consternation as she nodded. "It seemed like something came up last minute. I assumed he'd found a pressing bit of news on the stronghold from his spy ring, but…" She and Byleth shared another look; Ferdinand felt rather like he was back in school for a moment, always being carefully maneuvered away from a secret.
Byleth cut in after Edelgard trailed off, her tone flat and her expression indecipherable. "What are you holding?"
Ferdinand had forgotten until now that he was still gripping the letter, his grasp leaving probably permanent wrinkles in the fine paper. "Oh- a letter. From Hubert."
Edelgard and Byleth exchanged yet another look, and proceeded to have a conversation purely in micro expressions. Ferdinand once again did not appreciate being left out.
After a moment, Byleth turned her eyes back to Ferdinand. "About?"
"Well. Um." Ferdinand wasn't sure how much Edelgard knew about Hubert's affairs, but regardless this seemed like the type of thing to keep quiet about. "Simply a small thing I must communicate with him in person."
Another micro-expression conversation between the two. This time it appeared more like an argument, and whatever it was, Edelgard won. "Could the letter perhaps have something to do with Hubert's early departure?" Edelgard asked as Byleth's eye twitched minutely.
"No, no," Ferdinand began to assure—but paused. "Unless." The tone at the end of Hubert's love letter was forlorn, he clearly expected the worst. And Ferdinand knew that when it came to personal matters, Hubert was more likely to shut people out and hide from them the moment he stopped feeling safe. Was this mission an avoidance tactic?
The pair at the table waited for him to continue, before realizing that he'd gotten stuck in his head again. "Unless?" Byleth prompted.
"Ah- nevermind," Ferdinand hastily began with another short bow, "Thank you for your insight into this issue, I will handle this matter on my own. Farewell, enjoy your lunch together." And with that he took back off toward his own offices.
The fourth emotion: Frustration. Perhaps even a bit of anger. Pissed off, quite frankly.
For Hubert, the imperial spymaster, someone who Ferdinand often lauded as one of the bravest men he knew, this was an incredible new low of cowardice.
Did Hubert truly think that he'd be upset with him when he found out? Did Hubert truly think him that shallow? They had known each other for years, had seen each other from every angle, at their very lowest points, through every possible viewpoint from contempt to affection. Even at their worst, even if Ferdinand had still hated him, he never would have scorned him for feeling this way. Their bond was now stronger than the lance Ferdinand had used to take lives, it could not be severed by simply feeling a different sort of affection toward the other. And that was only in the event in which Ferdinand did not feel the same, which was not the case in reality.
The worst that would have happened for Hubert would have been a few days, perhaps a week, of awkwardness, and then back to the status quo. Or, if Hubert wanted more time apart to heal a broken heart, Ferdinand would have granted that. There was no reason to flee from this conversation like a child seeing a small spider on the ground.lens
Entering his apartments with a huff, he threw himself onto his chair in his office, and dropped the letter onto his desk—but as his eyes caught the neat loops of Hubert's handwriting, some parts slightly shakier than Hubert's normal script, the occasional pool of ink where he hesitated with a word and the occasional thin scratch of words where the sentiments poured out of him faster than he could take, Ferdinand paused.
The fifth emotion: Understanding. For years—practically his entire conscious life—Hubert had been completely and utterly alone. He had Edelgard, yes, but the relationship between them wasn't one of an open and healing friendship; there was a self-imposed hierarchy, one in which Hubert refused to share his emotions and took every measure possible to keep parts of himself secret from his lady. The first person he had fully let in, the first to truly stand beside him as his equal, was Ferdinand.
Of course Hubert was scared.
Ferdinand couldn't judge him for this. What Ferdinand found easy in the ways of social interactions and emotional eloquence was most likely much more difficult for his counterpart, just like how introspective Hubert was so sure of his own emotions where Ferdinand hadn't even realized his feelings until today.
He picked the letter back up and read through it again, his lips quirking back into a half smile. He could imagine Hubert sitting at his desk, furiously scribbling onto a piece of paper his hidden feelings, glaring at it in the hopes that his frustration would make the words flow better. The thought was incredibly endearing.
Staring back at the letter, inspiration struck.
The sixth emotion: Determination. With Hubert gone, Ferdinand's only plans for the next few days or so would be to work on his reform bill. That would leave him with plenty of extra time typically reserved for breaks with the other man where he wouldn't have anything to do.
But rather than sit around and twiddle his thumbs, he could use this extra time to write his own love letter, a response to the one slid under his door that morning. He knew Hubert had probably taken a long time and several drafts to write this, perfectionist as he was, but Ferdinand was full of enough exuberance and determination to make up for the smaller window of time to pour his heart out onto paper.
And so he pulled out his finest sheaf of paper, his favorite quill, and his highest quality of ink, and started penning a response.
My dearest Hubert,
…
After some time of writing, revising, and writing again, Ferdinand sealed the letter with wax and made his way to Hubert's door. Confident he was still out dealing with Those Who Slither in the Dark, Ferdinand slid the letter under his door, and returned to his own offices to get back to work. His education reform bill still wasn't finished, after all, and it was of the utmost importance that he finish that before the end of the current moon.
Ferdinand sat back down at his desk, ready to begin writing.
But then he paused. Thinking back to his response to Hubert, there were a few things he forgot to add. Anecdotes of their time together in which his heart had raced, the perfect metaphor for the exact shade of green of his eyes, things Ferdinand couldn't believe he'd left out. He started to get up out of his chair—but remembering a particularly enlightening conversation with the other man about the countless magical traps he left in his room before he left for these missions, Ferdinand sank back into his chair. He knew there were some measures Hubert took to trapping his room that would halt said traps at the recognition of a familiar face, but he didn't quite want to test those out at the moment. He would not be able to retrieve the letter to rewrite it; the next person to see the contents of the letter would be Hubert himself.
No worries. He was Ferdinand von Aegir, the Prime Minister of Adrestia, the Duke of Aegir! He would simply write a second letter, and slide that one under the door as well. That way he could include the sentiments he'd forgotten in the first, as well as proclaim his love doubly! Enthused once more by his brilliant solution, he penned yet another love letter, and, once again, slid it under Hubert's door before returning to his office.
But wait.
What if Hubert enjoyed poetry? Ferdinand had taken to writing poems in his free time during the war, a hobby of which he'd continued well into peacetime. If anything could woo someone and convince them of the depths of their feelings, it was prose and verse written straight from their heart.
Once again, Ferdinand took out the parchment, and once again, he poured his affection out into written word.
…
Ferdinand did not get as much of his education proposal done over the next few days as he'd wanted.
He lost count of how many letters he slipped under Hubert's door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The mission was, on all accounts, a success. Initially Hubert had been frustrated that the lead they'd been following only brought them to a smaller stronghold of Those Who Slither in the Dark, rather than the main one they'd been hunting. But in the end not only did they wipe out more slitherers, they also uncovered more of their weapons and technology, and got more promising leads for the main hideout.
All in all, a grand success.
But as Hubert stalked through the halls of the imperial palace, uniform still stained with the slitherers' blood and tome still strapped to his side, he did not feel at ease as he should. All because of that damn letter.
He shouldn't have sent it. He didn't know what possessed him to finally take Ferdinand up on his offer and pour his yearning and longing into a tangible written item—Hubert von Vestra, willingly handing out blackmail material, he couldn't believe what the world had come to—it could only be madness. Ferdinand had to have seen it by now; he now knew of the wretched, twisted feelings that resided in his heart. One of the closest friendships he'd ever had, ruined because from the man himself, Hubert had learned to hope.
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted as he opened the door; it was more difficult to open than usual. Had he accidentally knocked a piece of furniture behind the door in his haste to leave Enbarr a few days ago? There was definitely something in the way.
Upon lighting his lamp and shutting the door behind him, he instead found a sizeable pile of letters. All bearing the Aegir seal.
Hubert's blood went cold. So this was how he was to go; Ferdinand's anger and disgust all painfully hashed out for his eyes only. What would follow the next day was surely an execution at lance-point.
With shaking hands, he plucked the letter at the top of the pile, and opened it.
Not only three lines in, and Hubert began to relax. Then, chuckle. Then, laugh, until he was full on cackling. These weren't letters for his head. Rather, they were for his hand.
Ferdinand von Aegir was always full of surprises.