#hulix

“Do you think there is any merit to his incessant exclamations?” 

The question posed to Hubert was one he should have answered quickly as assuredly, as he did with most everything else. This time, however, it had been a query that did not, in fact, register to him as anything more than white noise. Hands behind his back, stood in the shadows of the training grounds as if the sun would burn the flesh from his bones, the mage was enraptured by the scene before him. It was like some wanton war dance, watching two bodies go back and forth in training, at something of a constant near stalemate, though it was clear to most anyone who was winning. The two artists in question were as different from each other as one could conjure; the first was Ferdinand von Aegir, the irritating, annoying pest that he was, hair sticking to his forehead as he grinned through exhaustive breaths. The second, and clearly not struggling as much to keep up with a constant barrage of strength and speed, was Felix Hugo Fraldarius, a future duke from the Kingdom, armed with his sword and a stern expression. For every time Ferdinand launched an attack toward the boy, Felix parried with ease; and every time Felix took advantage of Ferdinand’s momentary weakness, it was a wonder he wasn’t knocked over onto his behind. His eyes narrowed, watching Ferdinand swing to the side at a rather wide angle in some grandiose, but predictable, sweeping motion, giving Felix enough time to jump back before striking just at the base of his opponent’s ribs in a fierce jab, the blow finally strong enough to knock the wind out of Ferdinand’s metaphorical sails, and more literally to the floor, with a loud and rather surprised cry.

The win of their little duel had been decided the moment it had been proposed. While a talented lance man- a compliment Hubert would take to his grave, for he suspected if Ferdinand knew his training was being both observed and praised, no one would hear the end of it- he was simply too far outmatched in this particular duel. Though lithe and of shorter stature, Felix carried strength in all the correct places, his sword an extension of himself and that power rather than some glorified flagpole to wave around. His weapon struck true at every opportunity it could, and remained reigned and close enough to defend himself when there was none. He was a burning flame, patient, powerful and well-trained for now, but he had the capacity to burn brighter, and faster, and wilder still- perhaps, if he were not from Faerghus, he could make a fine addition to the Imperial army- 

“Hubert? Are you listening to me?”

Hubert blinked himself out of his trance, watching as Ferdinand pushed himself to his feet with a gleeful, too-loud laugh, looking to Edelgard stood at his side. The two of them had taken refuge in the shade, together, at the insistence of the future prime minister (“I want the both of you to witness my might and resolve!” he had said, stupidly, with that stupid smile on his face). That was the only reason he had ventured out here at all. 

He gripped onto his wrist behind his back tighter, silently admonishing himself for such a childish display of distraction. “I… apologise, Lady Edelgard.”

The young woman raised an eyebrow up at him, apparently disregarding his shame and simply repeating herself instead. “I was asking about Ferdinand.”

“And what of him?”

“Do you think his claims hold any merit- about his ability to surpass me?”

Hubert ran his tongue alongside the back of his teeth in minor vexation. He knew of what she spoke- after all, it was harder to not hear of such assertions, spoken so assuredly as if they were already true, despite how inexcusable, childish, and overall- incredibly, undeniably wrong they were. But more importantly, he understood her true meaning. They were, after all, so close to seeing their plan to fruition. She wanted to know if this was going to be a threat- if someone such as Ferdinand could undo most everything they had worked hard to achieve. Such a thought could have made him laugh out loud, but Hubert kept himself measured and schooled with ease. “Absolutely not.”

Edelgard hummed, as if this was the answer she expected, looking back out to the training grounds again. “And has anyone else caught your attention?”

The mage paused, glancing down at the floor to consider for a moment. He knew exactly what she meant by such a statement, and had no interest in sabotaging their plans for the future by asking for clarification. Through his bangs, he was slow to meet the slender form of the swordsman he was just observing, cleaning his training blade and trying to pretend his opponent was not there, begging for a rematch. “...Perhaps so.”

The day continued on quickly, soon turning to night. And, just like most other nights, Hubert did not find sleep easy. Years spent watching over his charge, in case the night decided to be cruel to her, in combination with his own afflictions of paranoia, meant that the night was not for rest. It was instead meant for keeping busy, be it in his own experiments or other various machinations not known to his classmates or even his lady whom he served so loyally- dealing with problematic elements that may get in the way of their plans for the future, such as enemies within the school and faculty, or those who simply knew too much, as well as seeking out any possible sympathetic individuals. Edelgard doubted their professor’s loyalty- Hubert needed to make sure to pad out their armies for the oncoming war as much as possible. That was the excuse he used to return to the training grounds, lamenting where his feet had taken him as the moon hung over him like an ever present watcher, full of ire as he stared at the door. Just what was he hoping to find there? A glimpse of that same fire he had seen in the afternoon, flickering and burning just as it was then, now all for himself? Hubert growled to himself as he pushed through the door with both hands-

-And the fire still flickered, just as he had dared to hoped it would.

Felix did not turn to face him as he entered the training grounds, despite the loud groaning of the old doors, continuing with the repetitive swing of the sword he once again held, or perhaps never put down again. He was still in the training grounds by the time Hubert had left with Edelgard and Ferdinand for lunch, already taking a new challenger after all attempts his last one made to gain a rematch had failed (as they had been thoroughly ignored, with admirable decorum), so he did not doubt the boy had remained throughout the afternoon late into the evening, that had swiftly become night.

The mage kept his arms behind his back, watching with mild interest at the strength Felix carried in his movements, how his shoulders moved and strained beneath his uniform with the swiftness of the weapon cutting through the cool midnight air, almost as efficiently as any well trained soldier. He really would make a fine general. If only he was to fight on the right side of history, then such skill would not be put to waste. 

There was a moment or two more, where the wind was cut in two, before the movements stopped and Felix straightened his posture. A sigh left him, annoyed and heavy, before he lowered his sword to turn with a glower, just enough to shoot it in the other man’s direction. “You. What do you want?”

Hubert did not know. He lied anyway. “I came to watch you train. Is that an issue?”

“You watched me enough this afternoon. What more could there possibly be to see?”

Behind his back, he flexed a hand, with a gentle hum of acknowledgement as Felix fully turned to face him, stance defensive (though not fearful, or even apprehensive, as many other students would be, if they were to face the mage this late into the night) and sword still in hand. “There’s no gauge for ‘enough’, with things of this nature.”

“Fighting is not a spectator sport.” He had little patience for most people, and Hubert was not exempt from such a rule. “Either you pick up a weapon and duel me, or you leave.”

There was something of a subtle grimace that passed over the mage’s features, there and gone just as quickly, at such behaviour- though, such inhospitality could hardly be criticised, especially by him, a man whose few conversations began and ended with his devotion and his purpose, but never himself. It wasn't as if he considered Felix’s sentiments to be wrong, either- time was a precious and finite commodity, and needed to be used wisely, whether it be for training for an unspecified purpose or following the whims of a woman meant for greater things. 

Hubert’s eyes moved over to the rack of weapons towards the back, to the sword and axes and lances maintained to perfection. He has not picked up such a martial thing in many years, not since he was a small, stupid and weak boy of barely seven, attempting to try and wield a lance far too big for his tiny, frail form, in some futile attempt to follow a nonsensical pipe dream of becoming a pegasus knight. This, of course, had been before he'd had the sense knocked into him, metaphorically and literally, and the idea that he was anything more than an extension of his lady’s will of change was snuffed out soon after. His attention had been turned to magic after that, and it had served his purposes far better than a weapon of traditional means ever would. Still… even despite himself, he found himself considering it once more, a feeling stirring in him that hadn't been there since he could remember. 

Hubert looked back to Felix, still staring at him expectantly, standing entirely still. “...I am hardly the strong opponent you seek.”

There was a hum of consideration, as the mage was observed again, eyes sweeping up and down, as if evaluating the worth of facing an adversary that wouldn't advance his battle prowess. It was odd to watch, the sweeping of feelings in subtle changes in features, from disinterest to curiosity to want- want, Hubert thought with some bitter amusement- before Felix spoke again. “...I don't care. Now arm yourself, or leave me be.”

He considered the swordsman for a moment, as he turned away once more, assuming the same position as before, as if expecting the door to the training grounds to open and close again. Hubert ground his teeth for a moment, biting down to stop an unnecessary errant comment, still holding onto the feeling that recalling a time before his vassalage, and the feeling of being wanted, if only for a moment, and only for a purpose. He swallowed, pausing for a moment more, before striding past Felix towards the weapon rack, and unsheathing a wooden lance, the weight unfamiliar in his hands. 

And for a moment, he swore he saw the beginnings of a smile on Felix’s face. 

Such joy, however, did not last long. Like Hubert had said, he was not strong with a lance, not experienced in such a field. Though he held the advantage of height over his opponent, it was a factor that hardly mattered at all- Felix just had too much strength and ferocity for Hubert to block and, much like the bout he’d witnessed earlier in the afternoon, his own swings with the lance were too wide and too sloppy, easily being dodged out of the way like passing wind His anger at his own inadequacy only made this problem worse, too, especially with the off-handed comments about his technique that we're spoken so assuredly, as if they were wanted or asked for. If this had been a match between the sword and his magic, perhaps it could have been more evenly matched- a manipulation of Mire, maybe, to make the terrain temporarily difficult, or make movements more sluggish. But even then, the assault was relentless, and the margin for victory was only slightly more open, if the mage was able to use the tools he was more comfortable with. 

Even in the cold air of the evening, he could feel his shirt sticking to the back of his neck from the sweat of exertion. His lungs felt like they were on fire, though not more ablaze than the man in front of him, caught in the rush of the fight as he went for another swing to the side. Hubert barely had time to block with the length of his lance, but by then, it was already too late- the end of the sword jabbed into his ribs, sucking the air out of his lungs as he stumbled backwards, the world around him going white for a moment as he fell backwards.

The lance clattered to the floor, unceremoniously landing a foot or so in front of him as he joined it with a sharp intake of breath, fire shooting up his spine at the pain of his tailbone hitting the dirt. Hubert gritted his teeth into a grimace, before he growled, hair hiding his face in his embarrassment, "This is useless, and a waste of my time.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

The mage gave a huff of indignation, as his eyes shot up again in a glare. “Now why, pray tell, would I not be taking this seriously? You were the one who insisted I stayed, and I obliged, in a way I now see was a regrettable decision, so I ask that you don’t speak of this to anyone and-”

His ramblings were cut short by the feeling of the training lance hitting his foot. Hubert glanced up, assuming from posture that Felix had kicked the weapon over to him again.

“…What are you doing?”

“Pick it up.”

“What? No, this is absurd, and pointless. Now if you don’t mind-”

The end of the blade (not sharp, but the formation of the weapon tricked his brain into thinking as much for a second or two) pressed against his throat, just under his chin, bringing the mage to disconcerting silence and stillness. Hubert looked up again at the future duke, amber eyes narrowed in a mix of discontent and curiosity, but most importantly a hunger- to fight or to teach, he could not surmise.

“You aren’t a lost cause, mage. Your lancework needs improvement, but it isn't hopeless. Now pick up your weapon and fight me.”

His throat bobbed in a swallow against the dull point of the training sword, unable to take his eyes off Felix standing over him, barely breaking a sweat from their fight, and a star as cool as steel. If this were a battlefield, if that had been a real sword, Hubert may have delighted in the thrill of having the weapon pressed further into his skin, where blood more than likely would have begun to trickle from a superficial wound, dripping down the lines of his throat and into his shirt. He may even dare to delight in it now, staring up at a face of power and irritation. 

Lady Edelgard needed strong soldiers- powerful soldiers, willing to fight until their dying breath. Felix’s loyalty could not be spoken for, but he was certainly discontented with his position within the Kingdom. If that discontent could be twisted, moulded into something new if the fire could be tamed, it could burn even brighter on new coals. And, perhaps, this was something selfish as well, if Hubert could allow himself that. If he could allow himself a want, to see this wild thing grow into himself and his craft, with the right force at his back to guide his sword. If he could allow himself to want to be that guide, if only to keep the man close to him. If he could allow himself to simply want a man, one as strong and as stubborn and as worthy as the one in front of him, goading him on with naught but a narrowing of his eyes.