[Open] Just another product of today

[bloodypath]

Who: Hubert and many others
When: 4/13
Where: Mirror Dreamland
What: Event memory sharing
Warnings: Patricide; others added as needed


Within the dream-like hall of mirrors, one particular mirror frame was carved from ebony; anyone that's even seen or knew Hubert's name would be able to see the double-headed eagle of the Adrestian Empire on it. Those who were acquainted would notice the dozen cloaked figures bearing daggers up and down the frame. Only his Bonded and Byleth would see that all of its set on a backdrop like a rising sun, the distant forms of soaring birds along the top of the mirror.

The mirror's owner, however, was seemingly absent. Whether by curiosity or compulsion, touch the rippling glass and be pulled inside.

A. Patricide
"'Contemptible' is just the right word for the wretch."

The doors don't slam open in the majestic, red-draped hallway, but there's nothing subtle about the about the dozen people marching through them at a fast clip. Most of them are hooded and masked in the robes of mages, and a couple are armored and carry lances; at their head is Hubert, wearing a dust-covered riding cloak and looking like he's hardly even stopped to sleep in his hurry.

Hubert's almost always wearing some sort of intense expression, but there was something particularly forceful about the look in his eye; almost like a stalking predator toeing the line between patience and frenzy.

"My lord," one of the masked figures mumbles, keeping pace half a step behind, "should we not be more caut—"

"He knows we're here. He's known the moment we set foot in Enbarr." Dream-Hubert's voice is knifelike. His eyes narrow, and for a second, a smile twitches onto his lips—it's an utterly malicious expression, halfway between excitement and hatred—before it smooths out to something almost pleasant. "He knows why. I daresay my father's expecting us. Now..."

Dream-Hubert holds out his hand. The masked mage places a small flask in his palm. "Let us give him his rightful dues."

He doesn't open the next set of doors at the end of the hallway forcefully, either, but there's still something about it like a shark smelling blood.

B. Runaway
"Of course, I was only ten. I never would have reached Fhirdiad..."

It's dark—even those normally unhindered find themselves in darkness again. The waxing moon, while bright, only does so much to illuminate the woods, reducing everything to dark shapes of trees and gnarled roots and rocks lit only by the occasional splash of silver light. An unpleasant—but survivable—chill hangs in the air promising the coming of winter. As still as the woods are, they're not silent; there's indistinct shouting in the distance and the the muffle clanking of armored individuals moving en masse, and the faint barking of a dog.

"This way!" One shout rises above the others, just on the edge of hearing. "Fan out! I want squads watching the river!"

In the gloom, a dark figure darts through the woods—and stumbles over a root when he looks over his shoulder back towards the noise. The child's barely manages to keep his footing, breathing hard; he crouches in the shadow of a tree to catch his breath. There's a training bow in his hand and a pack slung across his back; even in the dimly lit memory, it's easy to tell he and his clothes are covered in dirt and scrapes.

"Have you ever watched the world end?" Hubert's—the man's—low voice rumbles from behind. The dream-world doesn't acknowledge it. "Have you ever lost faith? It's the same thing."

[Hubert will be along in prompt A after the first tag unless requested otherwise. I am absolutely willing to do other memories! Let me know what kind of thing you'd like, or something else if you're canon familiar.]

Comments

[bloodypath]

[Hubert gave him a sharp look from the corner of his eyes.]

Mere treason? Is usurping the throne and handing control of the Empire to the Duke and the Regent too undeserving? Is the Insurrection so inconsequential to you?

[Lorenz was right. It was personal, but for reasons that were not his to freely speak of. Hubert spreads his hands at nothing, more the gesture for gesture's sake, as the scene fades back into the mirror hall.]

Of course the law held no retribution—he, and the others, became part of its very fabric.

[There's a truth, deep in that. Part of the Insurrection that never made it to the history books. That explanation would have to do.]

[bergamotrose]

...Those were the wrong words, truly.

[Lorenz sighed, his discomfort plain on his features.]

I was pointing out that there are punishments for treason-- typically execution, like what you conducted on that day.

[As much as he wanted to press, the tension in Hubert's figure was plain enough to see. This was neither the time nor place to clarify-- and Lorenz suspected that there likely never would be. Some crime truly were too horrible to recount to those who had neither witnessed nor heard of it's existance.]

...Justice would be terribly difficult to attain under those circumstances. You did what you could at the only time you hand-- and the fact that you did so in such a clean manner is commendable.

I will ask no more on the matter; a great many things happened that night, likely more than the history books will ever know.

[bloodypath]

[He shook his head again, movements slightly more pronounced with his agitation. Hubert knew he needed to calm down, but this subject matter always had a particular way with him, slipping past all his rationality and rigid composure to the surface regardless of how he tried.]

At last, something true falls from your lips; you understand your lack of understanding. You couldn't even begin to comprehend the true scope of that night.

[The words come out more venomously than intended in his agitation, and Hubert's hands fell back to his side. They tensed, just short of curling into fists before relaxing too suddenly to be natural. He couldn't continue the conversation in this state; staying would bring no benefit for Hubert.]

We're done here.

[bergamotrose]

[He let the words roll off of him, like midnight rain rolling from the eaves of their quarters in any realm they happened to be in. Arguing Hubert's rigidity would be fruitless; Lorenz had always been aware of what he didn't understand and would never be able to understand. It was why he didn't put pressure for the details; it was why he felt like a voyeur in these darkened passages.]

That we are.

[Lorenz agreed, nodding. They were done with that conversation-- there was little he could do to help Hubert at this juncture.]

I will follow your lead. There's no need to dig up anymore skeletons tonight.