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locked to darkseal

[Truthfully speaking, this Ball was nothing more than a glorified dance class in Linhardt's mind. They were practically obligated to attend and partake, dancing with people and exchanging smiles and pleasantries; a ball like this was at least somewhat important to the nobility, Linhardt was sure, but as far as he was concerned? He had no business here, and the first chance he could get out, he took gladly.

He wasn't altogether sure about where to go, honestly; he could certainly just turn in for the night on his bed, or get back to his crest research, but there was another curiosity that he wanted to take a look at; the Goddess Tower. The details were a little fuzzy in Linhardt's mind, but he had heard some so-called rumors about what happened within the tower. Something interesting would happen if two people entered the tower...was it that they would be blessed by the Goddess if they shared a vow, or that they would be cursed for defiling her tower? Linhardt couldn't really recall off the top of his head, as it wasn't a topic that interested him too much, but...well, it was an interesting research opportunity and there was certainly a first time for everything.

But of course, he knew very well he wasn't exactly destined for much in the love department. As far as he was concerned, the Goddess Tower would be a once in a lifetime napping spot, and Linhardt intended to take the bait. It was surprisingly quiet, though he didn't doubt that there were people waiting to come in and try to find their 'true love', as they would likely call it. Linhardt finds his way to a nice spot within the tower, settling himself in for what's likely to be an interesting sleep, if nothing else.

Who knows, maybe he'll get to eavesdrop on some unlucky sap within the tower before he nods off, or perhaps even hear someone find the love of their life. The latter would certainly be a nice thought, for one of the others, perhaps. That would at least be interesting to hear...]

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I'm sure you know by now that I do.

[Well, as much as he can trust anyone. So he'll do just that! He has no idea what exactly Linhardt wants to do, but... well...

His heart's definitely beating faster and it feels like it'll beat straight out his chest at this rate. Hopefully Linhardt can't tell.]

Then this will go quite smoothly.

[Linhardt isn't quite so nervous, by comparison. He's been curious about something for a while, and it hasn't quite hit him yet that this is highly forward, that this could be mistaken for something deeply intimate, and yet, like an idiot, Linhardt goes for it.

Linhardt's hand goes toward the side of Hubert's face, almost cupping it and seeming to go up slowly while Lin takes a close look--grazing along his face if Hubert let's him, going under his bangs and bringing them up so he can look Hubert in both of his eyes...

...

Huh.]

...How fascinating...

[He speaks as if he's finally figured something out, at any rate.]

I've always been curious about why you've hidden one of your eyes from the view of others, so I had wanted to see what you would look like without it there.

[Beat.]

It's just as charming as you normally look.

[lin says, with no regard for tact whatsoever]

[He doesn't flinch when Linhardt touches him, though it's a struggle not to. Though his expression remains exactly the same as always, internally it feels like he's on fire and nothing will ever quench the flames. He doesn't move, and he doesn't lean into Linhardt's hand, but it is only sheer willpower that keeps him from doing either.

Then Linhardt's hand moves to push his bangs aside and Hubert quickly realizes this isn't going exactly the way he thought it was. There's a moment where he just sort of stares, blinking as he attempts to process how things ended up like this.

And then suddenly he's laughing, and he's not sure when he let himself do that, but nothing has made him laugh this hard in... well, ever, probably. He raises a hand to cover the lower half of his face as he glances away; he's flushed, but he looks genuinely amused in a way that's different. It isn't tempered, it's open for once.

Of course, he's trying to get it under control, but what else would you expect.]

You could have just asked, you know.

[...Is Linhardt pulling back or is he going to remain this close...]

[There's a flutter in his heart as Hubert laughs, as he laughs openly for what feels like the first time, and Linhardt goes wide-eyed as he realizes that this laugh is just for him.

It's doing something to him, making him go wide-eyed and slack jawed like he just got sucker punched in his weirdly functioning feelings, and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he just bit off a bit more than he could chew.

And he's...not sure he minds.]

I wasn't altogether certain that you would allow such a thing. But really, I've wanted to see it for a while...

[He's slowly realizing he's wanted to do that for a while.

Linhardt isn't pulling back at all, though. He's kind of a little too transfixed by what he's seeing before him.]

[He drops his hand once he's done laughing, though he's still flushed and his smile is a little more open than it usually is. It's still a tempered expression, but years of doing that makes it second nature.]

If I was missing an eye, this could have gone much worse, you know.

[But he doesn't mind, obviously.

He should pull back, away from Linhardt's touch so they can settle back into the usual comfort of being together without being this close. This is the sort of thing that people would talk about, were they around to see it. Not that he cares if people talk, but they're important figures now, and talking could reflect badly on Her Majesty. He should pull back, resettle, and allow this moment to pass by like so many others have.

But if he does, there's no telling if he'll ever be this close to Linhardt again. They're so painfully, agonizingly close. He's never this close with anyone. Linhardt has let him in and trusts him, easily as much as Her Majesty does. And he trusts Linhardt, perhaps not as much as he should, but enough to start to let his guard down around him.

He's already let his guard down once today. Once more couldn't hurt, could it? They're in the Imperial capital, they're far from the battlefield and the risks that come with it. It wouldn't hurt to act rashly for once in his life, to take a risk without the calculations and careful planning that always go with it.

And so, Hubert lifts a hand to trace the side of Linhardt's face gently. Before he can lose his resolve - before he can stop and really think about what he's doing - he leans forward and kisses his dear friend.]

W-well...I...

[Wasn't thinking about that. is what Linhardt wants to say, but his tongue is so utterly tied when he looks into Hubert's eyes. They're lovely, oh so lovely, and seeing them both staring at him like that is making his entire mind scratch to a halt. It brings back memories of that dance, how close they were then and how he wanted nothing more than to lean into Hubert and slow dance like those nobles he saw--the ones without shame, the ones who had someone, the ones he couldn't understand why he didn't feel that same warmth as when he danced with others because he assumed that was just how they all felt, and he was worried he was missing something...

It reminds him deeply of how that hex has always reacted. It made him feel empty when Hubert wasn't there. It made his heart race when Hubert was, when the man was warm with him, kind to him in a way he wasn't with others, always went out of his way in those little ways that Linhardt loves, and he loved every moment of it, he loves that they became so close, he loves--

It's as if the final puzzle piece finally fits itself in Linhardt's head all at once.

Love. He loves Hubert.

Linhardt doesn't even know what to say, or what to do to stop the dumbfounded look on his face as the realization hits him in his malfunctioning feelings all at once, like a wyvern smacking into him at full force, and he wants to tell Hubert, perhaps, that there's something more to this. But then Hubert's hand is on the side of his face, and before he knows it, Hubert's closed the gap between them and his lips are pressed against Linhardt's and oh.

Oh.

Oh, that's doing things to him that he didn't think were possible--Linhardt is genuinely shocked at first, kind of trying to process that this is what's going on now. This is happening all at once and yet Linhardt doesn't make any sort of move until a few seconds in, and it feels like he's giving in to every single teenage hormone all at once as he kisses Hubert back with enthusiasm that would only normally be reserved for crest research. It's embarrassing, he's going to be embarrassed later, but even so, this is new territory to research, and new things to find about Hubert as Linhardt's fingers thread their way through Hubert's hair with one hand and rest on his side with the other as Linhardt leans in.

Linhardt has absolutely no experience with this what-so-ever, but boy does he have spirit and curiosity. He winds up groaning into the kiss a bit, his face likely red as all hell as he shamelessly kisses the man he's wanted to do this to for so damn long. There's no shame in him at this point.]

[To be perfectly honest, Linhardt's managed to figure it out before Hubert. Sure, he was very much aware he wanted to kiss Linhardt and decided he was going to go for it, but feelings?? Nah. That's difficult, who wants to deal with that.

So he's going to ignore the way his heart pounds in his chest as Linhardt returns the kiss. He's going to ignore how thrilling the feelings of Linhardt's hand in his hair and at his side are. He's certainly going to ignore his own hands - one gentle, still remaining on the side of Linhardt's face like he's not even sure it's proper for him to touch while the other moves to encircle Linhardt, to pull him forward and keep him there, so nothing can ever separate them again - and the less thought he puts into all of this, the better.

In truth, he's no more experienced in this than Linhardt is, but he's equally as passionate. If he were to be honest with himself, he's wanted to kiss Linhardt for entirely too long now and never had the courage for it, but acknowledging any of that right now is completely pointless. He couldn't care less about how improper this is, or who could come across them, or any of the thousands of other worries that usually plague him because right now, the only thing that matters in the world is Linhardt.

His grip on Linhardt is tight - not enough to bruise, but certainly enough to be felt - and after a moment he pulls him closer, as though there's any space left between them as is. Perhaps it's desperation, or perhaps it's the knowledge that when this ends, he'll have to face the enormity of what he's done, but for now nothing else matters.]

[This is completely on brand, but also: jesus christ Hubie.

Linhardt's high on that euphoric realization of love, that he's been in love all along, just like something out of an opera or a novel; and much like that, the feelings are overwhelming. Dizzying, even. It's like a cacophony going on in his head, making him simply want this kiss to never end, because if it ends he's going to have to think and he doesn't want that at all. He wants this to be thoughtless, to be mindless, to simply go for it.

Hubert's got his arm around him and his hand still on his face, and his nerves are on fire as the hand on Hubert's side snakes around him fully, pulling them closer together despite the tight grip Hubert has on him. Linhardt doesn't even care how improper this is, at this point, as he tightens his own hold and they've practically fused into one another with how tightly they're holding on for dear life.

Linhardt can barely breathe, only breathing through his nose and wanting nothing more than to explore this new world with Hubert. Linhardt winds up tilting his head a bit in the kiss--likely bumping noses with Hubert in the process, and he's not sure he even cares--parting his lips just the slightest bit as the hand in Hubert's hair goes deeper in, fingers practically running through the man's scalp. It's an invitation, though a tentative one, as Linhardt's eyes close in contentment as he kisses the man he's loved all along.

He never wants to forget this moment for as long as he lives.]

Edited (minor wording thing) 2019-08-16 04:11 (UTC)

[It's an invitation he'll take gladly, deepening the kiss eagerly. He's certainly not practiced, but he's enthusiastic and he's read some of Lady Edelgard's romance novellas so you know what, this is probably fine. (He read them to make sure they weren't going to have a negative impact on the future Empress, but that's not important, shut up.)

The hand at the side of Linhardt's face moves up and back, toward his hair as well. Hubert's very gentle about it, but he's going to run that hand through Linhardt's long hair, just as he wanted to earlier, when he still wasn't entirely sure why.

(Not that he's stopping to think about why now either, but that's also not important.)

As much as he wants this to never end, he does eventually have to pull back - just a bit - to catch his breath. His grip on Linhardt's waist is still tight and his hand's still in the other man's hair and it's only just now starting to sink in that that actually just happened.]

[The fact that Hubert likely tastes like coffee isn't something that Linhardt expected to occur to him, but it's absolutely delightful. The hand playing with his hair is delightful as well, and Linhardt's dizzy with all of the new sensations that fill him as he kisses Hubert, only wishing that the human body didn't have limitations so it could go on forever.

Eventually Linhardt has to pull back as well, breathless from the kiss and utterly dizzy from the fact that he just gained a thousand new notes to research and scrutinize deeply later, but he isn't thinking about anything right now. His mind is practically blank as he pulls away a little bit from Hubert in order to catch his breath.

It hasn't quite caught up to him yet that all of this happened, but surely that's fine. Surely this won't end stupidly.]

[Well, about that.

It doesn't take long for Hubert to catch his breath, and it takes even less time for him to realize exactly what he's done. He's kissed his best friend. He's kissed Linhardt von Hevring, one of the most influential people in the Empire and a trusted adviser to Her Majesty and not once did he stop himself to think "this might be inappropriate given our positions". Not once did he stop to consider that maybe doing something so rash and reckless and stupid would absolutely change everything. Forever.

Hubert goes pale, and suddenly the hands that were clinging so tightly to Linhardt move as if he's on fire. He pulls back, expression completely open for a moment and displaying confusion, worry, fear—

And he tempers it. He forces it down. Rash, reckless behavior and his emotions running wild got him into this mess, and he's certainly not going to rely on them to get him out.]

Linhardt, I...

[He should apologize. He shouldn't have done that, he should have stopped, he should have realized... It doesn't matter, the apology doesn't come. He tries again.]

I should... Ah...

[It won't happen. Just like before. A stuffed animal and sweets won't solve this. They'd just make it worse.

He glances anywhere but at Linhardt as he tries to find something, anything to say to fix this. There isn't anything that can fix this, he knows that, he's so painfully aware of that. In one stupid, thoughtless moment, he's ruined everything. Why did he ever think acting without putting any thought into it would be a good idea? If word of this gets back to Her Majesty...

Her Majesty. That's the solution, and he quickly moves to stand, straightening his clothes and cape and positively fidgeting.]

I need to return to Her Majesty's side. I've been out entirely too long.

[There should be something else there. "I'll see you later"? No. That goes without saying. It's not as though they can simply avoid one another. Right? But no other words come to mind and his embarrassment and fear override everything else.

So instead, he turns to leave, just like that. Without even remembering that Linhardt doesn't really know his way around the capital.]

[Linhardt isn't sure what to think when Hubert's hands fly off of him as if he'd been set on fire. His gaze winds up snapping up to meet Hubert's as he sees his pale face, sees him trying to do something and all Linhardt can think is that he may have been wrong in his hypothesis and feelings. The fear grips him tightly, and it feels like his throat is starting to burn as he tries to say something, anything, before goes back to Edelgard's side and just leaves him there--

By the time he manages something, croaked out--]

Hubert, wait, I--!

[...The man's gone, and Linhardt can't help but feel like something in his chest just died. He winds up staying near the tea house and near that lake for a while after that, wondering where he went wrong. He must have done something, right? He must have. Linhardt traces it back to the simple action of attempting to mess with his bangs, something he should have never done to Hubert, one of the most influential men in the Empire, and he winds up just...staying near that lake for a long time, cursing himself.

He just lost another of his best friends, and it was all his fault.

(He only finds his way back thanks to Margrave Edmund--Marianne, one of his best friends. She finds him out there with that weird calm and red eyes, and she just...sticks around him for a while, trying to get him to talk about what happened. The most she gets is that it's about Hubert, but no further than that, before she helps him back.

Marianne passes what little was said to Dorothea, who she never usually talks to, and Dorothea passes it to Edelgard, and needless to say, that's gonna be a mess.)]

[Time passes, as it always does. Hubert doesn't apologize, or attempt to explain himself, or even address that any of that happened. He should, he's fully aware he should, and yet he can't bring himself to do it.

A year passes. He considers it then, but dismisses it, just as he has countless times before.

He doesn't stop considering it after that. He doesn't see Linhardt as often (as he would have once liked) anymore, but there are occasions when Her Majesty calls them all together. He's aware of where Linhardt is at any given moment - he has to be. He is Her Majesty's right hand and it was foolish of him to ever think of anything else. The most important thing is to win this war. To carve the path for her. Anything else is secondary. Everything else is secondary.

Two years pass, then three. Sometimes he wonders what life would be like if he had apologized. Late at night, when he's all alone and can finally acknowledge it, sometimes he wonders where they'd be. If he'd swallowed his pride and apologized, if he'd told Linhardt the truth, if he hadn't pushed him away and run from everything...

It doesn't matter, because in the end he is Her Majesty's and always will be.

The fourth year has passed and even now he doesn't stop wondering. Every time he sees Linhardt he can't help but think about it. Every time he has to send information along to Linhardt (information that once could have been addressed in a letter to him instead of to his subordinates) he has to think about it. Sometimes he's convinced he's made a terrible mistake in giving up without even trying. Other times he's certain he's correct, and that he's saved them both from heartache down the road. He can only ever be Lady Edelgard's. He has but one life to give, and it has been hers since they were children. Nothing could ever change that.

...Besides, he doesn't even know how Linhardt feels about all of this.

Sure, he's distant, but who wouldn't be after such an unbecoming display? It was terrible of him, to assume Linhardt held any of the same feelings, but it's probably even worse that he hasn't said anything about it in four damn years. He's aware that he's at fault, and it would be a lie to say he feels nothing about it. But guilt is not an emotion that will aid Her Majesty, and so just like everything else, he buries it.

There aren't many real emotions left anymore anyway.

The war has stalled over the past four years. Prince Dimitri is alive, and Claude's tactics rival his own. It's been impossible for his efforts to push the borders of the Empire any further, and after yet another stalemate and eventual failure due to lack of supplies, he's returned to Fort Merceus.

(Where all those years ago Linhardt killed Caspar, where he held the man until he was calm again, where he saw Linhardt cry and mourn the loss of his dear friend, where he'd been convinced Linhardt was going to die—)

The returning army - what's left of it - isn't alone, and Hubert has barely reached the fort's gates before they're ambushed. Alliance troops, a well-trained army and one much larger than the ragtag group Caspar had led here all those years ago.

Hubert sighs, and readies his spells. War doesn't have the same thrill it once held. This is only a minor annoyance.]

[It's been a long, long four years.

Linhardt has had to do a lot to adapt to the world, after everything that happened with Hubert. He never really realized it until things became so awkward, but the man really was the driving force in getting him to join the empire, and stick this out for as long as he had. It was so much harder now to stay motivated, to keep himself awake when he wants to nap all day long and not have to deal with any of his responsibilities, and he wonders sometimes if he should just go out of his way to talk to Hubert and try to ask the reason why, all those years ago, he ran away.

Years pass, and Linhardt doesn't. He doesn't want to admit he's afraid of his feelings--his love, the long sought after solution he had found all of those years ago--being spurned yet again. He's not sure he could take it, and so, he distances himself. They work together when Her Majesty calls for it, but neither go out of their way to communicate to one another outside of official; their communication is practically done all through lackeys now, and it's so disconnected that the cord may as well be severed.

It can't be, though. Linhardt knows that as well as anyone, as he keeps communications with everyone in the Empire, and deals with noble disputes and the like. It's what he does best, now, something that Edelgard relies on him for, and he knows he needs to keep proving himself now. Even if it means he has to lose sleep more often than he'd like, it must be done. Her Majesty's will is what he needs to be focused on, and then he can have the retirement he's always dreamed of.

(But then what? It's not like he has anyone to share it with--)

Edelgard's orders send him to Fort Merceus, but it seems like a battle is already beginning; Linhardt is already rushing alongside several soldiers under his command, ready and willing to go. Linhardt prepares any and all spells, faith and reason both at his fingertips all too easily. He may still have a distaste for bloodshed, but he's shoved it all down for the sake of the future he's working towards. He's ready for anything.

Or so he thought. Of all of the people to see...well, it's fine. It's clearly fine, and though he doesn't really want to interact with the man--a man who's gotten older, who's changed, much like Linhardt himself has, he knows that they need to secure this fort.

He doesn't need to focus on any other feelings coming to a slow simmer inside him.]

Your orders, sir?

[It's very official. Very distanced in tone. If Hubert's the tactician, Linhardt will listen to him; he can comparmentalize for that.]

[Linhardt is here. Why is Linhardt here.

He struggles to remember if there were any messages recently from anyone that could have hinted at this, but no, of course not. He remembers all of the important ones clearly, and nothing was ever said about Linhardt being sent to Fort Merceus. It must have been a recent order, then. Her Majesty surely sent him a message about it, but perhaps the messenger hasn't reached them yet, or worse, died before they could.

Regardless, this is the reality of the situation he faces now, and Hubert doesn't have the luxury of dealing with any emotions that might come with it.]

Tend to the right flank - there are injuries there and they don't have a healer. Keep them fighting; we cannot afford to have the line breached.

[Without even fully being aware of it, he's not only asked Linhardt to secure the area that Caspar once managed to sneak into, but he's also ordered Linhardt to stick to healing instead of placing him in a position where he could be forced to kill. It isn't to say that it won't happen, because war is unpredictable, but even now after all these years, some things don't change.

His tone is that of a commander and much colder than it used to be, however. There's no room for any emotions. Not now, not ever, and certainly not around Linhardt. He can't let that happen again.]

Of course.

[And on any other day, that would be that. Linhardt gives his utmost support to the right flank, healing spells pouring from his hands as the injured are mended before him. In a way, it's comforting; he's always been more at ease healing others from their injuries, and bolstering the right flank only means that they have more defense against the army ahead of them. Eventually they are all fighting fit again, however, and Linhardt fully intends to move again to ensure the rest of them can fight.

He's not expecting his next orders to come so soon, from a desperate soldier; the front lines need a healer, because theirs has fallen. Linhardt doesn't react much, simply assuring the soldier he will go to their aid. Nosferatu helps him as soldiers attempt to pass him by, the spell keeping him healthy as he makes his way forth. He'll ruminate on how easily they fall later, he needs to ensure that this fort doesn't fall, and the front lines are his priority.

Healing the injured who are close is easy, at the very least, but that doesn't mean it doesn't get more harrowing as the battle goes on. It's by luck that his healing path leads him towards Hubert, and his eyes catch something that he's not certain Hubert sees while he's presently occupied.

Some Alliance soldier with a bow in the trees--an assassin, Linhardt is sure, and a seemingly very experienced one at that. Between the soldiers Hubert already focused on and close to being overwhelmed by and the arrow attempting to come at him, come at his neck, or perhaps simply poison him, Linhardt reacts without even thinking.

Hubert will feel a strong tug as Warp is cast on him from behind, sending him back far enough that he won't be hit by any of the coming attacks. It doesn't stop Linhardt from taking the brunt, however; he's able to swiftly dodge some of them, but a lance to the leg sees him quickly crumble to the ground, the driven weapon staining his green ensemble with red.

Nosferatu isn't working; he must have overused it along the way. Linhardt can only fight off these soldiers for so long with Reason magic, but at least he's ensured the survival of the Emperor's right hand. That much is enough.

I don't ever want you to have to see battle. I don't need you to be my shield, I need you to be safe.

He's not sure why those words ring in his mind now, but he tries to push it from his mind.]

Edited 2019-08-16 06:27 (UTC)

[The left flank is flagging - the Alliance's troops are nearly overwhelming and his own are worn out from the battles they already faced. The soldiers in the fort are not nearly enough to hold them off, and unless something changes soon, they're in trouble. He's already searching for the largest weak point in the army, with enough time and the right spell, he might be able to scatter them. He begins to prepare.

Their healer is taken out by a well-placed arrow and Hubert's already issuing orders for them to find a replacement, quickly; if he falls here, the fort falls with him and he simply cannot afford that. Losing Fort Merceus would be a devastating blow to the Empire, and losing him would be an even bigger one. He's practically defenseless while he's casting, and he will not fall here. He cannot.

It doesn't occur to him until he sees a flash of green out of the corner of his eye that the healer closest to them is Linhardt.

He can feel his heart stop, suddenly very aware of just how many soldiers are nearby. They aren't particularly big threats to him, but the spell he's casting won't be ready for several more seconds, and that's plenty of time for something to happen to Linhardt. The moment the spell is ready, he casts it and delivers an absolutely devastating blow to the enemy forces.

And then he's suddenly being tugged away, by familiar Faith magic. He certainly didn't give any orders to be removed from the battlefield, why is he being tugged backwards—

An arrow flashes by where he stood moments before as the soldiers break through the last of his units and charge forward.]

Linhardt!

[He's running even before he sees the Alliance soldier's lance flash and Linhardt crumple. He's dead, isn't he? After all of this, all of his contributions to the Empire, to Her Majesty, and he's dead - just like that. But he can't be dead, he just can't be - there's still so much Hubert needs to say and apologize for and if Linhardt's really dead... what will he do with himself?

Focus. Focus. Now is not the time to get distracted.

The magic that flies from his fingertips is powerful, deadly, and he cuts down several enemies before he can reach Linhardt's side. The chaos that has broken free after his spell hit is enough to keep the others busy and there's a brief lull in the battle as he knees beside Linhardt.

Hubert is no healer and he doesn't even have the basics of Faith magic mastered, but he knows a terrible injury when he sees one. It isn't deadly - he can feel a surge of relief at that - but Linhardt's likely to bleed out at this rate. He tears the cape from his back and quickly wraps Linhardt's leg, wasting no time in picking the man up bridal style afterwards and turning around to the fort. His last orders are given in a rush before he departs.

Some part of him is vaguely aware that it's comforting to have Linhardt so close again, but he's not focused on that. His focus is on the infirmary and the only damn healer they have left in the fort. He hurries, Linhardt pressed tightly to him.]

[Linhardt isn't sure what to do when he hears his name being called out, attempting to prepare his own magic to strike the enemies down--or at least as many as he can. It'd be ironic if this were his end, on a battlefield like this...perhaps it would be fitting retribution for what he did to Caspar. At any rate, he's prepared to fight as hard as he can.

What he isn't prepared for is a devastating spell to come cutting across the enemy line, and Linhardt feels the spell he prepared fizzle out before he can cast it. He winds up seeing Hubert tear his cape, wrapping it around Linhardt's injured leg with some form of surprise; he was their most devastating fighter, what was he doing--]

Wait, what are you--

[It becomes clear, as soon as Linhardt feels himself being bridal carried, that his time on this battlefield is coming to a pause. He's pressed tightly to Hubert, unsure of what to feel or what to do--at least at first.

Hubert will feel multiple casts of Faith magic as he rushes Linhardt to the infirmary, Physic coming all too easily to Linhardt as he tries to keep people alive. He can't do too much--he already feels lightheaded from the blood loss, the shock--but unless ordered not to, he's going to keep trying. He has to.

It seems someone may have forgotten the meaning of moderation, again.]

Please, survive--don't let them break through, please--

You're going to faint if you keep that up!

[Hubert doesn't usually raise his voice. He isn't the sort to shout, his voice has always carried well. He's also the sort to never let anything slip into his voice; even when his expressions falter, his voice almost never does.

The worry is obvious now.]

They'll be fine, and if they manage to march into the fort, I'll dispatch them myself. I'll destroy their entire army personally if I have to.

[The words are as rushed as his footsteps. He comes to the hallway where he found Linhardt so long ago, where Caspar met his unfortunate end, and he doesn't stop. The infirmary's just ahead—]

Don't you dare die on me.

[The worry catches Linhardt off guard.

He's definitely not expecting Hubert's voice to raise, and for him to sound so worried, so openly worried--Linhardt protests, of course--]

I can't just leave them out there, I have to do something--

[But those rushed words, those promises Hubert makes--he hates to say that his resolve to pass out (if only to avoid the feeling of how warm and safe Hubert feels, feelings he thought long since died in him, and the recognition that this hallway brings that threatens to disgust him deeply) fades with them, and the magic in Linhardt's hand dissipates as Hubert wins yet again.]

...Fine. If those are your orders.

[It's distanced, but Linhardt is listening.]

Edited 2019-08-16 14:09 (UTC)

[They are, he wants to say, but finds himself incapable of words. His grip on Linhardt tightens instead and he rounds the last corner and bursts into the infirmary.

The healer on duty jumps and in moments she's on her feet and helping Hubert set Linhardt down on a cot. She wastes no time in getting to work; the familiar glow of Faith magic is comforting.

Linhardt won't die, not from blood loss at least. There's still the potential threat of the Alliance soldiers taking the fort, but he's fairly certain his own troops will win. Still, he positions himself near the door, where he can keep an eye on the hallway. At least, that was the plan, but even as he leans against the wall, arms folded, he finds himself staring at Linhardt more often than he would like.

He's alive, and he's going to live. He can feel his hands shaking and it takes all of his willpower to get them to stop.

The nurse does all that she can for Linhardt as he lingers near the door; she doesn't even look over to acknowledge him. It feels like an eternity passes, but eventually she pulls back, after having wrapped Linhardt's leg in proper bandages. She explains that he'll have to remain here for a few days until she can be sure the injury has healed and won't reopen, and it may take him a bit to walk properly again. The injury was bad, but she was able to get to it quickly enough that he shouldn't be left with anything more than some scarring.

With that said, she bows and departs for the back rooms, making up some excuse about how she has more work to do. It's probably obvious to her that they need their space and privacy to talk.

But now that they're alone, Hubert finds that he doesn't have anything to say.

While he thought Linhardt was dying, he'd been convinced he needed to talk to the man, to apologize and explain himself and right the past wrongs, but now... Now he can't find a damn word to say. It seems wrong to try to launch into that now, after four years of silence. After four awkward years of avoiding one another when possible. And even if he did find a way to explain himself and apologize, what would it matter? Linhardt could never have seen him that way, could never have loved him.

Even now the word love threatens to stir feelings that have long been buried, feelings he thought he'd done a damn good job of strangling. It's ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Yet he finds he's not angry, just deeply disappointed. In himself, certainly, but not for the reasons he'd expect.

Once again, he's entirely too much of a coward to do or say anything. He can't lower the walls he's spent so long building to keep people out because he never learned how to let people in. Even Her Majesty isn't privy to his trust like that. Perhaps all of this - his inability to speak now, his frightened reaction and four years of silence that followed - is because he doesn't know how to trust.

It doesn't really matter, does it? It's not as though anything can fix what he's done. So he dismisses the thought - or at least tries to - and glances out at the hallway again, trying to make it look like he's intent on keeping watch.]

[The air in this room is practically suffocating him, and Linhardt's not sure if it's the stress of the battle or the stress of being close to someone he was content on severing ties with. On running away from, because Linhardt's just as guilty of running away from his problems--how many nights has he spent, tossing and turning, trying to put everything out of his mind? To put out the fact that his heart ached so badly to at least try to talk to Hubert about what happened, to put out the fact that even if Hubert didn't love him back, he'd still just want him as his friend--perhaps even his best friend, if Hubert were so inclined.

How many nights has he spent clinging to Nyx, the only physical thing Hubert gave him that he's tried to get rid of so many times, only to wind up clinging to her at night when sleep couldn't find him?

Linhardt's mind wanders while the healer on duty mends him, and he can barely register her talking to him as his wound is mended--though he does offer her a tired smile once she's done, and a small whisper of thanks. Of course, then she leaves, and he's left alone with the reason these last four years have been hell incarnate.

There's a battle outside, there's the very real possibility that they could lose this fort and Hubert's just standing outside of his room. Menacingly. It'd be almost sweet if it didn't reopen old wounds--old reminders of the way things used to be, before those long, long years of silence. There's a sense of longing there that Linhardt can't ignore either, and he doesn't quite care for it. In some ways, he wishes his feelings could deaden and dry up like Hubert's did; it'd make the pain of this much easier to bear.

Linhardt's not sure what to say, and for a while, he doesn't--there's lingering bitterness, regret, all of the things left unsaid, and Linhardt doesn't know where to start.

He winds up saying the first thing on his mind.]

All of this effort for one person is rather excessive, don't you think?

[He curses, inwardly, but he knows this is how it should be. (He thinks this is how it should be.) Linhardt's tone is calm, attempting to flatten the barbs and press down the bitterness in his tone, and he doesn't even spare Hubert a glance.

He should really be back out there, securing the fort. That's more important than even Linhardt is, at this point.]

[He glances over when Linhardt speaks, and though his gaze lingers, his expression and posture show no indication of any impact the sharp words might have had on him. That doesn't mean there is none, it just means he's gotten good at hiding it.

He used to be good at hiding it, until he'd started to let Linhardt in. Now everything's been reset back to the way it should be.

The words do bother him, far more than he could ever let on. Linhardt is right. Of course he's right. He knows that all of this to save Linhardt is pointless; Linhardt may be important to their plans but he's not essential. He could be replaced if need be. Not that he'd want to try to find someone as intelligent or skilled, but in theory it could be done.

The idea almost makes him recoil.

It might seem like he's not going to respond - and he does consider just leaving it there without acknowledgement - but eventually he finds something to say as he turns his attention back to the hallway.]

For most people, yes. There aren't many who would be worth all this effort.

[Linhardt sucks a breath in, attempting to calm himself. Oh, what he'd give for a book to read, for something to distract him from how this is only serving to make his feelings act up more, and he hates it so much.

He wants Hubert to leave. (He wants Hubert to come in and close the door.) He wants Hubert to focus on securing the damn fort and not his borderline useless ass. (He wants Hubert to pick him up again and keep him there, despite all of the pain.) He wants to go back to forgetting about all of this and shut himself away to deal with noble bullshit. (He wants to tell Hubert how he feels, how he's felt, so badly it hurts--)]

Should I be charmed that I could possibly be the reason that Fort Merceus falls?

[His feelings are a confused mess, he wants Hubert to go because it's reawakening those feelings inside of him and no, never again, he refuses to do this again--]

[That gets his attention to snap back suddenly, his one visible eye narrowing.]

Do you really think I would risk letting the fort fall into enemy hands? Have you learned nothing about my tactics?

[In other words, he's got a backup plan, and a backup plan for that backup plan. None of them are his preferred plan, and admittedly he'd be doing a lot more good out there than he is in here, but...

But he can't leave. Linhardt is okay for now, yes, but if he leaves and someone else slips into the fort again... He can't let it happen. He can't lose Linhardt.

What is he thinking - he can't lose the fort. He can't afford to have anything happen to the fort. He's already lost more battles than he cares to count, and the only "victories" he's had recently are stalemates. His tactics are no longer good enough and his strength can only carry them so far. Putting the fort at risk like this is stupid, possibly the stupidest decision he's ever made in his life.

(Or was it agreeing to test that wish in the Goddess Tower with Linhardt? That's what led them to this mess, isn't it? Wouldn't that be the stupidest decision he's ever made?

...No. It isn't. Not by a long shot.)

He folds his arms but doesn't turn back away this time. While he's usually good at keeping his voice under control, the anger is obvious.]

The Empire will not lose this fort. Do not insult me like that again.

[If this had been back when they were at the academy, maybe it could have been a threat. There's no threat behind it now, though, and he's sure Linhardt knows it.]

locked to darkseal

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