Word count: 2200 (3 to 17 minutes) | Rating: G | Fire Emblem: Three Houses | Characters: Hubert von Vestra and Byleth Eisner (Huleth)

The professor should have said no. It would have been wise. Someone with more charm would be better suited to represent the Black Eagles in the White Heron Cup. True, he would be in the student uniform for the competition, and he only had to concern himself with the dancer attire in the rare and unlikely event that he won. But it would be ordeal enough to be paraded about a dance floor to demonstrate skills he developed only as much as was strictly necessary. For the courtly duties associated with his rank, Hubert was capable of dancing without injuring his partner inadvertently and little else.

Yet the professor was adamant that he be their representative. If Hubert were to be honest with himself, he didn’t offer much resistance. He even agreed to practice with instruction from the professor in the same sunny field as the other White Heron representatives. Had it been left up to him, he could list at least three secure and private locations where he might make a fool of himself without commentary from his peers at Garreg Mach. Somehow, he recommended not one of them and instead walked from his quarters to the agreed upon location for dance practice as instructed.

“To think I’d be rehearsing dance moves, of all things,” Hubert said in lieu of a more standard greeting, joining Byleth by the small field neighboring the hall where the White Heron Ball would be hosted. He remained unsure how to feel about being witnessed in such a frivolous practice, but… He agreed to shoulder this burden. A shame that the pressure of giving orders in combat did nothing to prepare one for scrutiny, real and imagined, from other students. The one convenience was that the grounds were unseasonably warm for winter.

“You must have some advice, Professor?”

“Slight stretching will help if you’ve been still for a long time.” He had just been studying in his quarters, in a manner of speaking. What he was researching was not for any class Garreg Mach would dare to host, but it was a study session nonetheless. He would call it uncanny insight if it wasn’t so reasonable an assumption for her to make of his habits. “Watch and learn.”

Bending into a partial lunge, she raised her hands palm out and nodded to him.

Ah. He was to mirror her, then. Surely, he could do that much.

Hubert planted one foot behind him as Byleth had and bent his knee somewhat as he did so. More than the professor, of course, given she was shorter than him. His gloved hands met some resistance in hers to mimic the communicative resistance found in partner dancing. Not that any student on the field had someone dancing with them.

She watched him, something unknown hidden in the recesses of her cerulean eyes. He felt strongly that this suggested duality within her nature was one he could not trust, but also one that intrigued him. What did Lady Edelgard see in their professor that he could not place? There had to be value there to encourage her interest. It wouldn’t be the first circumstance where Edelgard sensed something more acutely than Hubert had, and it was the not knowing that was proving to be a source of frustration for him.

“The other foot now,” Byleth noted, and they both stood to switch with innate synchronization.

Irritated though Hubert might be, he had to admit that they coordinated well. That contributed to his unease at times, in fact. Few understood him well no matter how much time they were granted to do so. To be so clearly read in less than a year after their first meeting… Hubert frowned.

“Don’t overthink it.” An absence of expression made his professor rather difficult to read. To make matters worse, an especially unhelpful layer of sweat had gathered in the palm of his glove. The way the human body reacted to social stress for maximum inefficiency both mystified and exasperated Hubert. Did he not have enough to consider as it was? He corrected his expression to neutrality even so.

“I will be sure to reflect on that.”

After a few repetitions, they ended their stretches so as to avoid doing too much before he was limber enough not to risk injury. Hubert aimed to avoid a tragic accident during the contest, not arrange for one during the much-needed lessons. However tempting it might be when he considered dancing in front of the judges alongside Lorenz and Mercedes.

“Very good. Ready to start?”

“I know I agreed to do what I can,” Hubert ventured, suddenly plagued by the old ghosts of self-consciousness more common in his childhood. He looked out at his other practicing classmates and reasoned he could be no worse than any of them. Feasibly. “But I must warn you that my dancing skills are rudimentary. I learned only what was required of me as a noble.”

That extent of knowledge was only right. Lady Edelgard could not be seen with an incompetent servant in any regard.

“I disagree.”

With no notable inflection or shift in her stare once he did glance back to her, Hubert had no way to know what she meant by that. He knew well that her selection of him as the White Heron contestant wasn’t due to no one else desiring the role—Ferdinand was practically making pamphlets to plead for his aspirations—but Hubert never put stock in the idea that she might have true faith in his ability to excel here. With his eyebrows raised, he had no option but to ask for more information from Byleth.

“Excuse me?”

“Mages need dexterity to cast spells. It’s not so different with dance.” The explanation she offered was logically sound. Hubert had no objection to it, and she evidently took that silence as agreement. Stepping back to observe from the stone path beside the field, the professor gestured for him to begin his rehearsal. “Practice the steps you know.”

Hubert took a deep breath and raised his arms to the proper placement: one hand poised as if holding another’s in it and the other, resting at the imaginary shoulder blade of his partner. He felt distinctly ridiculous. Years of training in extracting information from unwilling sources and striking fear into the hearts of adversaries by mere name made for a poor foundation in warding off this brand of anxiety. Drawing up his posture, he stepped out with a solid position for his foot and trailed the other with practiced routine. Not artful, perhaps, but workable. It was all he needed for the time being. Dipping his imagined partner, he bent one knee and straightened the other. All while feeling her gaze on him as surely as if the Luna spell loomed over him.

That smothering stare added to how strangely difficult the mock dance was while staring at patches of grass and gravel. Particularly so as other students also carried out their dance steps to best represent their classes. Or simply to be part of the experience, he supposed, for those students who went through the motions alone. Two nosy children in his peripheral stood by the professor and watched him as well, leaving Hubert with an audience of three that made the hair on his neck stand up from the observation.

When he straightened again, he met Byleth’s eyes and furrowed his brow. She looked as steady as ever—yet he felt an unspoken understanding had been conveyed.

“Would a partner help you get the hang of this, Hubert?”

“Yes, undoubtedly,” he answered without hesitation or realizing his mistake until she stepped into the place of that imagined person.

He had to adjust his pose. She was 24 centimeters shorter than him, although approximately the same height as the person he imagined. A fact he didn’t care to introspect on too closely. Her hand slipped into his with as much effortlessness as his hand fit against her shoulder blade beneath her cape. Why his hand had guided itself under that layer, he could only wonder at. Meanwhile, the tension in his chest clamped down for entirely separate reasons from beforehand.

Hubert futilely wished those children would be called away to their tasks by whoever they worked for at Garreg Mach.

Before anything so merciful could take place, Byleth put her hand on his shoulder. He had his cue to begin the dance anew. His pulse pounded in his temples but memory through repetition came to his rescue. Having a dance partner did smooth out his process as well. His steps were crisper, and the need to direct his professor with light pressure between their clasped hands and against her back gave him a purpose to center his focus on. One that was not the distinct magnetism of a partner who moved with him more smoothly than any other noble he had been forced to endure at various Imperial celebrations.

“You’re graceful.”

Her voice nearly startled him on account of being so mired in thought himself. And here Hubert was recently warned not to overthink matters. They went into another turn—he decided against the dip in light of his inability to remain unaffected—as he formed his miserable excuse of an answer.

“I deliver better results in my work that way.”

“Stay out of your head,” Byleth cut to the quick of the situation and he scowled once again. What ever became of that legendary ability to conceal his innermost thoughts? They stood in the starting position of the dance by chance with Hubert thinking only of the various places they touched.

Now, at 20 years old, he was fixated on the closeness to someone he found maddeningly compelling. Like he was nothing more than a fickle teenager ruled by his whims. As he let out another impatient sigh, the professor did afford him a shadow of a smile.

“Father once said a dance is a conversation.”

“Did he now?” In his skepticism was the implication that choice of wording was unusual for a seasoned former captain in the Knights of Seiros and hardened mercenary.

“He was drunk.”

“How illuminating.” That did get a smirk from him. It did sound markedly more like the severely indebted Blade Breaker, leaving staggering unpaid balances at taverns in his wake. Alois truly needed to leave this grown man to handle his own issues.

“I think he had a point,” Byleth returned to the subject she had in mind. He may finally have lost any semblance of control of his faculties, but he swore he could see an almost indistinguishable trace of pink to her cheeks. “Talk with me.”

He swallowed thickly and began wordlessly. Hubert could not speak. There was no telling what he might say, if anything, were he to try. Where prolonged eye contact would normally be something to weaponize against an unwanted presence near Lady Edelgard, there was an unplaceable comfort and intimacy to it between himself and the professor. One that stayed his heart at last despite the riots breaking out in his mind.

Every logical argument he’d employed against trusting the professor buckled under the overwhelming strength of their instinctive synergy. He had absolutely no capacity to prevent himself from lowering her into the dip that time, layered hair brushing past her shoulders to give him a clear view of the white buttoned collar against a slender, scarred neck. By archer’s bow or unfortunate mishap, he could not know without confessing to the lingering stare she must have noticed.

The professor’s astute perceptions of him all but guaranteed he had been discovered. Yet she did not object or appear horrified. Hubert did not have the advantage of her insight and therefore, had no knowledge on her reaction whatsoever. The reasons that did not sit well with him were admittedly not what they should have been. He longed to know not solely for greater security or intelligence on their enigmatic professor. No, he wished to know merely because it was her.

In the moment they straightened to their starting pose again, the dance was finished and his opportunity, gone. She removed her hand from his and he suppressed the twinge of regret as he withdrew his own hands to hang uselessly at his side. Leaving her gauntleted hand on his shoulder, Byleth gave it an affirming squeeze Hubert had not expected.

“I enjoyed our chat.”

He blinked. The chat? It was shameful, honestly, how long it took him to realize she referred to the ‘talk’ that was their dance. Worse, to have it sink in what she must have heard from him if her father’s description of a dance was at all accurate.

“Yes. Yes, I—” Hubert stalled, feeling warmth rising to his cheeks as the final curse against him and this entirely unbelievable circumstance he found himself in. Clearing his throat in a failed recovery, he cast his eyes to the grass at their feet and gave one iota of honesty. There would be no disguising it no matter what the tactical choice might be. “As did I.”

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Word count: 2300 (4 to 18 minutes) | Rating: G | Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers | Characters: Hubert von Vestra and Byleth Eisner (Huleth)

“Aww, Hubie, you look so dashing!” Dorothea praised his appearance yet again, tucking a scarlet carnation into his vest pocket.

“Dorothea,” he started, glancing to Edelgard seated at the desk in his quarters. How exactly the two of them got involved in his preparations for meeting Byleth for coffee was unclear. He theorized that Dorothea’s close ties with gossip circles allowed her to hear of the invitation Hubert accepted, thereby passing the news on to Her Majesty. “This is hardly necessary. Our professor asks various people to tea every week, myself included.”

It was wholly unnecessary, of course. His Adrestian uniform was sufficient. He doubted the professor would be in different attire. Despite their former roles as teacher and student, they were both generals following Byleth’s return and well beyond dressing to impress for a simple coffee break.

“Yet I believe she has asked you to coffee in a more removed area of gardens,” Edelgard reminded him with a grin he rarely saw on her face. That, admittedly, did him good to witness.

Clearing his throat, Hubert ducked his head. He still disliked emotional displays in a broad sense—no matter how minor. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“Oh, plenty,” Dorothea joined in teasing him. Perhaps ‘playfully tormenting’ was the more apt term on account of her wink when she stepped back to appreciate her work on his outfit. It was an understated ensemble, as a sign of her understanding of his preferences. Black shoes and pants added class without distracting from the dark Adrestian gold vest. The burgundy button-down coordinated with the carnation in his vest on a whim of nature. Dorothea seemed delighted, at least. She clasped her hands together with a romantic sigh and already whisked herself off to the opera in her imagination. “It will be just you and her. After five years apart, you must have so much to say to her!”

“Five years and three months,” Hubert steered the conversation, pulling black gloves over his magic-stained hands. “And if you are trying to settle my nerves, it is not working.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about, Hubert.” Ever insightful, Edelgard smiled through the process of mentally walking Hubert to her conclusion. “She invited you, and you planned nothing to intentionally encourage that. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes,” Hubert reluctantly conceded. He disliked having no influence over any turn of events, perhaps only more so for positive outcomes he wanted solely for his own sake. Byleth’s loyalty was beyond question after she’d disregarded Lady Rhea’s commands in the Holy Tomb to choose Lady Edelgard. The relief he felt went beyond the strictly professional, and it was no different now. Hubert was pleased to have been invited to coffee with only the two of them. He had no strategic gain in mind, only her company.

“Then you have already impressed her just as you are. And why shouldn’t you?” Without her cape, armor, or ornamental wear, Edelgard possessed even more grace than usual as she strode up to Hubert and rested a hand on his arm in reassurance. Effectively so. No one knew him better, to an undefinable extent, than Lady Edelgard. Her smile up at him was almost contagious. “There is no one more loyal and devoted. Please, my friend, follow your heart.”

“Professor,” Hubert announced himself, joining her at the table in the plain wooden chair. The isolated garden was not too distinct from their habitual meeting spot. The decorative stone pillars were worse for wear and the garden needed neatening, but it was rather similar. He was surprised she sought this exact place out from the many spots on the academy grounds where one might stop for tea. Spring was still young, and it was more rain than blossoms, but it was a scenic setting. It could be that Edelgard and Dorothea had the right of it.

The concept was more disquieting with the professor in front of him than safely preparing in his quarters for their coffee break.

“I’m glad you joined me.” She offered him a light smile, a quite conspicuous gesture for her.

“Of course.”

The table’s contents revealed she knew well in advance that he would accept. Fewer treats than usual graced the braided basket on the table, notably ones such as ginger snaps and lemon squares that would appeal to Hubert. A platter of rich eclairs rested beside them and were distinguished from the usual recipe with the dark chocolate pastry and dusting of coffee beans over the top of the cream-filled desserts. The amount of sweets didn’t warrant a tiered tray that sometimes made an appearance at such gatherings, however.

A cup of black coffee sat on the white tablecloth in front of the seat he occupied, and steam rising from its surface suggested it was brewed and poured recently. An unsettling silence persisted as he lifted the cup to take the first sip. He was not suited to carrying a conversation. Neither was she. Perhaps this was… enough.

“Is it brewed right?” With her fingers curled around the handle of her cup, she watched him levelly. As always. That remained consistent regardless of how he no longer sensed the duality he identified in their professor when first they met.

“Yes, thank you,” Hubert answered honestly, raising the cup slightly in reference to it. Her smile grew. Closed mouth as it was, his heart still quickened just so when he saw that reaction from his encouragement. Hubert’s service to Edelgard rendered him a source of fright to many.  To far fewer, he evidently brought a smile. He was truthfully unsure how to feel about that discovery. ‘Hopeful’ didn’t quite fit the sentiment coiling around his chest and disturbing the various organs merely trying to continue their basic functions. Maybe ‘apprehensively optimistic’ was better.

“Been a long time, huh?”

The impossibly rich green of her eyes dwelled on him, and Hubert resorted again to drinking his coffee. It wouldn’t settle his nerves, of course. That was never its intent. Yet it outranked the alternative of discovering what he might see or find by meeting that stare in a prolonged way.

“It certainly has. Are you well?” Inversely, he’d implied that she seemed unwell. As in insane. He’d done so before on occasion as a student, that was an immovable fact. But he had aspired to conduct himself more fairly after five years to learn from his prior mistakes. Scowling, Hubert corrected his course. “Rather, it must have been uncomfortable wherever you slept undisturbed for five years. All only to reappear in a river, of all places.”

With a one-sided shrug that shifted her neckpiece, she mentioned, “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“The life of a mercenary would do that,” Hubert noted in return with faint amusement. It was no prized childhood to wander the land with Jeralt on the run from the Church of Seiros after having faked his death in the wake of rightful suspicion of Lady Rhea. But, he had to confess, it was strangely heartwarming to think of a young Byleth on adventures with her father. They had clearly been quite close despite her unique metaphysical circumstances. In that sense, Jeralt acted as proof that unconditional love for your child was indeed a reality, no matter how flawed that love may ultimately be.

Quiet fell between them once more. The professor brought her porcelain cup to her lips, which glistened with the thin layer of gloss she was partial to. An obvious fact anyone would have noticed after nearly a year in her class, naturally.

Setting her cup down with an utter lack of decorum that would leave any common noble completely aghast, she was perfectly at ease. Hubert smirked. All part of her inextricable charm.

“How did you know I would follow Edelgard in the Holy Tomb?”

Where once they might have discussed previous close calls or books they’d recently finished, Hubert and Byleth had apparently reached the level of closeness where there were heavier matters they might be forthright about. On the one hand, he appreciated the direct nature of their conversation. It saved him the guesswork of social maneuvering that he might not fare well with. On the other, Hubert had no means to stall her until he had the ideal response ready.

As with any delicate procedure, particularly one that was relatively new to him, some improvisation was required.

“I didn’t.” Hubert could be sincere about that. The more honesty he shared now, the easier it would be to withhold information later if necessary. Theoretically. Idly browsing the pastries in the basket to give the impression of calm, Hubert finished his explanation. “Lacking your borderline precognition, I simply hoped.”

“Hubert von Vestra, hoping for the best?” Byleth picked up a ginger snap and reached over to put it on the plain white plate set before him. Abominably rude, and Ferdinand or Lorenz would have endless apologies if they’d done it, but he chuckled. It was—thoughtful. Sweet, one could say. He was unused to having his needs and interests anticipated by another. But the professor had taken his casual browsing of the basket to be meaningful and went out of her way to fulfill what she perceived as an unspoken desire for a ginger snap. Doing so for him was sweet and somewhat cheeky, if her own playful smile was any evidence. “I don’t believe it.”

Hubert laughed at her conclusion, trailing off into a satisfied sigh. She knew his methods even after many years spent slumbering away in rubble or rivers. He supposed they hadn’t changed drastically overall, in fairness. However, not many got so far as comprehending his process to begin with. Therefore, the credit to her intellect was well-earned.

“I admit, I did try to lead you to the ideal conclusion. Why else would I ask you to speculate on the motives of Tomas and his ilk or to wonder at Flayn’s significance?” Hubert remarked in hindsight, not positive of when precisely he made the comment. The month had been a hectic one—but which hadn’t? That didn’t eliminate much. “The answers were there for those who pursued what we already knew to be fact. I had confidence you would see that.”

“For Edelgard’s sake?”

“Yes,” he said haltingly, brushing a stray fallen leaf from the table to keep it clear as well as occupying himself for a moment. Thinking again of the earlier advice from his unsolicited helpers, Hubert had to yield to it. He ought to follow his heart as Lady Edelgard so poetically advised. In so doing, he could ensure that the professor’s interest in him was authentic. “Although not hers alone.”

Byleth tipped her head at an almost imperceptible angle for an inquisitive look at Hubert. It was incredible, really, how no stretch of time apart lessened the effect that had on him. He trained since he was a boy to guard his true thoughts whenever necessary, and that became an exponentially greater priority after the Insurrection. With but a glance, the professor made him feel as though his thoughts were laid bare for easy review and worse, not found wanting or lesser. Acceptance and understanding did not agree with Hubert’s disposition as readily as rejection and distrust. It was safer that way. The fewer people he allowed in, the more secure his defense of Her Majesty would be.

Then, he attended Garreg Mach, where he met the Black Eagles and Byleth became their professor by an unexpected twist of fate.

“Heh.” Hubert paused to find the words he needed, feeling foolish for requiring so much as a spare second to organize his thoughts into a comprehensible sentence. The war was not yet at its end, and there was one behind it as well. He couldn’t afford to be so disorderly. “In my days at the academy, I treated you with such overt hostility. I never once relented in my skepticism of your intent.”

He flicked his gaze down to the black depths of his coffee as he lowered it to the table and proceeded as best as he was able.

“Just as you never dismissed me as merely what I made myself out to be. You understood me when I was at my most difficult. I never got to thank you properly for that.”

In a new wave of emotional bravery, he looked to his professor, companion, general, and colleague to gauge how well he fared thus far. She knew not to believe he would amaze her with social prowess. That was exactly why he hadn’t expected her to smile more brightly than before at what was inarguably a reserved and unexceptional explanation. If nothing else, she would be in good spirits for his less appealing truths.

“It is inconceivable to leave Her Majesty’s side. Not for you or anyone.” Hubert meant it as a firm statement of fact. The tenderness of the atmosphere had surprisingly affected that too, softening the edges of his words to meaningless fringe for decoration and comfort. Highly uncharacteristic behavior that should worry him far more than it did. “But if you were to join our side in the war, then perhaps… We might support her together as equals. In doing so, I would have the chance to express my gratitude.”

The silence that ensued then was comforting, punctuated with bites of his gifted ginger snap and the professor’s absent sips of tea or approving nods.

“What do you think you’ll do now? Since your plan has come together.”

“I spent five years believing you to be dead or worse, Byleth.” Reaching for her hand was at once deeply unnerving and irresistibly natural. Glove over gauntlet, Hubert looked to her with a serenity more rehearsed than felt. “I’m not in the habit of letting opportunities pass me by twice.”

Byleth turned her hand over to hold his, stood from her seat, and with her other hand cupping his face, she drew him into a kiss tasting of coffee and ginger.

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If you enjoyed this story, you might also like the bittersweet fluff of The Boy Forgotten short story.

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