#huleth

Hubert’s breath had stopped for a full ten seconds before he was able to come up with that response. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, unsure what to make of your sudden storming into the room with such news.

But you shook your head. “I do not jest, Hubert. Linhardt confirmed it today.” 

“Is that where you went?”

Hubert rose from his seat, palms flat on his desk. Certainly not because he needed to keep his legs from falling out from underneath him.

“I haven’t been well the last few weeks. Headaches, nausea, and I have been more irritable.”

“I have not noticed any such changes.” Hubert’s frown deepened, “And I take great care to pay attention to any shifts in your mood or behavior. Have you been concealing it from me?”

“...Yes, but only because I wasn’t sure what was wrong.” You admitted, arms crossed tight against your chest. You were anxious.

Hubert breathed deep to steady himself. “All the more reason to tell me. I know I am not a capable husband, but I don’t believe that absolves you from communicating with me when something happens.”

You explained in earnest, “I wasn’t even certain of what it was until I met with Dorothea and mentioned the odd feelings. She told me that the same things happened to her when she was pregnant. I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain; if I wasn’t, there would be no reason to tell you and worry about such a thing only to discover later it was false.”

“Why do you assume I would be worried?” Hubert pressed, though his tone softened considerably. He stepped closer until he was just in front of you, until your eyes focused on the buttons of his jacket instead of his deep gaze.

“We have never discussed the topic in-depth; I assumed we would be happy with just the two of us. We have already been married for two years. The way my father spoke of mother’s pregnancy, it seemed as though having a family together was at the forefront of their minds as soon as they wed.”

“I see…then it appears I have once again come up short in my duties as your partner.” 

A slender finger hooked your chin, delicately drawing your eyes back to his. They were…much softer than you anticipated. 

Warm, even.

“It is not that I am against having a family with you. It is simply that there were many other things we had to focus on. Reconstruction efforts have swallowed most of our attention for months. My only concerns this entire time have been serving our emperor, and being with you.”

“Hubert…”

“Come. We should discuss this at length, now that the topic has arisen.” 

He took your hand in his, to lead you from the office to your private chambers. The doors were promptly locked. You were guided to the bedside, where he gestured for you to sit beside him.

Slowly you sank onto the mattress, focused on the man currently gazing down at you with a suspicious amount of adoration in his eyes.

“So…you…want to start a family with me?” 

“That depends. Do you wish to start a family with me?” Hubert returned the question to you, “It is not I who will bear the heaviest burden. The baby will grow- is growing- inside you. All of the physical and emotional changes that happen as a result will have a direct impact on you.”

“But it is not only my decision. Even if I want a child, I know your family was…the way you grew up, it did not endear you to having your own. If I were to force you into fatherhood against your wishes, I would be devastated. I can’t make a choice that leaves you uncomfortable and angry for years to come.”

You could see the gears turning in his mind. “It is…not that I am against having children. But you are right; my father did not hold a position I envied. Nor was it a mantle I ever saw myself taking up.”

You nodded, knowing exactly how he felt about his father; after all of the regrettable choices that man had made, you knew it was little more than frustration and cold detachment.

To think he could reach a similar point in his life was not something either of you wanted to think about. It made the choice clear, in your mind. But for Hubert, it was not so simple.

“But we are not our parents. And I know for a fact that while my father did not wed through a love match…we did.” He reminded you, slender fingers tenderly slipping through your hair, holding a lock loosely while he contemplated.

Tentatively, you watched his movements. His eyes did not hold any coldness in them; it was wholly the opposite. Something that did give you the slightest inkling that his mind wasn’t where you had assumed, after all.

“Is this something you want?” Hubert asked at last, his voice far quieter. You shrugged your shoulders, sighing softly as you considered the question.

“Well…I’d be lying if I said I never considered it. But there are so many factors that make me hesitate. For one thing, my father struggled raising me on his own. And my mother died in childbirth.”

Hubert’s shoulders tensed a fraction. That was a real risk that you would both have to consider. Was a similar fate possible for you?

“Is that fear enough to deter you from pursuing a family?” Hubert wondered aloud, “I would not blame you; it would be more than enough for me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t…think so. It’s-- it’s not as if that would be the guaranteed result of going through childbirth.”

“But it is not a trade I would willingly agree to, either.” Hubert’s hand slipped to your upper arm, squeezing gently. Searching for reassurance that you weren’t planning on going anywhere; or at least, that you understood he couldn’t bear for you to go anywhere.

You smiled softly, covering his hand with yours. “I wouldn’t either. I promise.” 

“Then…should we not pursue it?”

“It’s not that. It’s-- we could. The baby’s already here.” Your other hand slipped over your stomach, “We have a lot of time for exams and assessments to confirm the level of risk I’m  facing. If it’s determined that it’s too risky, then that’s the end of it.”

“And if it is deemed safe for you to carry the child to term?” Hubert pressed, “What then?”

“Then…I…think I’d want to.” Your words hung in the air for a moment, silence passing between you for a beat, then another.

He stared down at you, eyes narrowed just slightly. “...Then that is what I want, as well.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” He confirmed, gently taking your hands back in his. “You are…the only one in the world who matters above all else. I cannot say I am wholly certain, or confident in my ability to raise an entire human creature…but if it is with you, I…am willing to at least try.”

“Hubert, I’m serious. If you aren’t comfortable with having a baby, we don’t have to. At the very least, we can wait and talk about this more before jumping into anything. This is as much a surprise to me as it is you.” 

“I know. I do not say any of this lightly. And do not think that my words mean I only want this because you want it. It is because I love you that having a child at all is possible.”

“You mean that? You aren’t just saying it to make me happy?” It made the smile on his lips quirk, amused by just how unconvinced you were.

“As much as I enjoy making you happy, it would be an incredibly poor choice for both of us if I were lying.” 

Your expression remained unconvinced, but you did relent. “Very well. I trust you.”

“I cannot guarantee that I will be the greatest parent, but…I will be earnest in my attempts to raise your child.”

That much begot a smile. You held his hands to your chest, “That is all I hope for, my love.” 

Hubert could hardly help himself. He leaned in close, a featherlight kiss brushing over your lips. It was woefully inadequate-- you freed his hands just to take hold of his face, and drew him back in for a far more demanding kiss instead.

It was all he could do to succumb to your romantic advances-- though to be fair, that is what got you two in this situation to begin with.

And so, time passed.

Hubert attended all future appointments, both for moral support and to ensure Linhardt was in fact a competent doctor. As the baby grew, and the changes came, both your most pressing fears would ease. 

You were assured multiple times that what happened with your mother was not a genetic issue- if anything were to go wrong (which it wouldn’t, Hubert vowed), it would not be due to any internal issues caused by your family history.

So long as you followed the medical plans properly, monitored your health and paid close attention to the baby’s growth, all would be well.

The months blurred together. The second trimester was a whirlwind of change, hormonally and physically. Hubert took great care to track your every need, and if you so much as sneezed, he appeared at your side out of nowhere prepared to assess your needs.

It was in your third trimester that the pregnancy became much more real to both of you. Feeling the baby move around, and press on your organs (easily the most horrifying thing about the pregnancy to him), caused it to be even more of a reality than ever.

You found Hubert’s new habit upon returning home was to inquire about your health, and once he confirmed you were well, his head would fall on your lap so that he might run his hand over your baby bump to check on the baby next.

And of course he would stay there, dozing off with your hand tangled in his hair, so you could admire his handsome, narrow face until the baby decided it was time for you to eat.

It was midnight, three days before the expectedd due date when your peaceful pregnancy came to a chaotic end.

You jolted upright from a sharp pain in your core. That felt far different from the false contractions you’d been dealing with. No, that felt much, much harsher than before. 

But what pulled you from the pain was the sudden release of pressure in your cervix-- it would’ve felt relieving had it not been for the contraction that followed.

The baby was coming.

Fighting the urge to groan, you reached for Hubert-- if he wasn’t awake yet, he was about to be (rudely). But your hand grasped cold sheets. Your brow furrowed, searching for him in the dark. 

“H-Hubert??”

He wasn’t there. Your jaw clenched, fighting the urge to groan when the pain rolled through you again. All right, you could handle this alone until your husband returned. But without a clue where he could be, you weren’t entirely sure how long that meant.

Carefully, you tried to turn so your feet were on the floor. But the fact that you moved at all was a bad call-- pain burst from your side, and you gasped.

“Hrgh-- Hubert!!” Your voice cracked under the throbbing discomfort. There was no response. Surely he couldn’t be that far away. “Hubert-! The baby’s coming!!” 

Trembling fingers reached for the oil lamp, determined to illuminate your surroundings to get a grasp on your situation.

But when the lamp brushed your fingertips, another pang struck hard enough your legs gave out. The half-hearted attempt to catch yourself sent the lamp and half your nightstand crashing to the stone floor.

Glass shattered across the floor, knicking exposed skin as you struggled to keep upright.

“Byleth?!” Hubert’s voice sounded so close, but so far away. The blood roaring in your ears made it hard to tell.

The bedroom doors burst open; Hubert rushed in, eyes wide with a fear you’d never seen from him, before. A fear that deepened when he realized what happened.

He raced over to you, glass crunched beneath his boots. His hands were cold when he grasped your shoulders. 

“Byleth, you’re injured! What did-”

“Baby’s coming.” 

His breath hitched. “Right now?”

“Baby’s coming now. R-right now!” You looked up at him, “We need t-to call the-”

“-I’ll take care of it. Hold tight.” He looped his arms around your body and hoisted you from the floor in a single movement. You clung to his neck tightly, desperate to focus on anything other than the waves of discomfort. “Breathe, Byleth. Focus on breathing- you, there!!”

A maidservant who heard the commotion froze in her tracks, having spotted the duo she was rushing to attend to. “Milord!”

“Call the doctors, immediately- Byleth’s in labor!” 

He strode down the corridor with urgent purpose, taking you to the guest room that was much closer to the front of house. The closer you were to the front doors, the faster Linhardt and the rest could tend to you.

“Hubert--! It h-hurts…” You fought against the urge to arch your back, lest Hubert drop you from the sudden twist in movement.

He held you closer, unable to look away from his mission. “I am sorry, my love.” 

Your expression was taut, jaw clenched in an effort to fight off a reaction. Though that would soon be a pointless endeavor.

Hubert set you down on the floor long enough to tear the blankets from the bed. With great care he led you to the mattress and eased you on top of it, hands never once leaving yours. 

“Breathe just as the midwife instructed.” Hubert urged, unable to do much else. He knelt at the bedside to give better access to you. The pillows did little to assuage your discomfort. The hand he offered was gripped like a vice, determined not to let go of him until the latest contraction passed.

It was all too real, now. The baby was on its way. Hubert could only watch as you suffered, his heart sinking with guilt and anguish knowing that this was only the beginning.

Hubert was banished from the delivery room shortly after Linhardt and the midwife arrived. A flurry of clerics were in tow, which meant the already limited space would be practically stuffed with bodies.

Husbands were already not permitted in the room. He did attempt to protest, what with it being his house and his wife and child-- but Linhardt was adamant.

The last thing the healers needed was a frightened and worried husband who didn’t understand the process of delivery floating anxiously around them and questioning their every move.

If the emperor’s beloved could not be present during her delivery then there was less than a chance he’d be able to do it, either.

So he paced. He listened to the agonizing cries beyond the doors and waited for the announcement.

The doors opened and closed countless times in order to retrieve supplies or water for his ailing wife. In those glimpses he could see flashes of agony on your face, desperately trying to bring life into the world.

To say he could hardly bear it was an understatement; he lost count of the times his brain told him not to do anything stupid but his heart nearly blasted those damn doors open anyway.

Hours passed and the sky slowly shifted from pitch black to silvery gray. Hubert busieed himself by patrolling the house. The expression on his face was pensive and anxious, but the unlucky servants who glimpsed it thought they were about to be executed.

At a few points he returned to the master bedroom; finding the glass shards had long been cleaned up. He would busy himself with work that he could not focus on for a few hours, and would try to distract himself with food he could not taste.

There was no change until that evening. You had been in labor for almost 18 hours. Hubert was striding back to the delivery room to demand the state of your health from Linhardt. 

But just before he turned the corner, a cry rang out.

A baby’s cry.

Hubert’s stride shifted into a full sprint. His hand closed around the doorknob when it was pulled open from the other side.

An exhausted Linhardt appeared, all but ready to keel over. When he saw Hubert, he managed a smile.

“I was just about to send an attendant for you. Everyone’s okay.” 

His heart leapt. “Byleth, is she-?” 

“She is fine. The midwife and nurses are finishing a healing session to make the post-birth go more smoothly.” 

“That is…” Hubert trailed off as the weight of his fears finally fell from his shoulders. You were fine- you were being treated. 

You made it through the delivery.

“...I am deeply relieved.” 

Linhardt chuckled. “Takes a minute to gather your thoughts, huh? I’ve seen plenty of new fathers behave just the same.” 

New father.

Father.

Hubert’s breath stuck in his throat when the word bounced around in his mind. That’s right; you weren’t the only one waiting for him in that room.

“The child-- they are well, too?”

“Of course. Congratulations are in order, Lord Vestra. You have a daughter.”

Linhardt’s hand on his shoulder didn’t register. He had a daughter. A little heiress. 

“A daughter?”

“Indeed. She’s weighed in at five pounds, six ounces. She’s a bit on the smaller side. But all that means is you two will have to tend to her a bit more for the first few weeks. Think you can handle that?”

Hubert nodded, looking past Linhardt. He couldn’t see much of the bed due to the clerics and midwives in the space, but he could hear very clearly his daughter’s whines and protesting grumbles.

He needed to be in there.

“Give us a few minutes to get them ready to see you, all right? We’ll clear the room out so you have some time alone with your family.”

Mercifully the time it took for them to empty the room and finish cleaning up was much shorter than the delivery.

Linhardt ushered out the rest of his medical team, and motioned for Hubert to join you both. He vaguely heard the door click behind him. But the focus was far from Linhardt now.

For there laid his wife, smiling tenderly at the little creature cradled in your arms.

Hubert stared, dumbfounded. Were you always so beautiful? Had he truly never seen you until this moment? 

He must have been staring for too long, because your gaze shifted from the baby in your arms to the poor man frozen in place.

“Well, he finally made it into the room….I wonder how much longer it’ll take for Papa to make it over here.”

That managed to knock a little more sense into his head. Hubert straightened his back, and pulled in one last deep breath. Said breath remained lodged in his chest when he crossed the  room. You lifted a hand to his cheek, stroking his face gently.

“How are you feeling, my love? You look dumbfounded.”

He scoffed. “I should be asking you that question.”

“I thought so, too…but you didn’t say anything, so…”

“Forgive me. I am-- still processing. Are you all right?” He took hold of your hand, lowering it to kiss your fingertips. “Are you in any pain at all?”

“None. The spells they used on me should keep me from any pain for at least a night. That’s what Linhardt said, anyway.”

“One night?” His brow furrowed, moving to stand and drag the healer back in. “Does he not realize you just birthed a whole human being? Should you not be relieved of pain for the next year??”

“The worst of it will have subsided by then, my love. And if not, we can always cast it again. Linhardt said he’d leave a spell book for you to use as needed.”

“...Hmph…very well.” He slowly returned to his seat. His gaze wandered down to your arms, “And what of our-- ah, our daughter?”

Your cheeks grew rosy, warm with joy. “Yes. Our daughter.”

Seeing the beaming smile on your lips brought a small curve to his own. “How is she?”

“She is well. And she is beautiful.” You were careful in shifting the newborn, to pull back the blankets around her face so he might see her fully. “She has your hair.”

The breath flew from his lungs. You spoke the truth; dark hair sprouted from atop her head, an ebony halo adorning a peony-pink face.

Her eyes were still closed, fast asleep in her cozy swaddle, soothed by the sound of her mother’s steady heartbeat.

He wondered whose eyes she would have.

It was difficult to focus on anything besides the strange squeaks and grunts the baby made. “Linhardt said she is small. Smaller than normal.”

“She will be more frail than other children,” You confirmed, gently running your finger along her cheek, “But that does not mean unhealthy. We will need to keep a close eye on her. I’ll be counting on you for that.”

“Of course.” He nodded solemnly. What else was he supposed to do for the next several months? Or years, even? How would he ever be able to let such a fragile creature out of his sight? “Whatever she needs.”

“I think what she needs is her Papa.” Your smile grew mischievous, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I--” Hubert was suddenly hesitant. Of course he wanted to hold her, but could he? Did he even know how? What if he tilted his arm the wrong way, and she fell from his arms? What if-

“It is very easy, dear. Come onto the bed here.” You patted the spot beside you. Obediently he followed, sinking onto the mattress right next to his wife. 

You leaned against his shoulder, holding the baby out from your chest. “Support her head and neck just like this…and with your other arm, do this…”

Hubert listened intently, determined not to fail in his first act as a parent. Though much of that concern was for naught.

When his daughter nestled against his chest…all he could think about was how perfect she was.

You watched his expression melt. His rigid frame softened, which made for a much more comfortable pillow for his daughter. She cooed and hummed, curious about the sudden change in the world around her.

It was different, but good.

“What do you think?” The question was little more than a whisper. He shook his head, unable to look away from the little girl.

“I fear it is impossible to form a thought.” He admitted in an even quieter voice. 

You giggled, “That’s how I felt, too. I could hardly believe that she’s our daughter.”

“She seems too perfect to belong to either of us…let alone both of us.” He sounded utterly in disbelief. “To think she arrived without incident. I believe we have exhausted all the fortune in our lifetimes to have her.”

“Well, not entirely without incident.” The blanket lifted, which revealed the bandages wrapped just below your knees.

Hubert’s smile faded. “I had nearly forgotten you were injured. The chaos of the last made it all a blur.”

“It is trivial, really. The healers said the cuts willl heal naturally in a few days. But I was curious…what happened last night? You weren’t in bed when I woke, and…”

“I was not far, I assure you. I only wish that I came back faster, to avoid your being hurt. In truth, I was in the garden.”

“At midnight?” You sounded surprised. The baby chirped, surprised by the minor raise of volume.

Hubert slipped a finger into her blankets, which she was quick to grasp. His eyes were fixed to her, brow furrowed.

“I…was thinking. About what was to come. I did not know if I was up to the task of becoming a father. All the possibilities, the responsibilities, the risks…I could not sleep. I have found that walking in the garden when I cannot quiet my thoughts most effective.”

“It’s happened more than once?” Your eyebrows rose, surprised. “Why did you not tell me you were struggling with this, my love? I would gladly hear your worries.”

“You had enough to worry about with the pregnancy. I thought it unfair to add my own worries to your burden.”

You shifted your focus to him, fully. “That is a silly thing to say. Your worries are not a burden. Your feelings will never be a burden. Just as you have shared all of my worries and feelings from the very first day.”

“But I am not the one who had to create and expel an entire human creature from my body.” He pointed out. You made a face.

“Please do not describe the birth of our precious daughter that way.”

He bit back a smile. “Apologies.”

Hubert gently removed his hand from the blankets so that he could wrap his arm around your shoulders. He drew you in close and settled back into the pillows. You were still overdue for a good rest, after all.

You did not remember drifting off to sleep, nor the baby being carefully slipped from your arms. You also did not recall his whispered encouragement to sleep deeply and peacefully; his reassurance that he would watch over you both.

But what you swore never to forget the next morning; when you woke up to see your husband standing by the window, sharing your daughter’s first sunrise and whispering sweet words to his little shadow.

Let's say you're Hubert von Vestra for the time being. Luck you.

Some random merc woman arrives at the monastery with the reputation of a heartless demon and a mysterious aura. You don't know who she is or what the hell her deal is, but she needs to be vetted.

So, you try anything and everything to see her as the villain you'd prefer she was. You're prepared to stand alone with your mistress. Knowing your new professor will leave you and your liege lady high and dry against the might of the church is much easier to reconcile with than what actually comes to pass.

Sure, her eerily cold stare is a bit unsettling, and her understanding of the church and Fodlan as a whole is lackluster, but her capabilities as a teacher are not. She's attentive, adaptable, and dare you say enjoyable to learn from? Perish the thought.

You're determined to find something wrong with her. What's her deal? Why does your lady like her so much? She has to be manipulating her the way those Agarthans do.

Now, you're sitting with her in the courtyard for the fourth time (for "observation" purposes) sipping the only tea you find tolerable - goddess only knows how she figured that one out - while she once again guesses correctly where you've hidden your dagger today. It's in your boot. She sets up a board game she found in the market the other day and challenges you. It's a close call, but you eventually score a win. Then, she smiles at you, a genuine crack in her expressionless exterior that is... oddly engrossing, and she gifts you the game so she can "try again later." You consider the idea that she let you win on purpose.

As the months progress and your plans are making headway, you hope to whatever power could actually do something about that disarming feeling running through you to make it stop, to make it easier to just be the cold, calculating servant for your lady you had been before. To continue the threats and the hostility towards this woman to keep her at arms length.

Seeing her in the Goddess Tower, of all places, is not what you had in mind. You don't have a real reason for being there and you know it, but the fact she had arrived - alone, at that - only makes the situation worse. You'd masterfully avoided her at the ball, even when Ferdinand jokingly suggested you try your hand at dancing with her (every other fool at the party and Edelgard were already doing just that), but this was something else entirely. You play it off and leave before she gets any ideas about making a 'romantic' but superstitious pledge with you.

Now you have another thing to never tell Edelgard for as long as you live. What joy.

The days following her father's death, you don't have anything to say that any normal person would want to hear. So, you give her something else to think about, something more practical. Somehow, that seems to satisfy regardless. You find yourself glad she's bouncing back from this loss. You've never seen her so... emotive before, even if it is for an unfortunate reason.

Sadness, anger, even satisfaction; she seems to grow more and more human by the day. So, the fact she suddenly bares a striking resemblance to those inhuman monsters in charge of the Church of Seiros after surviving Zaharas is... shocking. You hadn't even noticed how much you'd come around to liking this woman until faced with this final weight to shed and finding it so unbelievably heavy. This is the moment you've been waiting for. You're in the Holy Mausoleum, holding your breath, awaiting the choice that will change the course of your futures forever...

... and she chooses Edelgard. She chooses... you. Against potentially the only family she had left in this world, she chooses to stand at your side. Why does that make you feel so relieved, even when facing down the Immaculate One for the first time? A great beast is threatening your life and you feel energized.

And when the professor is lost to an attack by that beast, you panic. You... panic? You have a war to fight and win, standing at the right hand of your liege lady... and you look to your left expecting someone to be there. But there is no one. You had prepared this whole time for this eventuality, to be the only one by your lady's side, and yet you feel something missing.

Fast forward to you sitting in the courtyard of the monastery all by your lonesome, a cup of fresh coffee in one hand and a stone game piece in the other. You mull over it, taking sip after sip until it hits you. There's an intangible feeling, an empty hole where something should have been but isn't anymore. Like a hero's relic without a crest stone-

Oh.

Oh no.

How in the hell are you going to explain this to Lady Edelgard?

Silver lining to Byleth's disappearance, you might never have to confront this at all. The professor is gone and possibly dead. Maybe now you can think.

You get five years of uninhibited thoughts, uninhibited work. You can finally breathe and get back to the tasks at hand. Stalking the halls of your old haunt, you feel that emptiness inside fill with work and bottomless cups of coffee to keep you afloat through the worst of it. You've moved on and are back in your old headspace again.

You're prepared for more work, more assignments, more of what you do best. For as much as it pains everyone to accept, you do not expect to see your professor ever again.