Chapter Text
Edelgard won the war.
Of course she had. Hubert had done his duty, had followed his dear emperor to the bitter end; with their Professor leading the charge. He had been Edelgard’s right hand man, of course, but Edel needed their professor in a way Hubert had, at one point in his life, found himself unable to understand. In the years since, Hubert had long let go of any romantic aspirations. The only thing, the one sticking point, the thing that Hubert had problems with was: what now?
The war was over. Edelgard and Byleth were planning their marriage, both women overjoyed to finally have time to celebrate their love. Hubert was happy for them as well. With everything the professor had done for them, had done for Edelgard—she deserved this happiness. It was hard fought. She made Edelgard happy, at least, and that was more than enough for Hubert.
The problem with living your life for another person and another cause, fully and completely, is that when that person finds someone and your cause comes to its end—its happy one, at that—is that it is hard to move forward. Hard might be putting it lightly. Hubert felt almost paralyzed by it. The Empire still had plenty of enemies, and those that slither in the darkness had to be wiped out, but that work wouldn’t last forever, would it?
When he saw Edelgard and Byleth together, joyous, loving, his own heart ached. He had once thought he couldn’t feel such things; no want nor desire for something other than what he had. Dorothea had once told him that loving another was a matter of wanting to be loved in turn, and only now was he starting to understand. He wanted what they had; not out of a desire to have Edelgard for himself, but out of a desire to be loved.
Without the war to focus on, Hubert’s mind was left to turn inward, and turn it did. He was lonely, achingly, awfully lonely, and it was only now that he began to realize the depths of it.
These sorts of things had been on his mind for a while. It was especially hard tonight, though, at Edelgard’s engagement ball.
Hubert mostly stuck to the corners. He knew well enough that his face was scary to most, his presence in general was not one that people found comforting. But he was still expected to attend. Most of, if not all of the Black Eagle strike force would be attending. He knew Petra and Bernadetta were probably busy; the two had left to see what all Brigid had to offer and were not set to return for a few weeks. Hubert did miss the both of them.
Bernadetta choosing to explore was unexpected, but it was simply a sign of her growth. He often found himself thinking of what she might be doing or thinking—if she and Petra were having fun, learning anything new. He hoped she was. He unconsciously reached for the embroidered flower she’d given him. He still wore it pinned to his chest, even though she wasn’t around to see it and be comforted by it.
“Are you going to be hugging the wall all night, Hubie?”
Hubert turned to find Dorothea leaning against the wall next to him, grinning.
“Ah, Dorothea. Yes, I find the wall to be great company.” Hubert took his glass of punch and sipped, appraising Dorothea in his own way.
“But not better than me, of course.” She met Hubert’s eyes with her own easy grin.
“Of course,” he conceded. “Where’s your paramour?”
“Ferdie? He’s talking education plans with our Emperor.” She giggles, sighing softly. “He’s so cute, isn’t he?”
“He is something,” Hubert said, so deep in thought that he hardly paid attention to what Dorothea was saying.
“You’re being all too agreeable. Are you just doing that to make me go away?” Dorothea crossed her arms. “Rude.”
“My apologies, Dorothea,” Hubert said, letting go of the pin to clasp his hands together behind his back. “I did not mean to come off as rude.”
“You’re fine, Hubie, I’m messing with you.” She examined him, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. There is much to consider, with Lady Edelgard’s impending marriage.” His eyes slid away from her, and to the floor.
“Like how jealous you are of our Professor?” Dorothea raised an eyebrow. “She won in the end, Hubert, you have to accept it. Unless you’re planning on objecting at the wedding or something? I have to say, I love the drama of it all, but Edie is—”
“Wholly devoted, I know. I wouldn’t object even if my life were on the line, Dorothea. You ought to know by now I am no fool.” Hubert shook his head. “And I’m not a teenager with a puppy dog crush on her any longer. I’m happy for her, she has Byleth, and they will be very happy together.”
“But...?” Dorothea said, waiting for him to continue.
Hubert sighed. “But I have been thinking.”
“Thinking? Dangerous.” Dorothea clicked her tongue.
“Highly.”
“About what, Hubie?”
“About love, I suppose,” Hubert said, with a pause. “Do you remember what you told me, all those years ago? About wanting to be loved?”
“Oh! It really was a long time ago, huh…” Dorothea pursed her lips. “I think I said what I wanted in a partner was someone who made me happy, and who wanted to love me.”
“Yes. At the time I didn’t understand, but I...” He trailed off. It was hard to open up, even still, but Dorothea had always been a trustworthy ally. “I suppose I find myself wanting to grasp the concept.”
Dorothea looked surprised. “You do? Is there someone you’re thinking of in particular?”
Hubert fiddled with his hands. “Not really, no.”
He said this, but why in his mind did he picture—
“Bernie!” Dorothea called out, suddenly. From across the room, he noticed that the ballroom suddenly had two more guests. It was none other than Petra and Bernadetta, who were immediately swarmed by their friends. Hubert was previously certain that they wouldn’t be there, but seeing them again was more than a pleasant surprise.
Edelgard and Byleth hugged the both of them, and Bernadetta looked overwhelmed with the big greeting, as expected. Petra looked as though she was regaling the other guests with stories of Brigid, which allowed Bernadetta to slip away. Good, Hubert thought, let her have a break. He could only imagine how the stress of travel had affected her.
“Oh. Hubert, don’t think I’ve forgotten this, okay? I’m going to talk to Petra.” Dorothea put one hand on his shoulder, patting him with a soft smile.
“Have fun,” Hubert said, with a nod. “Please, don’t give it a second thought.”
“I’m going to! And I’m asking Ferdie for advice!”
“If he says anything of real use, just barge into my room at any hour and tell me right away.” He chuckled to himself, waving as Dorothea crossed the room.
At that moment, Hubert thought to himself that the room was rather warm, and that he’d prefer to meander outside. He’d greet Petra later, when she wasn’t surrounded by the others. He was rather interested in the political situation in Brigid, and how they were handling the shift in Fódlan, but it was a matter for another time.
He made his way across the room, and slipped through the door and into the cool night air outside the ballroom. It was dark out, thankfully. Hubert found that he preferred it that way. It was easier to slide into the shadows where he belonged.
He found a bench, and sat on it, staring up at the moon. Once again he reached to his chest to fiddle with the embroidered flower there, thinking of what it was he really wanted. Was happiness really so far off a wish? Could he be allowed to find it for himself?
His mind drifted, and when he felt a presence next to him, he nearly lept out of his seat.
“Eeep!” Cried the person next to him. He recognized her immediately, of course—there was no other member of Lady Edelgard’s inner circle with that shock of purple hair, and he smoothed his coat.
“Bernadetta, where in the world did you come from?” He looked at Bernadetta. Distantly, he realized it was the first time he’d seen her in months. She seemed to sit up straighter, to carry herself with a certain poise. It seemed all of her travel had done her well. Still, she looked at him incredulously, the two deeply surprised by each other.
“Me! You’re the one dressed in all black sitting on a bench in the dark! At least wear something reflective!”
Hubert shook his head, but had to concede the point. “I suppose I am. My apologies, Bernadetta.”
Bernadetta shook her head in turn, patting the seat beside her. “No, I’m sorry. Petra’s taught me how to sneak around and I guess I do it unconsciously now.” She snorted. “Although, it is kind of funny, isn’t it?”
“What,” Hubert asked, declining to sit. He didn’t want to scare Bernadetta any more than he may have already.
“You being scared by me rather than it being the other way around.” Her voice took on a sly, conspiratorial tone.
“I was simply surprised,” said Hubert.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen you jump out of your seat like that.” Bernadetta tilted her head to the side and smiled at him.
Even still, after all these years of being friends with Bernadetta, with all these years to grow used to how her smile felt directed at him, Hubert was taken off guard. Absence had him grow complacent. The man who worked in the shadows was now unused to how Bernadetta’s light made him feel, and it gave him pause. It took him a moment too long to speak, but he cleared his throat, and said, “I’m not one for leaping, no.”
Bernadetta chuckled at that. “Yeah, it’s not exactly your style, huh.”
“I suppose not.” He shook his head, finally feeling as though he was back on solid ground. “How was Brigid?”
“Scary. Wonderful? So, so amazing. There’s all kinds of plants I’ve never seen! I’ve been documenting them, and I’ve even brought back some seeds to plant when I get back home.” Bernadetta’s speech was animated as ever, and she motioned with her hands when she spoke. Hubert could always tell when she was excited, because her eyes sparkled, no matter how dark it was outside. He felt grateful for the moonlight, and the way it reflected off of Bernadetta, making it easier to see her happiness.
“You’re returning to Varley territory?” He said. This did not exactly come as a surprise. Bernadetta’s father had passed—not by Hubert’s hand, although he had offered in his own way to do it for Bernadetta, should she wish it. Bernadetta’s presence was expected, although Hubert and Edelgard had specifically made arrangements so that she need not worry herself with it immediately.
Still, it was difficult to know what to say. Hubert gathered his gloved hands in front of himself, considering, and Bernadetta knit her eyebrows together in worry, but still tried to smile for him.
“It’s okay. Nobody knows what to say.” She must have thought it a kindness to release him from the work of coming up with a response. Condolences felt wrong—if anything the death of Count Varley should be celebrated. But he remained Bernadetta’s father, and he knew her feelings on the matter were complicated.
Hubert let out a held breath. “If you wish to talk about it, Bernadetta, I would be happy to listen.”
Bernadetta fiddled with the hem of her tunic. “...Do you wanna sit, Hubert? You’re making me nervous by standing like that.”
“Of course,” Hubert said, and he sat next to her.
“It’s... weird.” Bernadetta sighed. “I don’t really know how to manage a territory… But part of me is… excited? Nervous?”
Hubert nodded. He knew the feeling well. When his father had died (by his own hand no less) he could not help but be filled with the excitement of possibility—what he might do with his house, now that his traitor of a father wasn’t ruining the place. How he might restore the Vestra name, by serving the Emperor with all he had. He hadn’t had time to return to his childhood manor since the end of the war, but Edelgard kept reminding him to take time to do it. Perhaps there would be time later, after the end of the secret war of House Vestra, after the last of the Slitherers had been eliminated.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Hubert said. It was the truth, although it didn’t touch on the whole of it.
Bernadetta sighed. “Yeah. I thought about building a big greenhouse… part of me wants to tear the whole stupid manor down. I’m scared to even go inside.” She tugged at the hem of her tunic, a nervous habit she’d had the whole time Hubert had known her. Bernadetta, who was among the bravest people he knew, afraid to enter the home where she’d grown up. It spoke volumes to the ways in which she had suffered as a girl, and it filled him with a cold fury. If he could turn back the clock and make Count Varley suffer more, he would. He deserved to feel the same fear his daughter felt, if not multiplied tenfold.
But that was in the past, and Hubert could not change that. Bernadetta needed his support now, more than ever. He thought, for a moment, and then his mouth moved before he could stop it.
“I could come with you, if you wanted.” He met her eyes.
Bernadetta looked almost overwhelmed. “R-really? You’d do that for me?”
“Nothing is scarier than me, after all.” He chuckled, the sort of laugh he might do after coming up with some particularly wicked plot. It seemed this laugh no longer affected Bernadetta like it used to, and she simply laughed with him.
“That’s not true, Hubert. You aren’t scary. At least not anymore.” She reached out, and poked the flower embroidery on his chest.
Hubert felt nearly embarrassed—he hadn’t known Bernadetta would be there tonight, and yet he wore it anyway, because it brought him a sense of comfort. Bernadetta would know that. Part of him didn’t want her to ask, but another part of him wished she would. He was unsure of how he might explain himself, even, he was unsure of where the desire to tell Bernadetta these sorts of things came from.
“I’ve lost my spark, have I?” He asked.
“No, it’s still there. I just know you too well for you to scare me anymore.” Bernadetta’s eyes filled with something Hubert could not name. It seemed to be a sort of fondness, perhaps, for their friendship.
Hubert reached up and adjusted his pin. “A far cry from when you used to stalk the halls of Garreg Mach with your needle in hand.”
“I was like, seventeen! We’re adults now.” Bernadetta pouted, but her eyes drifted down towards his hand. “Oh—Hubert, your glove.”
“Hmm?” Hubert looked at his right hand.
“There’s a hole,” Bernadetta said.
Sure enough, there was. He hadn’t noticed, with everything going on. Leave it to Bernadetta to notice the small details.
“Well. I suppose I’ll just have to buy new ones,” he said, self-conscious.
“Don’t do that,” Bernadetta said. “Here, I’ve got my sewing kit, just let me fix it.”
“Oh,” Hubert said. Bernadetta reached out, her own hand hovering over Hubert’s.
“May I?” She asked.
Hubert nodded, suddenly stunned into silence. She took his hand, and began to remove the offending glove. Something about the act was so intimate. Hubert was the only one to remove his gloves, and here was Bernadetta, doing it as if it was nothing. She must have truly gained some confidence, to be able to do something like this so easily. He gulped, pulling his hand away as soon as it was free from the glove. If the tips of his fingers, stained black by dark magic, bothered Bernadetta, she did not remark on them, which he was grateful for.
Bernadetta pulled a sewing kit from out of her pocket, and quickly threaded a needle for herself. She set to work on patching the hole. Hubert felt no need to fill the silence—he didn’t want to break this moment, this bubble that had been created between the two of them.
It took her only a moment, but quickly it was as though the glove had never been torn in the first place. Bernadetta was truly gifted, in a way that few were. She was a skilled fighter, a skilled craftsman, a master of plants and greenery, and on top of that, she had the biggest heart of anyone Hubert knew. Hubert had his own talents, but they tended toward the nefarious. He wondered if he’d ever be able to learn something like sewing himself, but doubted he’d have the skill for it.
“There,” Bernadetta said, once it was done. “Now you don’t have to waste any money on new gloves. And, if you do want a new pair, I mean… I could make you some! If you wanted.” Bernadetta looked embarrassed.
She held out the glove for Hubert to take. Hubert reached out to gather it, his fingertips brushing against Bernadetta’s hand for only a moment. It was long enough for him to gather that her hands were soft, and well taken care of.
“Your hands are freezing!” Bernadetta exclaimed. “No wonder you wear gloves all the time.”
Hubert laughed. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Here,” Bernadetta said. She took Hubert’s bare hand between her own. “My hands are always really warm.”
Hubert felt himself stuttering, as though his body did not know how to react. Nobody touched him like this; not in any form. He did not hold hands with anyone, and so the foreign sensation of it was disarming, but pleasant. Bernadetta was warm, as she said, and though he could feel the callouses on her hands from handling her bow, they were still quite soft. Very pleasant, indeed. He could only imagine the look on his face; so he did not meet her eyes, out of fear he might look like a fool.
In his head, a realization crystallized. This was what it was he wanted. Quiet moments like this—intimate ones, with someone he trusted holding his hand. Easy happiness. In his heart grew a quiet yearning.
He thought of what it might be like if Bernadetta hugged him, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He was shocked by how much he wanted it; how he craved her touch. He wondered if Bernadetta felt the same. Their upbringings were similar, neither had siblings nor affectionate parents, and so therefore were bereft of affection from casual touch. Were they both this starved for contact? He wanted to know, and wanted to ask, but bit his tongue. It felt as though speaking would shatter the moment like glass, and he would rather perish than be responsible for that.
He took his other hand, the one still in the glove, and put it on top of Bernadetta’s hand. They were both clutching each other like this, neither of them saying anything, nor meeting each other’s eyes.
It felt like an eternity that they were like this, until they heard the door creak open. Bernadetta hopped back, letting go of Hubert. Hubert wanted nothing more than to reach out again, to take the other glove off and to grab Bernadetta’s hand and to never let go. He turned to look towards the door, to see who it was that had interrupted, and he hoped that his glare would be enough to make them slink back inside.
Who else but Caspar, although it seemed he hadn’t noticed the two of them. He was leaning heavily on Linhardt, who gave them a cursory glance and a sleepy wave. Good, Hubert thought, they’re probably on their way home. Nothing would get in the way of Linhardt and their sleep, not even pleasantries with their dear friends, and so Hubert could return to the moment with Bernadetta, but when he turned back to her, she was staring off to the side, as pink as can be.
Of course the moment was broken. Hubert could not return this one if he tried—and he knew trying would only make things more awkward, so he returned his hands to his lap, slipping his other glove on.
“Well,” he started, standing up. “I’m returning to the party. Are you going to be staying outside?”
“Probably,” Bernadetta said, with a laugh. “You know me and crowds.”
“Right,” Hubert said. He unclipped his outer cloak, and handed it off to Bernadetta. “Wear this, then.”
“Your cloak?” Bernadetta looked confused.
“It is chilly,” Hubert said, looking at the ground. “I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”
“Oh,” Bernadetta said. She wound the cloak around herself. “Thanks, Hubert.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said, and went back inside, aching with something he could not quite put words to yet.
“Wait,” Bernadetta called after him, rising from the bench. “I wanted to… I-If you really wanted to go to the Varley manor with me, we could… It’d be nice to have a friend on my side, and Petra’s gotta get back to Brigid, so…”
Hubert turned back to face her, hands in his pockets. “...If you’ll have me, Bernadetta, I would accompany you.” If it would ease Bernadetta’s heart, he would do any number of things.
She seemed satisfied with this. “Good! I’ll be staying in the castle while I order a carriage and stuff so. I’ll just tell them there’s two guests!”
Hubert smiled softly. “Yes. I’ll be awaiting the details, Bernadetta.”
He strode into the party, unsure of how to process what he had just agreed to, clutching his hands together.