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Hubert von Vestra is twenty-seven years old when he realizes he can ignore it no longer—he’s in love, really, truly, beyond a shadow of a doubt and down to the bottom of his heart.
The war’s been over two years now, and Hubert’s found that his extensive wartime duties as the Minister of the Imperial Household were nothing when compared with the endless amounts of work he’s currently saddled with. And even then, he can hardly keep himself from taking on tasks that fall outside his jurisdiction.
Like now, for instance.
He, Ferdinand, and a regiment of Imperial soldiers are riding several days out of Enbarr, to some nothing territory in the Oghma Mountains where the people have renounced their Emperor and claimed fealty to the Church of Seiros, which they’re apparently attempting to revive. Fools.
It’s not a mission that requires more than a single general to carry it through. As much as Ferdinand can grate on Hubert’s nerves—honestly, the man must do it on purpose at this point, but it’s not as if Hubert’s not guilty of the same—Hubert has to admit he’s more than capable of seeing the job done with the utmost grace and delicacy. That’s not why he’s insisted on following along. The truth is, he wants to see the fiend who’d lead such a pathetic insurrection against Emperor Edelgard with his own two eyes.
And he wants to be the one to cut them down.
* * *
The resulting clash with the fledgling Church is not so much a battle as a slaughter. The Imperials have the strength of numbers on their side, and each is a trained soldier, many of whom saw active duty in the war only two years ago. The new Church is made up mostly of civilians and Hubert can tell most of them have never held a weapon before. Knowing the Edelgard’s disgust at needless bloodshed, the civilians are surrounded and given the opportunity to surrender.
Several of them take the out, willingly joining the Imperials as prisoners. But not enough. Hubert stains the ground red with civilian blood, as do Ferdinand and the other Imperial soldiers. There’s not an innocent among them.
Hubert knows it had to be done, that there was no way they could allow such an insurrection to go unpunished. The Church of Seiros had already proved itself capable of rapid, weedy growth if left unchecked. The only way to stop weeds is to tug them out by the roots every time they dare spring back up.
Still, Hubert cannot help but feel unsatisfied, somehow, when he blasts the so-called Archbishop with miasma. The man in front of him is weak, terrified, hardly able to hold the lance he swings wildly in front of him. He’s hardly fit to shine Rhea’s shoes, let alone fill them. But Hubert cannot allow anyone brazen enough to denounce the Emperor to live.
* * *
In the end, Hubert, Ferdinand, and the rest of the Imperial soldiers end up spending the night in the village as the guests of those civilians who chose not to side with the fledgling Church. The sun sets too quickly in these chilling winter months—there’s no sense in setting out towards home when they’ll lose the light in a couple of hours. It’s easiest on all of them if they simply camp here, rather than setting up their own, however many miles down the mountain they make it.
Not to mention the village has luxuries like hot baths and coffee, a small pleasure Hubert’s been denied ever since they set out on this little escapade. That it is nearly dark is of no consequence. Hubert has never kept a particularly regular sleep schedule.
He sits at a small table situated just outside the village café, across from Ferdinand who is, for once, blessedly silent. Though that silence doesn’t last nearly long enough.
“I simply cannot imagine how hard this must be for you!”
Hubert simply stares over the rim of his cup of coffee, raising an eyebrow as he continues to sip. It gives him a few extra seconds to ponder what exactly Ferdinand means by his comment, but even as he sets his cup down between them Hubert feels the disconcerting and unfamiliar tug of confusion. Was Ferdinand just making an asinine remark? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time for that.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean,” he says, offering Ferdinand one of his most unsettling smiles. Aggravatingly, Ferdinand ignores it and continues undeterred.
“Don’t be coy, Hubert. I’m talking about Edelgard!” The answer is no less confusing than Ferdinand’s last comment, and Hubert hardly resists the urge to pinch the wrinkle forming between his brows.
“I am perfectly capable of leaving Her Majesty in the hands of our classmates for a few days. I am not her shadow, no matter what people may say to the contrary.” Hubert takes another long, drawn-out sip of coffee. Really, he’d thought he’d come to understand Ferdinand a little better since their academy days, but apparently he was still somewhat of an enigma to Hubert. How frustrating.
“But this has to be the first time you’ve been away so long, since the two of you started seeing each other!”
Hubert does not choke on his coffee. He does not.
The hot drink burns his windpipe, and no amount of thumping his fist against his chest alleviates the scorching sensation that has also, somehow, settled just under his skin, from his neck to his hairline. He splutters, indignant, and the sight of the unflappable Hubert von Vestra so obviously distressed is somehow more frightening to his companion than his deliberate attempts to unsettle.
Ferdinand produces a handkerchief, offers it to Hubert with an anxious, apologetic smile. The kind gesture alone is not enough to spare him Hubert’s ire.
“And here I thought you’d left the idiocy of our school days behind us! We are not seeing each other. Don’t be ridiculous!” He says, practically spitting each word, as if they bear a foul taste, one he can’t wait to rid his mouth of. That couldn’t be further from the truth. “What on earth even gave you that impression?”
“I saw you entering Her Majesty’s bedchambers, late one night while I was heading back from a particularly lengthy day of work.” Ah. Hubert remembers that night. Even clearer in his memory are the sounds of his lady’s desperate panic—cries which Hubert had listened for all his life, always a light sleeper, though the incidents had grown less frequent following the war—as she woke from one of her nightmares. But of course, Edelgard worked hard to project herself as a confident, unshakeable leader. He would be remiss to share such intimate knowledge, which would contradict that image, even to one of their closest allies. So Hubert says nothing.
Ferdinand sighs. “Besides, I’m not naïve, Hubert. Everyone can see the way you look at her, and how you dote on her. You aren’t exactly subtle—people have been talking about your feelings for Edelgard since our time at the academy. The poor retainer, in love with his master... I’m happy things managed to work out for you, after all, even if it did take Seiros knows how many years.”
“Since the academy,” Hubert repeats, slowly, and shakes his head. “You misunderstand. What I feel is not—”
“Not love?” Ferdinand asks, smile returning to his voice. “Don’t be absurd. I know admitting such feelings is probably painful for the great and terrible Butcher of Enbarr, but you can’t fool me! You aren’t the type to see a woman like that, no strings attached.”
“Enough!” Hubert cuts in. His hands are shaking, the bottom of his cup rattling audibly against the saucer in front of him. The sound of it, the vulnerability it signals, sets his teeth on edge. He stands, the force of the action pushing his chair back with a squeal. When Hubert speaks, his voice is venomous. “This conversation is over, you have spoiled perfectly good coffee with your incessant prattle.”
He turns on his heel and storms off, not listening to whatever equally idiotic retort Ferdinand calls after him. Almost immediately he regrets the whole affair, the display of emotion particularly unbecoming of someone of his position. But Hubert had always found himself quicker to anger when Edelgard was thrown into the mix. And to suggest that Edelgard and he had... did Ferdinand have no shame? Seiros—what if he had told their former classmates? Discretion had never been one of Ferdinand’s virtues.
Hubert groans, tugging at his hair. He needs to fix this, now.
As much as it pains him.
Some might think Hubert hardly human enough to dream, but they would be wrong. He dreams of his lady, and exactly the sort of clandestine relationship Ferdinand had described. He wants to be hers, completely, in body and soul. To no longer have to squash those impulses that scream at him to hold Edelgard, to envelop her in his arms and protect her from all who seek to hurt her, to chase away every momentary doubt and fleeting sadness with kisses.
But that’s impossible.
Hubert could live a hundred years more, dedicate every breath to the common good, and he would still never be worthy to take his lady’s hand. He’s long since come to terms with it, because even if he could wash his hands clean of all the bloody filth, he wouldn’t. There’s only one way someone as despicable as he can show his love, to stay by her side ‘til the very end.
So he’ll serve her until his dying breath, as nothing but her tool. He’s ready to stain his hands with the blood and corruption of the world’s most vile, wretched filth, if it meant she might continue to live clean, free of the guilt that would no doubt haunt the conscious of a person as good as she.
A romance with him would ruin her, so Hubert will kill any rumors before they spread far enough to cause a scandal.
* * *
Hubert’s hardly been back in Enbarr an hour when he nearly runs into Linhardt, through no fault of his own. Linhardt is stopped in one of the many hallways, leaning against one of the corridor walls and covering his mouth to stifle a yawn. He cracks open a single eye at the sound of Hubert’s approach, and looks him up and down with a look that leaves Hubert feeling like an artifact being appraised.
“Ah, welcome back, Hubert,” he says, one corner of his lips quirking upward into a haughtly little half-smile. “What’s with the look? Trouble in paradise already?”
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” Hubert asks. He stiffens, fixing Linhardt with a glare famed to turn their enemies’ blood to ice with sheer fear. If only it had that effect on Linhardt, who just bites back another yawn.
“Well, I suppose we all knew it was too good to last. You’re not exactly what I would call charming,” he says. Linhardt’s always been infuriatingly cheeky, Hubert should know better than to expect him to simply come out and say what he means.
But Hubert’s no fool. He knows this is about Edelgard, which would be disappointing if it weren’t so damn irritating—of all their former classmates, he thought at least Linhardt would be smart enough not to listen to baseless rumor.
“Whatever you think you may have heard, I advise you to forget it. I won’t hesitate to dispose of anyone caught besmirching Lady Edelgard’s name.”
Yet Linhardt does not tremble before the deadliest man on the whole of the continent of Fódlan. The way he stares at Hubert, entirely unimpressed, one would be forgiven for thinking he had never heard of the murderous prowess of Hubert von Vestra. That he could have witnessed firsthand many of the cruelties Hubert was capable of, as classmates and soldiers, is almost unthinkable.
Or, perhaps, he’s simply called Hubert’s bluff.
“That’s nice. But I suppose Edelgard wouldn’t be very happy if you killed the head of Adrestia’s National Crest Foundation. Especially not after how hard she worked to create the agency.”
Hubert does not get the chance to retort. Before he can, Linhardt cracks his back with a groan and steps away from where he had been leaning against the corridor wall. He claps Hubert’s shoulder, the wry look of amusement back on his face. “Loosen up, Hubert. Take a nap. You’re no fun when you’re wound this tight.”
Then, Linhardt is off, leaving Hubert to scowl after him.
* * *
Knowing how close Ferdinand and Dorothea are, Hubert has no doubt she’s heard the rumor about he and Edelgard. In fact, she probably ate it right up, and played a part in spreading it. Thus, Hubert has made the executive decision to postpone his inspection into the backgrounds of the newest crop of civil servants, handpicked by the Emperor and her two ministers to fill all the government agencies that have recently been created.
He does not expect Dorothea to approach him of her own volition. Hubert is enjoying the rarity of a quiet lunch, sequestered in a dim corner of the palace’s dining area, where one of the torches has burned out and has yet to be replaced. His food is in his lap, and on the table in front of him are a stack of reports from his spies. Reports which he really should be reading, so when Dorothea stands across from him, food in hand and asks, “Mind if I join you, Hubie?” he responds with only a non-committal grunt.
Dorothea, unfortunately, takes his lack of response as permission to sit down in the chair across from him and lean across the table, squinting at the upside-down letters of the reports in front of him. With a huff of irritation, he grabs the stack of papers and flips them face-down. “Those,” he says, “are none of your concern.”
She settles back in her chair, the self-satisfied look on her face clueing Hubert in to the fact that Dorothea is not sitting with him purely out of good will: she has some kind of ulterior motive which will, no doubt, be an exhausting waste of time, if previous experience has taught him anything.
The two sit in silence, holding one another’s gaze for a long minute. It’s ridiculous—if Dorothea was going to ask him some inane favor, she ought to hurry up and do so already. Hubert is a busy man, and each moment he wastes not looking over the reports grates on him, until he snaps, “If you aren’t going to say anything, you may as well leave me in peace!”
Dorothea chuckles, a light and airy sound that sets his teeth on edge. When did his former classmates stop looking at him with fear? It is so hard, keeping the Empire running smoothly without the use of fear. Years before, people would scramble to do whatever Hubert asked of them, terrified that he would make them disappear if he was so much as displeased with their work. No matter how many rewards he dangles in front of his subordinates now, nothing is ever accomplished with the speed and precision of days long past.
It’s beyond irritating, and Hubert redirects all his frustrations towards Dorothea, glowering at her as she finally tells him what she wants. But not before teasing him.
“Someone’s cranky, jeez! You ought to eat a little more, Hubie. You’re always so pissy when you’re hungry,” she says, eyes shining with mirth. “I just wanted to know how things are going with you and Edie. It’s not fair, trying to keep it a secret when we’re all so invested in your happiness.”
While Hubert is far from pleased to be approached about the topic of him and Edelgard once again, but at least he can fit the inspections back into the day’s schedule, if he knocks out this conversation now. He lifts a finger to shush Dorothea, yet she prattles on anyways, ignoring all his attempts to break into her line of questioning.
“So, how did you two get together? Who was the one to confess? If it was Edie—well, then Petra owes me twenty gold pieces. So, maybe you could fudge the truth a little bit, if that’s not the case?”
Hubert splutters. “That’s—you were? Bets? You know that’s entirely inappropriate! Gambling on the Emperor’s personal affairs! I could have you dismissed—or worse.” His reaction is mortifying. If only the dining area floor would open up and swallow him, or better yet, Dorothea. That way, he wouldn’t have to deal with her trying to wrangle more details out of him so she could collect on her bets.
Dorothea just laughs. “Hubie, you’re blushing! You’re really in deep, huh? But come on, spill already!”
“There is nothing to say! This entire thing is a misunderstanding that’s been blown entirely out of proportion. Lady Edelgard is my liege and nothing else, and I won’t stand for this kind of slander against her good name!” The words catch and cluster in his throat and the only way Hubert can dislodge them is by spitting them, venomously. He cannot remember the last time he has felt anything as much as he does now: fear and shame, anger and desire twisting in his stomach like a serpent with many heads.
He wishes things could be different, that he could sit here with Dorothea and tell her about the moment he first knew his life was nothing without hers, that she was more of him than he was. How he has never understood the feeling of yearning until this fiasco stirred up the embers of a fire he has long tried to keep hidden.
When Hubert looks across the table, he sees Dorothea’s face twisted with something he thinks is hurt.
“Fine, don’t tell me.” She draws herself together, the uncomfortable expression disappearing as she sits up straight. “Listen, I know talking about feelings doesn’t fit your whole scary villain aesthetic, but you can’t close yourself off completely. It’s not fair to Edie, or the rest of us.”
The legs of her chair squeal against the floor as she stands, gazing down at the still-seated Hubert like he’s some kind of precocious child, one who needs to learn that it’s okay to lean on others, to not always be right.
“So, when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be waiting to tell you I told you so, alright?”
* * *
Later that day, Hubert meets with Edelgard, as he tries to do at least every other day, in order to debrief about their schedules and current projects. He is maybe halfway through the list of the following day’s meetings when Edelgard cuts him off.
“Hubert,” she fixes him with a look that drips undeserved pity. “I think you should take a break. You’ve been so tense since you came back from the Oghma Mountains, it’s exhausting just looking at you.”
“I assure you, my lady, I’m perfectly fine. If we could just get back to the debriefing—”
“Don’t ignore me, Hubert! I’m worried about you, okay?”
He can feel his hands tremble, imperceptibly, at the sound of those words, and he readjusts his grip on the stack of papers in his hands, clutching them tight enough to hide the faint tremor. She’s worried about him.
Him.
He who loves her, feverishly and most ardently, so that every other being pales to a shadow in the presence of her undying flame.
If Hubert could light himself on fire right now, he would. He has only one reason for being, and that is to carry Edelgard, to take the weight of her every fear and sorrow upon his back so she can stand tall and assume the role she was always meant to play.
He sits there, his face a deathmask white as clay and just as unmoving, as he takes stock of his failure.
“I’m... sorry.” The words hang heavy in the air between them, hardly more than whispered, are picked out clear as a lighthouse beacon in the silent stillness. “I think that would be a good idea, a break. I have some... affairs that need to be settled.”
Edelgard smiles, ruefully, never the fool. Hubert can see it plainly in her expression, that she knows he considers rest a waste of time and would happily work himself into the ground without complaint if she never stopped him. But his devotion to her is stronger than any opinion he may hold.
And if she wonders what other than work occupies Hubert’s mind, she doesn’t show it.
“You’re dismissed, then, Minister Vestra. I expect not to see you back here for a few days.”
* * *
Hubert does not rest, not really. Now that he has the time, he can finally devote himself entirely to quashing this infernal rumor about he and Edelgard. Is it still work, since he’s protecting her integrity? No matter, he knows how disappointed Edelgard will be, if she finds out he has spent this time doing anything but drinking coffee and allowing himself to slowly go mad with boredom, the urge to look over the paperwork piling up in his office like an itch that burrows under his skin and chafes from the inside out.
Most of this first day has been spent waiting for Bernadetta. Hubert tried knocking on her door earlier and received no answer. Knowing her, she was probably holed up in her room anyways, avoiding interaction until she absolutely had to leave her room.
So, Hubert figured he’d wait for her—not right outside her room, that’d probably scare her off before he could so much as get his foot in the door. She’ll have to eat eventually, though, so the kitchens are the next best place to lay in wait.
Lo and behold, an hour or so after the lunch rush has quieted, Bernadetta pokes her head into the kitchens. She’s more relaxed these days than Hubert can remember ever seeing her during the war and their time at the academy, but she still freezes when she catches sight of him leaning against one of the countertops, eyes blown wide as a rabbit staring down a hound. Hubert simply taps one finger against the embroidered flower pinned to his lapel, the thread now slightly discolored and drooping with age, despite his best attempts to take care of the gift from Bernadetta.
The effect is immediate: the tension melts from Bernadetta all at once, as if she were a marionette whose strings were cut in one fluid motion.
“Hubert? What are you doing here? I didn’t think you ate—I mean I’ve never seen you eat. But that’s not so unusual, I guess, now that I think about it. Not many people see Bernie eat.”
“Lady Edelgard ordered me to relax, so I’m having a late lunch. Perhaps you’d like to join me? Everyone else seems to be back to work by now,” he says, hoping she won’t refuse the offer. He knows Bernadetta isn’t a gossip, but he has to gauge how far the rumor’s spread.
Thankfully, she seems amenable. “Oh, um, alright. If you’re sure.”
* * *
Though it’s a nice day, the palace gardens are thankfully silent, likely because most of the occupants are out or working away at this time of day. It also means Hubert and Bernadetta have their pick of several sunny spots to sit and eat. He lets her choose the one she likes best and sits down beside her.
Though she agreed to this arrangement, with the way Bernadetta picks at her food, it’s clear she’s somewhat uncomfortable eating with someone else. Hubert can’t say he understands, not really, but he cares for Bernadetta and will try not to prolong her discomfort.
“Bernadetta,” he says, wincing as she jumps and freezes with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“Yes? What is it?”
“I just wanted to know if you heard any interesting gossip lately. Maybe something about Lady Edelgard?”
In a second, Bernadetta is brandishing her fork at him with trembling hands. If Hubert had not been in such a serious mood, he would have laughed at the absurd sight. Yet Bernadetta seems entirely serious.
“And what if I have? Are you going to k-kill me, for hearing a rumor about Edelgard—to make sure I don’t spread it? Not that Bernie’s heard anything! Not about you and Edelgard!” Her face falls as she realizes she’s essentially given herself away. The fork is lowered into her lap as she hangs her head. “Nice going, Bernie! You blew it, now it’s the end for you. I’ll go quietly Hubert, I know I’m no match for you. Just make sure it doesn’t hurt too much, alright?”
Hubert exhales, heavily. He’s not mad, how can he be? He knows why Bernadetta is so quick to jump to conclusions and panic, and he can’t blame her for that. Still, he’d like to get this interaction over with as soon as possible. Reasoning with Bernadetta isn’t always possible when she’s like this.
“I never said anything about killing you. I just wanted to know if you’d heard, since it’s probably a safe bet the rumor’s traveled through the whole Strike Force if it’s made its way to your room. No offense.”
“None taken,” she says, finally daring to meet Hubert’s eyes again, if only for a second, “it’s not true, is it?”
That catches Hubert’s attention. “No, it’s not. How did you know? No one else even questioned it.”
“Oh. Well, Edelgard was the one who told me. I guess Caspar had—Hubert?” Bernadetta says, staring up at Hubert—who now stands, forcing a smile as if he’s unfazed though the color has drained from his face. His plate of food lays upturned in the grass, abandoned as he rushes back inside.
* * *
Perhaps, the brightest thing to do would have been to wait until he was entirely calm, before barging into Edelgard’s office with dozens of apologizes spilling over the brim of his lips. But, as Hubert is learning again and again lately, Edelgard is like a bonfire in his chest, incinerating him from the inside out, the smoke crowding out all reason, leaving room for nothing but thoughts of her.
Thankfully she is alone, the only witness to his mortified pride. Hubert bows, not nearly low enough to express the shame he feels seated deep inside him, though he can bend no lower. Perhaps he should drop to his knees, press his forehead to the tile, whatever it will take to ease the burning sense of wrongdoing.
“Lady Edelgard, my deepest apologies. I had meant to take care of the rumor of our involvement, before it could cause any detriment to Your Imperial Highness. My failure is inexcusable. I ask no forgiveness, nor mercy,” he says, not daring to lift his eyes from the floor in front of him. His heart pounds in his throat and his voice throbs with its beat.
“Calm down Hubert,” she says, a gentle furrow forming between her eyebrows. “Please. You don’t have to grovel in front of me.” In her voice Hubert could hear the trace of sadness which, try as he might to eradicate it, was always present in Edelgard’s soul, itching to be acknowledged.
“It’s unnerving,” she says, biting her lip. “Like you expect me to hurt you if you don’t bend to me. I would never. This is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he says, finally daring to look up at her. His eyes meet hers, cold as shadow, cold as the void, pupils like burnt-out holes, his shoulder blades push together, so tense and tight the muscle pops. “You can’t risk being dragged down to my level by association. I’m a killer, I was called the butcher, damnit! You’re supposed to symbolize a new Fódlan, not remind people of the bloodshed it took to get here.”
“You aren’t the only one whose hands are dirty. You aren’t alone. I was on the battlefield, too. I killed Dimitri,” she says, and it looks like it takes all the energy out of her to muster those words.
“That isn’t the same,” Hubert says, tersely. To him, it is an irrevocable truth. The weight of the lives of nameless soldiers on the battlefield, even when combined with that of the monster-king cannot equal the measure of all the lives he has taken. Not even his Emperor knows the true measure of how many lives he has ended in her service. That number belongs to him alone, a grim reminder of his inhumanity. Would Edelgard see him the way he sees himself if she too, knew?
It may be selfish, but he hopes he will never have reason to tell her. Edelgard sees him on par with herself, a person capable of redemption—it is naïve, yet there is a part of Hubert which burns bright, yearning for a utopian existence in which all the world sees Edelgard’s genius as he does, and he no longer has to cut a bloody path of her enemies. He cannot ever be human, not fully, not with everything he has done, but Hubert thinks he would like to be a little more like the person Edelgard sees when she looks at him.
“You’re being stubborn. The fact of the matter is that I don’t care if all of Fódlan thinks we’re involved. If it changes their opinion of me, then they were likely already looking for a reason to disparage me,” she says. Hubert opens his mouth to challenge her, but Edelgard shuts him down with a sharp shake of her head. “Don’t argue with me, Hubert. If this is all you came to discuss, you’re dismissed. I have far too much to do, to waste time listening to your self-deprecating foolishness.”
Hubert draws himself up to his full height, says, “Very well, Your Majesty.”
* * *
It is not often that Hubert and Edelgard find the time to take shared tea breaks. They prefer one of them to be on duty at all time, so should the need arise, either the Emperor or her right hand will be available to field any emergency.
Yet, every once in a while, they are struck by the urge to fan the flames of their age-old friendship over a cup of coffee and bergamot tea. In these moments, they can slip out of the disguises they wear—Edelgard with her austere poker face, and Hubert with his penchant to play the villain—and simply take each other in. In each other’s presence, they find respite from being the Adrestian Emperor and the Minister of the Imperial Household.
“Sit down, Hubert. I’ll prepare our drinks today,” Edelgard says. She is already standing at the coffeepot, a newly purchased canister of Hubert’s favorite roasted coffee beans in hand, ready to be ground.
“Do you not trust me to fix your tea the way you like it?” Hubert asks, settling by her side as naturally as if he is but an extension of her. “You wound me.”
Edelgard tips her face up to stare at him, her face scrunched with an exasperation so artfully exaggerated she belongs in the opera alongside Dorothea. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “I trust you with my tea, my life, and everything in between.”
“Then I’ll prepare it,” he says. “You focus on the coffee.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just bites down on a crescent moon smile, a quiet agreement. They lapse into the lull of silence as they focus on their tasks. Hubert fills the kettle with water and tries to ignore the petal-soft brush of Edelgard’s knuckles against his own as she passes him a teaspoon. It comes again, the touch of her fingertips on his, too hesitant to be accident as he hands her a strainer.
Both times, it’s Hubert who pulls away first. He is so very, very calm, calm as the curling steam that coils silently from the kettle’s spout once Hubert has snuffed the brick stove’s light. He thinks only of pouring the boiled leaves over the strainer in as few movements as possible. He should not want to feel his lady’s hand rest against his, the very thought of learning the unique shape of her every crease and callus tantamount to treason.
He feels Edelgard’s eyes on him, the weight of her gaze scrutinizing his profile. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for. How should he be reacting to her insistent little touches? Hubert had always thought himself to be more in tune with Edelgard than he was his own body, but perfect understanding eludes him. Each time he thought he had insight into all the many chambers of her soul, she revealed to him another corner kept veiled away, an intricacy lost to him in his desire to comprehend the whole of her.
* * *
Edelgard sits at the tea table, legs folded up underneath her and huddled over a cup of bergamot tea.
“Hubert,” she says. “I’m afraid we aren’t on the same page.” She is listless, as if caught in the stupor between dream and waking, all her attention laser-focused on the steam that rises from between her cupped fingers, the skin shiny and red with its heat. She is beautiful. Striking. Hubert wants to gather her hands in his and learn how the satin-soft skin of her forehead feels against his lips.
He doesn’t realize the gravity of her words, not at first. He watches as her drink stops steaming.
“We’re still not done cleaning up the damage we did, with the war,” she says finally, her words whisper-thin. “But as soon as we have finished rebuilding, I intend to retire. I will pass my crown on to a worthy successor, and I need you to continue to advise them, after I leave—”
“Retire?” Hubert asks, flinching as if struck. “No, you can’t retire. We’ve worked so hard for this. You’re the only one who could lead Adrestia. The people need you. All of us need you. I couldn’t possible serve another. You need to reconsider—”
“The decision was made a long time ago,” she says. “I’m sorry I never told you. But this is what we’ve been fighting for, an Empire where positions are granted by skill and not birth. I was the only one capable of carrying the Empire through war, but there are others better suited to seeing it thrive in peace. Whomever I choose as my successor will be worthy of your devotion, I promise you.”
She says: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you, but I wanted to say something when we still had a few years of work left to do together. Better that, than on the eve of my retirement.”
Hubert does not know what he looks like, right now, but it must be horrific, if it causes Edelgard to stare at him with such unbridled pity, the likes of which he’s never seen before.
“Serving you is my purpose,” he says slowly, looking as if he’s been asked to disarm one of the Church’s magical traps with his teeth. “I only exist to serve you. That’s all I want, all I need, for the rest of my life. Please, don’t—” he digs his fingers into the meat of his arms, knuckles bone-white underneath his gloves as if that’ll disguise the shaking—“discard me like this!”
Edelgard stares, as if Hubert isn’t completely collapsing in on himself, a few feet from her eyes. “You don’t have to be my minister, to be a part of my life, Hubert. I want to stay—”
“I need to collect myself,” Hubert says, and stands.
* * *
Hubert sits perched on the edge of his bed, trying and failing to think of anything but the fact that Edelgard had apparently planned to retire for some time now, and never told him anything. How could she not know what this would do to him?
He had pledged himself to Edelgard’s service, not to whomever happened to wear the Emperor’s crown. The object of his affections is not replaceable, easily exchanged based on what’s deemed best for Adrestia. He loves Edelgard, wants only to serve her to the best of his ability for the rest of his life. If he cannot do that, he may as well remove himself.
Maybe it will hurt less, if he’s the one to initiate their break. Maybe that way, it won’t feel as if he’s being thrown away.
* * *
A week passes, and Hubert goes through the motions, doing only what is required of his positions, without his usual due diligence. It’s hard to concentrate on any of the work, when all it does it remind him of Edelgard, and the last real conversation they had.
Hubert hasn’t been avoiding her, that would be impossible, but both are hesitant to bring up anything unrelated to work. Their relationship feels fragile. Brittle, as if the wrong touch would shatter it, and everyone has noticed.
Dorothea stops into his office one day, uncharacteristically quiet. They sit in silence for several minutes, Dorothea watching him read and take notes and fill out forms with a sad sort of smile. Finally, she interrupts him, asks, “Is something wrong between you and Edie?”
He glances up at her, sees that she clearly has more on her mind and on the tip of her tongue.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says. “Not if you don’t want to. But I care about the both of you. All the former Black Eagles do. And we want to help you work this out, if we can. Seeing you unhappy is just painful for all of us.”
Hubert closes his eyes. There is very little he can say, when all his former classmates have completely misinterpreted his relationship to Edelgard, and when it’s not his place to break the news of her impending retirement to them. He only sighs and folds his hands in his lap.
“I think I may need a break,” he says. When Dorothea remains silent, he continues, unable to meet her gaze. “I need a break from my work, and I’m not sure what else to do. This has always been my entire life. The thought of doing something else, or nothing at all, it unnerves me.”
Dorothea nods.
“Well, if you’d like a change of scenery, I’ve been exchanging letters with Petra. She misses all of us, and has been dropping hints about wanting someone to take on an ambassador position, and work with her in Brigid...”
* * *
With the curtains drawn tight, the entirety of Hubert’s office is cast in a gloomy pallor, only broken by the light of a single stubby candle upon his desk: just enough light for him to finish the letter sitting in front of him. Several crumpled drafts lay strewn about him, to be burned later, once he’s finally perfected the request to abdicate his current position and be installed as the Adrestian Ambassador to Brigid. He’s already drafted a plan to ease Bernadetta into his duties as Minister of the Imperial Household.
Hubert dips his pen in ink, ready to try his hand once more at penning the letter’s conclusion when the gloom floods with harsh daylight, the door to the office snapping open.
“Hubert!”
Edelgard cuts an imposing figure, standing in the doorway in full Emperor’s regalia. The mid-afternoon sunlight streams in behind her, casting her face in shadow—all except for her eyes, hard as needles and glinting with an emotion Hubert’s seen before, but never directed towards him.
Rage.
“How dare you?” she shouts, her voice pitched with pain and anger.
Hubert’s pen rolls across the desktop, forgotten, as he scrambles to grab the sheaf of parchment in front of him, not wanting Edelgard to see the unfinished letter even if it’s meant for her. He does not stop to think how guilty this makes him look, his lady’s presence inhibiting his higher faculties, these days.
Edelgard is no fool. She seizes upon the papers, and though Hubert doesn’t want to let them go, he knows Edelgard. She’d stand here all day if it meant wresting the papers from his lap. He loosens his grip and Edelgard snatches the sheaf of papers to her breast.
Edelgard’s lips curl as she reads the words Hubert labored over. Her hands are shaking, he realizes. He thinks about reaching up, covering her hands with his own. He restrains himself, folds his hands on the desk in front of him. These kinds of urges are why he can no longer stay by Edelgard’s side.
“So it’s true. You want to leave the Empire,” she snarls. “You—you said standing by my side and seeing my vision through to its end is all that truly mattered to you! Was that a lie?”
“Of course not,” Hubert chokes out, “I want nothing more than to continue standing with you, but—” he speaks too quickly, stumbling over a half-formed protestation before realizing there is no good way to end that sentence. Not when Edelgard is keen as a bloodhound around all his half-truths and lies by omission. If he lies, he’ll just drive the wedge even further between them. And Hubert might be willing to give up his homeland just to put space between he and Edelgard, but he could never look her in the eyes and hurt her.
Especially not now, the rage draining from her, leaving behind the face of a scared, uncertain girl. A face Hubert hasn’t seen since he was twelve and Edelgard was nine, her hair newly bleached bone white and she now the only von Hresvelg sibling left.
He hates himself, for making her look like that again.
“Hubert, this—it isn’t because I want to retire, is it?” she asks, all in an urgent rush. “Because that doesn’t mean I want to throw away our relationship. You’re the most important person in my life, and I want a future with you, where we’re equals. I don’t want us to be Emperor and servant for the rest of our lives. I don’t want your devotion; I want your love.”
Edelgard looks mortified at the admission. She takes a halting step back, and Hubert curses himself once again for not standing and taking her in his arms. But all he can do is sit there, dumb, as he processes everything that’s just been said.
Edelgard has feelings for him.
Edelgard has feelings for him. Hubert von Vestra.
“You have feelings for me,” he says, rolling the words around his mouth, tasting them. The shape of them is unfamiliar, but welcome, and Hubert feels a smile stretching across his features. “I—I don’t know whether or not to call it love, but I feel for you as well. Deeply. Truly.”
He imagines the matching smile that will unfurl across his lady’s features, how beautiful she’ll look in this moment where they can finally be honest with each other. Instead Edelgard jerks back, like Hubert’s slapped her. There’s no beauty in the expression she wears, just hurt.
“Don’t pretend to return my feelings, just because I’m your Emperor and I’ve confronted you about them. Why do you think I never told? I wanted to spare you the humiliation of having to pretend, because you felt it was somehow your duty, to make me happy even at your own misfortune.”
“Is that really what you think of me?”
“I don’t know what to think right now!” Edelgard says, sobs. “I can’t read your mind, Hubert! For weeks now, you’ve been acting strange, and you won’t tell me anything! And then I find out you want to leave, to go play Ambassador in Brigid!”
Hubert stands, finally, chair scraping against hardwood as he rushes to his lady’s side. All he wants is to hold her, and yet, he hesitates, hands hovering over her shoulders. “Can I...?”
She sniffs, nods, and Hubert envelopes her in his arms, one hand around her shoulders and the other holding her cheek to his chest. For just a moment, they stand there, peaceful. “Edelgard,” Hubert says, haltingly, “I’m sorry.”
He feels himself sway, slightly. He’s the most dangerous creature on Earth—the Butcher of Enbarr, killer of hundreds of Church soldiers without a shred of remorse—and yet he stands here, heart in his throat and his hands hot and sticky against Edelgard’s skin. Scared.
“Do you remember when your uncle defected to the Kingdom and took you with him? And I tried to fight my way to Fhirdiad, for you? My father sent Imperial soldiers after me, to bring me back, but I fought them off for days because losing you was the most painful thing I’d ever experienced.”
“I remember you waited until we were at the Academy to tell me.”
“What I mean is, I’ve been in love with you, since before I even knew what love meant. Whatever souls are made of, you and I have always been two halves of the same soul. It took me far too long, to realize that. And once I did, well... I realized I could not continue to serve you. Not if my feelings were going to get in the way of your safety, and our goals.”
Hubert hears a sharp intake of breath, and fingers curl in the fabric of his jacket. “I...” Edelgard says, hardly more than a whisper, “I can hardly believe it. I can’t.”
“I am so sorry to have caused you so much pain. I thought it would be improper, for someone of my station—had I known, I would’ve told you I love you sooner.”
“You love me.” Edelgard draws back, looks up at Hubert. A smile shyer than any expression he’s ever seen before is creeping across her features.
“I do,” he says, and leans down, “May I?”
Hubert never gets an answer to his question. Edelgard pulls him down by his lapels, presses his mouth to hers in a soft, open-mouthed kiss.
* * *
Hubert is twenty-nine, and wakes up with his heart clutched close to Edelgard’s chest. Edelgard is sleeping heavily, one leg draped over Hubert’s waist, pinning him in place. It has been weeks since they’ve moved from the Imperial Palace in Enbarr, and Hubert still wakes with the fear he is neglecting his work.
His only job now is to have and to hold the woman beside him, ‘til death do them part.
In their bed, Edelgard stirs, draws closer to Hubert. For several moments, he simply indulges in the warmth of her presence, burning into his side. Eventually, he looks over, at the woman he loves, her gaze still lidded heavy with sleep. There’s a soft smile on her face, reserved for him.
Hubert smiles back.