You Will Live

Another Vestra for the Fight

It was the second time Hubert joined Ferdinand in his tent that evening, although there were significantly fewer tears on this occasion. What they lacked in grief, they more than made up for in self-conscious tension. Of a good sort, not that Hubert knew what that could mean before that very night.

"Shall I—?" Hubert waved a hand at the bed where they shared tea and coffee earlier. He'd dressed down in his own, notably less spacious tent, donning a heavier cloak for the rain to return to Ferdinand. The Black Eagles and presumably everyone with eyes was sure to realize what was going on. But, on account of Her Majesty's last wishes and his own sentimental stirrings, Hubert was making a considerable effort not to care who observed him.

"Of course! If you would like."

"It would be preferable to the ground, yes."

With the heavy cloak draped over a chair, another luxury of a general's tent, Hubert seemed to command too much of Ferdinand's attention for fully formed thoughts. Hubert fought an awkward laugh. Perhaps he'd gone too far, been too comfortable. He should have kept his gloves on or worn a nightshirt that laced up higher. Ferdinand stared at Hubert, a flush high on his freckled cheeks. Waves of brilliantly burnished hair framed his eager and somehow shy smile.

"Ah. Right you are."

There was nothing else for it. Hubert climbed into the bed, abruptly feeling too aware of his long legs, his disproportionate height to the bed, only fitting if he curled himself up ever so slightly. He let out a breath and dug deep for the courage needed to meet Ferdinand's expectant gaze. He held out a hand, bolder than he truly was, and made the offer they clearly both desired.

"Come. Join me."

For a moment, Hubert all but convinced himself he'd enchanted Ferdinand into acceptance. He did not look away to take the tarnished hand Hubert offered, and a smile broke on his expression like the clearest dawn as he approached the bed they would share. He held the image in his mind, distinct and glowing, as Ferdinand turned to nestle into the cove of Hubert's body. Much like he belonged there, his long hair in a loose ponytail between them.

Torn, Hubert barely stopped himself from kissing Ferdinand's head. He had to be cautious with this delicate... thing, whatever they had forming. His mind conjured endless doomsday scenarios on instinct. What happened when Ferdinand tired of him, when he was drawn to someone as bright as he was, when he realized Hubert had nothing to offer that someone else could not do better. For the first time in some uncountable era, every horrible thought fell through his mind like a sieve. There was only Ferdinand, warm and humming as he snuggled in closer.

"Good night. Ferdinand."

"Yes. Good night, Hubert," he whispered, his voice its own caress.

Hubert had forgone Linhardt's medication once again. It hardly mattered when the company Hubert held was more than sufficient to lull him off to sleep.

---------

The ground yielded to soldiers' boots, damp from the recent rainfall. As the forces stampeded by their tent in a loose formation, Hubert opened his eyes.

"Ferdinand," he hissed, earning a hum in response.

"What is...?" Without waiting for an answer, Ferdinand practically launched from the bed and begin dressing. He pulled on any armor he could unassisted. By the time Hubert was on his feet, he was close to finished. Any self-respecting general could prepare for combat in a minute or less. Despite the clear potential crisis that was ongoing, a piece of Hubert was proud of Ferdinand for his foresight.

One of them had to be ready.

Ferdinand realized what Hubert already knew and, regrettably, felt compelled to slow his pace to match Hubert's doddering blunder. All of his weapons, his armor, they were in the tent he was assigned to as they marched on an enemy base. Yet here Hubert stood. In nightwear and a cloak, essentially naked for how useless he'd rendered himself.