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He was in a tunnel, the walls around nothing but darkness. The ground was piled with viscera, bloody fingernails, vomit, squares of skin with jagged edges, and every other substance a humanoid body was made from or could produce. It made a sickening squelch with every step. But Hubert could neither turn his head nor pause; his body moved through the sludge against his will.
There was nothing else for what felt like several minutes, until far away wails began to cut through the silence. The farther forward he crept, the louder and louder the wails got, turning into outright screams.
They were familiar screams. Screams of traitors and thieves and fathers and conspirators and soldiers and non-humans and humans. The long squeal of a Vestra spy turned thief having every bone in her hand broken one by one. The moan of a servant who had tried to slip poison into Edelgard’s wine feeling acid burning through his abdomen. The scream of an Agarthan scientist having his innards become his outards.
The screech of an alleged conspirator having her head sawed off. She was later found innocent.
As the incessant noise grew louder and louder, Hubert began noticing the path decline. He began taking more and more measured steps, but it was hard to find footing when everything was moist with a layer of blood- both human red and Agarthan black.
Eventually, he stepped wrong and fell into the abyss, brushing against the sludge, moistening his uniform in the muck.
He landed with a groan on top of a body.
The body began to thrash underneath him. Hubert pulled up to see that it was Ferdinand with a white blindfold around his eyes. Under Hubert’s touch, Ferdinand began to liquefy. Any skin that Hubert touched melted. In his attempt to get away, Hubert fell off the raised platform they were apparently laying on. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of him.
As much as his body yearned to lay down and rest for a few moments, the floor was seeping into the folds of his clothes, so he had to sit up. When he did, he saw that the platform was simply a raised mound of the entrails surrounding them. He couldn’t see over the side, couldn’t see Ferdinand on top of it, but he could hear perfectly fine the screams of agony in his lovely voice, so close that it overpowered all the other screeches.
One of Ferdinand’s arms lowered into view, and Hubert’s face contorted in despair as the skin of Ferdinand’s forearm slide off, mixing with the viscera on the floor beneath them.
Wailing, Hubert brought his hands up to cover his face, too consumed with grief to care that his fingers, usually stained black from years of dark-magic, were crimson red instead.
For a long while, Ferdinand’s noise was a backdrop for Hubert’s sobbing. Then, it disappeared into the orchestra of the other screams. Hubert dropped his hands from his face and stood up to look, only to find that Ferdinand couldn’t be deciphered from the rest of the guts they were propped up on.
Hubert shot up violently and tried to move away from the pile. But he continued facing it, unable to look forward, unable to process that Ferdinand wasn’t there anymore.
As he moved backwards, he smacked into something waist-high and made of stone. He jumped forward and sucked in a hiss. Then, slowly, he turned around.
Arthur, his son. He laid on a black altar that matched their shared hair, in his blue horse pajamas, tied down by each limb with thick rope. But he wasn’t trying to escape; he was perfectly calm. He looked over to Hubert and smiled.
On their own accord, Hubert’s feet moved towards him. He could hear his own breathing.
The boy smiled brighter as Hubert approached, happy to see his father. He must be the first Vestra in all of history to have that quality. And he would be the last.
As he stood there, hovering over his son, his hand moved to the far end of the altar, where there were several all-too-familiar instruments of torture laid out in a row. His bloody fingers circled loosely around a long butcher’s knife. Hubert tried to drop it, to throw it, something, anything, but the more force he put behind his attempts, the harder he gripped the knife.
“Papa?” Arthur asked, his voice curious instead of worried, wholly unaware that there was anything to fear. His amber eyes shined brightly.
Hubert shook, trying with all his might to stop the inevitable. But his hand held steady. It moved down in a purposeful arc and bit into flesh.
~~~
Hubert was unconscious, captured by Hypnos, but writhing against the chains. In his movements, he shook the bed, disturbing the man beside him.
Ferdinand woke slowly, needing to be shook a few good times to truly come to. But when he did, the sight of his husband’s night terrors caused his heart to clench. And, as much as Hubert was moving, they seemed to be particularly troubling ones.
So, sitting up, he reached under Hubert’s pillow and pulled the dagger out before placing it on his bedside table, away from any possible recently-awoken hands.
Then, sluggishly, Ferdinand reached forward and caressed the face of the monster in his bed, making gentle movements of his thumbs on high cheekbones, not for his sake, but its.
And the thing’s writhing slowed to a stop, before he woke up in a state of confusion. The soft hands on his face should not be there and yet they were. His eyes fluttered open, and he was met by an angel holding him still.
But, Hubert deserved no angels, so he shot up and out of Ferdinand’s grasp. He was warm, and he had his skin attached, therefore, he was alive.
“Hubert?” He asked, reaching out to him, a mixture of confusion and concern that Hubert could not bare to look at.
So, he ignored Ferdinand and reached his hand under his pillow but found no dagger. Immediately, he leaned forward, his eyes searching around Ferdinand’s body to his nightstand. They caught a glimpse of silver laying there.
Was it a good or bad thing that Ferdinand had the foresight to move it this time?
Cursing under his breath, Hubert turned away from the light and dug through his own nightstand, taking out another dagger that was stashed there. Then, he shot out of bed and stalked towards the door.
Ferdinand scrambled out of the bed behind him. “Hubert?!”
Without making a sound, he glided through the long hallway- the walk was easy on the smooth wooden planks- and down to Arthur’s room on the far side. Hubert gripped the knife tighter and opened the door.
The dim moonlight from the window failed to illuminate anything but basic shapes, so Hubert lifted his free hand and recited a brief incantation. A reason sigil appeared just before a small ball of fire hovered in his hand.
Now that the room was basked in a small orange flow, eyes used to straining in the dark could just barely pick out the movement of a breathing chest. There was nothing alive in the room, except for the small form of the boy, curled up in his bed.
Ferdinand caught up then, his breath heavy. He put a hand on Hubert’s shoulder without thinking, for if he was, he should have grabbed the wrist that held the knife, or better yet have never ended up in this situation at all.
Continuing to ignore him, Hubert slipped the knife up his pajama sleeve, before walking forward into the room. He stepped silently around wooden horses and colored sticks of wax, only stopping when he reached the side of the bed.
His son was asleep, his chest moving up and down and his amber eyes closed. Tentatively, he reached out two black-stained fingers, daring to brush against the pure white of Arthur’s neck.
On reflex only, the child flinched away from the cold digits, but it was just long enough for Hubert to feel the pump of a heart beat.
A visible relief in his shoulders, he turned back towards the hall. As he walked, his eyes were on the ground, watching his feet as they maneuvered around the childish junk. When he was out of the room, he lowered his left hand and let the fire go out. Then, he turned around and slowly shut the door, not breathing until the latch clicked. He couldn’t bare look at the man behind him, so he placed his forehead on the too-thin wood. Wood that could easily snap and break and leave the helpless contents of the room vulnerable.
“We should have never had him.”
Ferdinand gasped, and Hubert’s shoulders hunched. An expected reaction, but nonetheless hard to hear.
“Don’t say that. Don’t…” His voice was uncharacteristically shaky. It burned. It burned harsher than Hubert thought it would. “How could you say that?!”
After a few moments of silence for Hubert to calculate his next words, he steadied himself against the door frame and spoke. “The only way that someone could hurt me is if they hurt one of you. His mere existence as mine dangers him.”
Ferdinand placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He flinched, not having expected it, even though he should have. Despite the miscalculation the hand did not move. And neither did he.
“Hubert…” The name is too normal on Ferdinand’s lips. The pristine man should not have to dirty his mouth so often.
“They will hurt you both because of me,” his spits out. It sounds harsh, but Hubert can feel his arms shake and his chest wanting to heave.
Ferdinand’s grip tightened on Hubert’s shoulder. “The Agarthans are all dead. You have nothing to fear-”
“There are surely a few alive scattered around. And, if they want something they will have it, Ferdinand. They know more than any of us ever will. I have done too much to them. They have all the will and the means to-”
“Hush!” Ferdinand snaps. In contrast to his tone, he gently grabs Hubert’s cheeks and guides his face away from the door. Even though he shouldn’t, Hubert lets him. “You have spies stationed all across Fodlan, updating you on everything the moment that it happens. You have the strongest, most complicated spells I’ve ever seen covering the estate, waiting for someone foolish enough to try and break in. And if even then, somehow, some way, someone breeches our home, they will have to contend with both our blades.”
With hands too soft, too loving, Ferdinand’s fingers curled into Hubert’s hair. “I would not hesitate a second if someone threatened you, much less Arthur.”
And, before Hubert even realize that he was crying, Ferdinand wiped a tear from his cheek.
Clenching sunken eyes shut and blackened fingers together, he leaned into the touch he didn’t deserve, the touch he couldn’t escape, accepting the sun’s light once again even though it burned.
Ferdinand pulled him closer, their chests knocking together as he reached up and tightened his hold around Hubert’s neck and hair, as if he were going to run away. But he would never run, not now.
Not with so many things he had to protect and cherish.
Slowly, so, so slowly, Hubert wrapped his arms around Ferdinand, scared that his touch would flay or burn like it was prone to do. But it didn’t this time, because even hands that were purely made to destroy somehow turned lovingly feeble when in Ferdinand’s grasp.
He leaned into the solid radiator of Ferdinand’s body, lavishing in the warmth, the stability, the softness. Things out of his nature, but were becoming familiar over countless hours of exposure.
Tears streamed freely now, something he long thought beaten out of him. But Ferdinand’s light exposed so many things that were hidden in darkness for so long. Mercifully, Ferdinand made a point of not looking at the act of weakness, hooking his chin on Hubert’s shoulder, and closing any remaining gaps of air between them in the process.
“Do you want some tea? We have some Dagda fruit blend still,” he spoke calmly and without a note of pity, and Hubert wondered if it was on purpose. Ferdinand chuckled before clarifying, “I’d offer you coffee, but you’re not staying up all night again. I won’t let you.”
I just want you. But he would never say it. Not now, when there were already too many gaps in his armor that Ferdinand was worming his way into.
“I won’t be able to fall back asleep,” he says instead. “I should go back to the office-”
Ferdinand immediately pulls back and shakes his head, taking his warmth with him as punishment for even suggesting something so idiotic. But his voice is not harsh, not like Hubert’s would be. “You are not going anywhere but back to bed. You haven’t gotten a full night’s of sleep in days.”
Turning his face down, Hubert hoped to hide its weaknesses in the shadows of the night. He didn’t want to sleep. To risk being trapped there again, to see nothing but the things he’s done transposed onto his family.
His family. What a laughable idea. How did he even get here?
Before he could spiral, Ferdinand grabbed his wrists firmly, strong enough to be steadying, but weak enough to break free if he wanted too. There were bags under his amber eyes and his face was sunken with tiredness, but he held a determined expression. The light dim, but ever burning.
“If you won’t sleep, then at least stay with me? Please?” he asked, his quivering voice finally betraying his worry.
For a few long moments, there was just the suffocating silence that Hubert reveled in, allowing himself to think. He would not sleep. He could not possibly. But, he could use his alertness to listen to the bumps in the night for any that did not belong. Though, night watch would be better in the foyer, where he could block the front door and still have direct line of sight with the back. But Ferdinand and his warmth would not be in the foyer.
Hubert took his hand from Ferdinand’s grasp and quickly turned away from what unbearable disappointment would paint his face.
Before having to listen to Ferdinand’s protests, Hubert closed his eyes, lifted his hands to his child’s door, and spoke in the language he despised. A dark sigil appeared below him, and a second later, the same sigil etched itself into the wood before him.
“What-”
“Protection spell,” he responded. It was more complicated than that, but it was all Ferdinand needed to know. All Ferdinand would truly understand.
As satisfied as he was going to be, Hubert turned and slunk down the hall, surely looking like the thing his son should be protected from. He stopped in front of their bedroom door and opened it without looking back at Ferdinand.
Inside, Hubert went straight for his dagger laying on Ferdinand’s nightstand. He quickly snatched it up, before walking around the bed to his own side. Then, he slipped it back under his pillow before taking the spare dagger from his sleeve and depositing it back into his own nightstand.
When he looked up, Ferdinand was not there. He had expected the man to have followed him once more.
As soon as Hubert began to walk back around the bed and towards the hall, he heard a door close and familiar footsteps. His body relaxed immediately. It struck him strange that there could exist in any capacity footsteps that calmed him instead of sending his systems into alert. (There were only three. The clack of Edelgard’s black heeled boots, the measured and elegant thumps of Ferdinand’s perfectly polished canter, and the soft pitter-patter of Arthur’s feet exploring the world.)
Ferdinand walked in carrying a sword, one of the overly fancy ones that he kept seemingly just to polish over and over again. He held it up high with the same smile he used when showing Hubert some clever new proposal he had thought up.
Walking to his side of the bed, he carefully leaned the hilt against the bedside table, before climbing over it into their red satin bedsheets.
“What is that?” Hubert asked, looking down at the precariously placed thing.
“A sword,” Ferdinand replied, a self-appeased little smirk on his face. He briefly laughed at his own joke, before continuing, “If anyone gets in here, now they will have to deal with my Sunder attack!”
Hubert stared at Ferdinand, and his heart beat a bit faster, which was too much for right now. So, Hubert turned to move the few steps back to his side.
“You’re more liable to roll off the bed and pierce yourself than doing anything useful with that thing.”
“As if you’d let me,” Ferdinand responded. Hubert could just about hear his smug little facial expression.
Not replying, he slipped into the sheets as well. The silky texture was well-known by now, but no less strange. They were soft against his skin but still cold. A stark contrast to wartime sleeping mats or the torn cotton sheets of his youth. He didn’t deserve this luxury, but Ferdinand did. And somehow, he had Ferdinand, so now he had satin sheets.
Hubert shuffled down so the sheets covered him completely. Then, before he could consider the consequences, he looked over to Ferdinand and was instantly blinded by the earnestness of the smile he was met with. Big amber eyes and shiny white teeth stood triumphantly in the darkness, directing all of their intensity at Hubert of all creatures.
“Thank you,” Ferdinand said.
“For what?”
“For listening to my advice for once.” Then, Ferdinand placed his hand carefully against Hubert’s pale cheek, as though he was handling porcelain. With no resistance, he brought their faces closer, and chastely pressed his lips to the tip of Hubert’s nose. Then, ending as quickly as it started, he pulled away, defaulting back to the damned smile, leaving only a warm spot on Hubert’s skin.
Despite how little he deserved it, despite how the delicate warmth burned, despite the looming dark man in his mind hissing against it, Hubert’s body craved more. So, uncontrollably- because Hubert would never allow this if he had any say whatsoever- he whined at the loss. Blood instantly rushed to his cheeks, giving them color that did not belong.
At the sound, Ferdinand’s eyes widened just a bit, and his lips somehow curled up even more.
Hubert tried to turn away, to hide the incompatible color, but Ferdinand tightened his hold on Hubert’s cheek, forcing his head to stay at just the right angle for the moonlight to illuminate his face.
“Not enough for you?” he asked, voice thick with confidence and glee.
“I hate you,” Hubert snapped back, his own voice laced with venom.
Venom that Ferdinand had grown immune to. He laughed, and leaned forward once more. Gently, he pushed Hubert onto his back, and began to pepper small, delicate little kisses all over Hubert’s face.
Each kiss was a saccharine stab against his skin, drawing blood up to everywhere his lips pressed, leaving him pink. Ferdinand, enjoying the torture, continuing to giggle between kisses as Hubert writhed under the gentle touch.
Pushed to his limits, Hubert gripped a handful of Ferdinand’s orange locks harshly, before forcing his lips away from his skin. Ferdinand squeaked, but before he could process what was happening, Hubert forced their mouths together.
As soon as their lips touched, Hubert’s grip slackened and his face relaxed. Ferdinand sighed and threaded his own clean hands into Hubert’s hair, trying in vain to bring them even closer together. They were already one and the same.
When they had first done this, Hubert thought the slick feeling of spit was disgusting. He had been stung by its touch too many times. But now, he relished in it, the way it made their lips slide against each other’s, the moist squelch it made replacing the sound of footsteps against intestines. And he wanted it, to drink him up and have Ferdinand permeate his body completely. He tasted like tea and was just as calming.
After several glorious minutes, Ferdinand pulled up, his cheeks pink and his eyes lidded. He laid back down, and immediately, Hubert slotted himself into his husband’s arms.
It was times like these that Hubert considered that he might be human. A callous monster could walk away. Could have soaked up everything Ferdinand could give, eat him alive, and then move on. But Hubert could not shy away from this, could barely even take what was offered, much less what wasn’t.
Despite his entire childhood being one long attempt to kill his soul, there was still some spark inside him, and it burned for Ferdinand. Because he loved Ferdinand so much that he didn’t know how to handle it, what to feel or say or do. He had no way to fix it.
And he didn’t want to fix it anymore.
Hubert shuffled down, before pressing his ear against Ferdinand’s chest. He listened to the steady beat of Ferdinand’s strongest muscle, letting the sound take complete control, telling him over and over that his love was alive.
Ferdinand kept one hand in Hubert’s hair and placed the other on his back. Hubert desperately wished there was no fabric between them.
After a few lovely minutes of silence, Ferdinand asked, “Do you want to talk about it this time?”
“No.” And he never would. Especially not that one. He wanted the memory scraped from the folds of his brain.
Ferdinand sighed but nodded. His heart beat was still steady. Absentmindedly, he began playing with Hubert’s hair, not realizing he was blessing every strand he touched. Hubert wrapped his arms around Ferdinand’s waist.
“You don’t regret Arthur?”
“No,” he pressed his face harder against Ferdinand’s chest. “He is the best thing I’ve ever made.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” he twirled a curl around his finger, unaware of Hubert’s own heart fluttering against its confines. “He’s my proudest accomplishment.”
Hubert closed his eyes. The ritual was stupid. It should be obvious the truth of it, seeing as he was completely curled around Ferdinand and letting the man pet his hair like a damn dog. But, he knew it meant something to Ferdinand. And Ferdinand deserved it.
“I love you, Ferdinand, very much,” Hubert said, softly, then looked up to see Ferdinand’s reaction.
He did not disappoint, flushing red, still flustered after all these years. Color looked amazing on him.
“I love you, too, Hubert, very, very much.”
Hubert rolled his eyes. “Even in this, you feel the need to one-up me?”
“I was simply stating the truth!” Ferdinand beamed. “My declaration of love for you requires two verys.”
Hubert would very much like to keep playing this game, but it was too late and he didn’t want Ferdinand to get anymore hyper. “Go back to sleep,” he replied simply.
A very melodramatic sigh filled the room. “Fine.” Then, Ferdinand tightened his grip around Hubert, pulling not only their bodies closer, but Hubert’s ear closer to Ferdinand’s chest. Hubert melted, wishing to never hear anything ever again besides the beating sound.
“Goodnight, my dark prince.”
“Stop calling me that,” Hubert hissed. He pinched the small of Ferdinand’s back, getting a giggle instead of a yelp.
Then, there was nothing but Ferdinand’s warmth, Ferdinand’s breathing, Ferdinand’s heart. And, after long enough, there were Ferdinand’s snores too.
Only then, when there was no one but himself around, Hubert whispered, “Goodnight, my sun.”
~~~
The next morning, Hubert’s eyes fluttered open slowly. He tried to reach his hand up to wipe the rheum from his face but found that it was being crushed by a small body.
“Good morning, Papa,” Arthur said softly. He was curled close against Hubert’s side, clinging to his arm.
“Good morning, Arthur,” he replied. Seeing that his right arm was occupied, he lifted the left to his face to wipe. Then, eyes straining against the light, he tried to see how far the sun was up from the window.
“Daddy’s on his morning ride,” Arthur said. He snuggled closer to Hubert.
“He left you alone?” Hubert grimaced, but wrapped an arm around the boy.
“I’m not alone,” he replied. Before Hubert’s brow could even crease, Arthur pointed behind Hubert and added, “He made you breakfast!”
Turning his head, Hubert saw a tray with a plate of simple eggs and sausage, a cup of coffee on the side. It wasn’t steaming anymore.
Great, now Ferdinand had let him sleep in, and he was going to be late. He attempted to sit up, but Arthur whined and tugged at his sleeve. “No! A few more minutes!”
Hubert looked back to Arthur and kept his face stern. “Arthur, I’m going to be late-”
Arthur shook his head and wrapped his arms tightly (for him) around Hubert. “It’s cold outside! Stay here! You’ll lose your warm!”
At that, Hubert pauses. He was warm. Hubert von Aegir-Vestra.
After a few moments of thinking, Hubert closed his eyes and huffed. “You can stay wrapped around me while I eat, but then we must start the day.”
“Yay!” Arthur beamed, his amber eyes and white smile looking just like Ferdinand’s. His grip around his father tightened further.
The corners of Hubert’s lips turned up just a bit, so small that it would be unnoticeable to someone who wasn’t looking for it. “Let go of my arm, so I can get my food.”
Arthur frowned but complied.
Immediately, Hubert took his arm from Arthur’s grasp and reached over for the tray that Ferdinand had left. As he did so, Arthur scooted into the space Hubert’s arm once occupied, and wrapped himself against his father’s torso instead. Hubert rolled his eyes, but once he had set the tray down in his lap, he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s back.
“Can I try some coffee?” he asked, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Absolutely not.”
“Daddy lets me have tea!”
“Tea and coffee are very different. This one would make you bounce off the walls.”
“That sounds fun,” he replied. He leaned forward, looking even more interested.
Hubert grimaced and felt the venom form in his mouth, but he stopped himself. He closed his eyes, brought the coffee to his lips, and took a sip, letting the bitter taste and the heat burn his tongue and his esophagus. He was not the dark man in his mind.
In a monotone voice, he replied, “You are just as stubborn as your father.”
Arthur giggled. “Daddy says the exact same thing sometimes.”
Hubert smiled, despite himself. He lifted his hand up, and Arthur did not flinch at the blackened digits, even though he probably should have. Hubert tucked a stray lock of black hair behind Arthur’s ear, but it sprung back up immediately.
After everything he’s done, he does not deserve this fluffy life. He does not deserve a family when he’s broken apart so many. But Ferdinand deserves it. Arthur deserves it. So, he will simply be the best husband and father he can be.
He took another sip of coffee and placed it on the far side of the platter, away from Arthur. Then, he grabbed his silverware and brought a bit of egg to his mouth. Arthur laid his head on Hubert’s shoulder.
It was… pleasant.