Work Text:
The first time that Ferdinand von Aegir realises that marrying Hubert von Vestra may not be the worst outcome in the world comes as a surprise.
The war has been over for just one moon, and Ferdinand finds himself swamped with work. As it turns out, restructuring the political system for an entire continent takes an immense amount of dedication. While Ferdinand will never shy away from such a prestigious challenge, he only wishes that time would pause and allow him a moment to catch up. Perhaps a breather would be appreciated too, a nice cup of tea and the sweet sounds of nothing. It has been far too long since he has had the chance to take a sunset ride.
He has already promised, however, that his suggestions for the board of education would be on Edelgard’s desk by sunrise tomorrow. Ferdinand cannot select just anyone; he needs to read through all their background reports before writing thorough justifications as to why they take the education of Fodlan’s youth seriously. It is a mammoth task, but one that Ferdinand does with pride.
This task that Edelgard has signified should take Ferdinand no more than three hours is broaching onto its fourth day. But he has to get it right—he has to. It is his first official decree as Prime Minister, and he has too much to prove.
Ferdinand runs a hand through his hair for what feels like the twentieth time that evening, tugging on the ends as they slip between gloved fingers. He has only reached the halfway mark of his work for the evening, and at this rate the sun will rise before he finishes.
“My, my, that isn’t a happy look,” a voice says from the door of Ferdinand’s office. Ferdinand doesn’t need to look up to know that Hubert von Vestra stands in his doorway, likely smirking, definitely judging.
“Good evening, Hubert,” Ferdinand says. He does his best to be civil—their relationship has improved since their youth, after all. But on days of high-stress and heavy workloads, they still tend to snap at one another—Ferdinand does not want to argue with Hubert anymore. Dorothea calls them lovers quarrels—Ferdinand calls them a major inconvenience.
Being betrothed to Hubert has been an inconvenience for as long as Ferdinand can remember. Just because their fathers had made some deal all those years ago means that Hubert has been in prime position to witness each one of Ferdinand’s blunders through the years. And scarcely does he let Ferdinand forget them. They have become friends, more recently, but still Ferdinand does his best not to embarrass himself before his fiancé. He cannot handle that level of ridicule at such an hour.
“And to you, Ferdinand. Now, what has Adrestia’s dear Prime Minister so downtrodden?” Hubert enters the room, based on the way his boots near-silently tap against the marble tiles.
Ferdinand sighs. There’s no point hiding such things from Hubert—there’s little doubt in Ferdinand’s mind that Hubert doesn’t already know what he’s working on. “The education reform. I cannot seem to settle on the candidates for the board.”
Hubert hums. “You’ve been working on that since the morning. Such is your work ethic, I suppose.”
“It is not exactly light readi—what is that?” Ferdinand questions in response to Hubert setting something down upon his desk. He hadn’t realised how close Hubert had come until he was sliding a teacup and saucer under Ferdinand’s nose. “Is that Southern Fruit Blend?”
Hubert scoffs in mock offence. “You think I don’t know your tea preferences by now?”
The thing is, Ferdinand knows that Hubert knows his tea preferences. It is the same way that Hubert knows his favourite foods, and exactly which materials Ferdinand likes his coats made in, and the names of each and every one of Ferdinand’s horses.
Ferdinand knows that Hubert knows these things, it just often takes him by surprise how much he cares for them.
Something soft and warm makes itself known in Ferdinand’s chest. It permeates his very being, forcing a hint of a smile across his face. The feeling is pleasant, a certain fondness for Hubert that once upon a time, Ferdinand didn’t think he would ever be able to possess. Now, Hubert’s presence is a comfortable familiarity—no matter if they are indulging in a moment of quiet together, or bickering terribly, it is still comfortable.
They’re not in love, that much is certain. It has never bothered Ferdinand before, but for a brief moment, he wishes for something impossible to speak.
“I… thank you, Hubert.”
Ferdinand looks up at Hubert for the first time tonight, not quite expecting to see Hubert looking back. Yet, Hubert stares at Ferdinand, green eyes piercing under the candlelight. It seems he was on his way to retire for the evening, his overcoat and cloak stripped down to a shirt and waistcoat. Ferdinand’s eyes may linger for a moment too long on the forearms exposed underneath rolled-up sleeves, but Hubert doesn’t point it out.
He has always looked quite handsome dressed down, with his bangs falling into his face and top button undone, and Ferdinand will never tell him as much.
Ferdinand expects Hubert to back away now, to go back to whatever he had planned before he was overcome by some unknowable desire to dote on Ferdinand, but he doesn’t. Instead, Hubert sits. He pulls the chair out from across Ferdinand’s desk, and sits opposite him.
“I do not have any coffee here for you, I am afraid. Though, in my quarters—”
Hubert holds up a hand, cutting Ferdinand off. “Your hospitality is heartwarming, but it is unnecessary. Is the tea to your tastes?”
It is a certainty that Hubert only asks because he knows that it is. Still, Ferdinand lifts the cup to his lips and takes the slightest sip, savouring the tartness of the berries complimenting the sweetness of the honey Hubert added.
“Very. You have gotten quite proficient at tea brewing.”
Hubert raises an eyebrow. “As any decent fiancé should. I wanted to speak to you about that, if you don’t mind.”
Such words are excellent at gathering Ferdinand’s attention. He puts down his teacup, shuffles his paperwork to the side, and clasps his hands atop the desk, giving Hubert the full weight of his undivided attention. It is only polite.
Perhaps Hubert wants to start planning their wedding—now the war is over, it makes sense to take the next steps to finalising their future. Or, he is here to suggest a timeline moving forward, much like he had at the academy once.
That is not what Hubert says.
“Our fathers are both…incapacitated,” Hubert starts, voice low and silken. “Our arrangement was their idea, some powerplay of days long gone. To speak plainly, it is unnecessary now. I know that you have never been pleased with the agreement, so I wanted to offer you the chance to decline to mar—”
“No!” Ferdinand cuts in. His mouth moves before his brain can process the thought. He cuts Hubert off with such force that Hubert flinches, sitting back in his seat.
For the first time in his life, Ferdinand comes face to face with the realisation that he wants to marry Hubert.
Ferdinand’s world has constantly shifted in the past five years. He went from a place where he had a clear-cut path, a noble title and a future, into a war that could have led him to glory or his grave. Fighting his way through it was no easy feat, not when he was unsure what type of future would await him on the other side. Such uncertainty was terrifying, though Ferdinand has never admitted it to a soul.
All he has ever known to be consistently true is this: he will marry Hubert von Vestra.
It has been hanging over his head and held tight in his heart his whole life, and the thought of any other future is simply unacceptable.
If deep laughs, piercing eyes and unexpected thoughtfulness cross his mind, then that is nobody’s business except Ferdinand’s own.
“No?” Hubert questions. He leans forward, the slightest hint of amusement playing on his lips.
“No,” Ferdinand confirms. “I would not like to make any changes to our situation.”
The strangest look crosses Hubert’s face at that moment. Ferdinand cannot decipher it. He’s not disappointed, nor upset. If anything, he looks rather pleased. Satisfied, but not in his usual sarcastic manner. It is a look so unguarded that Ferdinand can hardly believe it’s Hubert at all.
“I see,” Hubert says, voice as even as ever. “That is all I wanted to know.”
“Excellent. I will return to my work, then.” Ferdinand offers Hubert a smile before grabbing his papers just a fraction too forcefully once more. He cannot give Hubert the chance to change his mind, nor is he willing to let Hubert hear the way his heart pounds in his chest.
Ferdinand expects Hubert to stand and leave, or argue, much as he loves to do, but he is sorely mistaken in these assumptions. Instead, Hubert does the most peculiar thing. He reaches across Ferdinand’s desk, and grabs another pile of documents.
If he wishes to read through candidates, Ferdinand will not complain. Restructuring their government is a curious affair. If Hubert is too impatient for the bill to reach his desk, Ferdinand understands.
But then Hubert begins to sort the candidates into two piles. He hums, tilts his head, and frowns at so many of the pages, and Ferdinand’s curiosity cannot be contained any longer.
“What are you doing?” Ferdinand questions.
Hubert looks to Ferdinand as though he’s grown a second head. Perhaps a third—it’s certainly a look of confusion.
“Is it so surprising that I wish to help?”
“Hubert, it is my job. You are not obligated to aid me, nor am I struggling as badly as it may appear.” Ferdinand crosses his arms over his desk. “Please, do not offend my position.”
“I meant no such thing. I am not helping out of any sense of obligation, either. I am simply streamlining your process. These are the candidates that you would definitely reject, and these are the ones I think require your expertise to judge. That is all.”
It’s sweet. Unexpectedly so, and Ferdinand’s ears burn slightly at the regret of his outburst. Sentiments of warmth from Hubert are difficult to grow accustomed to.
“If you would rather go to bed—”
“This one is most definitely a reject. What a cox-comb he must be.”
Ferdinand goes back to his own work, then, though this time with an unshakeable smile as he reads through applications and writes his justifications.
Working in tandem with Hubert is comfortable. Though no words are spoken, just existing in the same space brings Ferdinand the peace and drive to carry on.
Occasionally, Hubert makes a joke about one of the candidates, whether it be about their cowardice during the war or their blundering moments at balls, and Ferdinand finds himself laughing through every one. It is easy, being with Hubert. A part of Ferdinand doesn’t want the evening to end.
But it does. Ferdinand miraculously finishes his proposal before the sun rises, with Hubert agreeing with every one of his decisions along the way. Ferdinand is proud of the work he’s done tonight—his proposal is one he’s excited about. It will benefit the future of Fodlan without a doubt. The fact that he bonded with Hubert in the process is the icing on top.
Even better, Hubert insists on walking Ferdinand back to his quarters that evening, an offer Ferdinand wouldn’t turn down after such a successful venture together. It’s so kind that Ferdinand must bite his tongue to ask if Hubert is feeling ill.
“Ah, this is me,” Ferdinand says as they reach his door. “Thank you for your company tonight.”
“I suppose an evening with you isn’t the worst way to pass the time.”
Ferdinand grins, surely brighter than the sun. In a moment of boldness, he says: “I would not be opposed to you spending more evenings with me in the future, if you would be willing.”
Hubert nods, and takes a step closer to Ferdinand. Once, Ferdinand thought Hubert’s expressions were indecipherable. Now, he notices the glimmer in his eyes and subtle quirk of his lips—he’s just as happy with the outcome of the evening as Ferdinand is, then.
“Likewise. But for now, I should wish you goodnight.”
As if Ferdinand’s night could not be any more unpredictable, Hubert reaches out and takes Ferdinand’s hand in his own. Then, he bends ever so slightly to press the chastest of kisses against Ferdinand’s gloved knuckle. It’s just a tingle against Ferdinand’s skin, but heat blooms through his chest and up his face, surely painting him a deep crimson.
He cannot look away from Hubert in that moment—how his skin glows under the candlelight, how dashing he looks in his well-fitted waistcoat, and the subtle brushing of his bangs against Ferdinand’s wrist. He’s magnetic—in moments like this, Ferdinand wonders how he’d never noticed it before.
“As any decent fiancé should,” Hubert whispers as he pulls back, hesitating for a brief moment before releasing Ferdinand’s hand. And just like that, he bobs his head as a farewell, and disappears into the night.
Ferdinand stands at his door for a moment, absolutely stupefied by what’s happened—but giddy in equal measure.
They’re not in love, no. But thinking of Hubert now, Ferdinand thinks that one day, they could be.
For him, that’s enough.