[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

[unyieldingmarch]

"It's alright, Hubert. Truly...what's done is done, and...no...there is no changing it. It is easier, though, now...to bear."

She pulls back enough to give him a more steady look, finally relaxing the ferocious hug. She feels a touch bad, knowing that it was entirely possible he'll bruise from that, but again, what's done is done.

"We simply have to move forward. Remember the past, and fight for the future. That will make all of the hurts I have endured worth it. I've...you've done plenty to make those easier. Just knowing I have you here..."

[bloodypath]

He's absolutely bruising, and won't utter a word about it. At least he only has to endure it for as long as the dream. Following her cue, Hubert's grip slowly loosens.

"...Always. So long as I draw breath, you will not be alone." Never again in chains, never again tormented, never again alone.

Another deep inhale, and Hubert draws the back of his glove across his own face this time. Goddess, he must look pathetic.

"...You would just chastise me if I apologized for my state, wouldn't you?" He says, trying to restore something resembling his usual dry tone.

[unyieldingmarch]

"I would," she says simply.

This time, she manages a small laugh to accompany her words, though. It's difficult, complicated, all of the feelings whirling about in the bond, but there is one above all that sticks out. A strong, steady line of Faith, as absolute and unshakable as Seiros's had been that she would kill Edelgard, and it is a Faith placed in Hubert. In his ability to make good as those promises.

"You do not look as bad as you think. All will be well, when we return to the mirror house."

[bloodypath]

That feeling—for all the effort he put into keeping their emotions separated, he could for once lean into that. His eyes fall closed again, letting himself float in that unwavering confidence. Edelgard hadn't entirely let go, and Hubert's free arm drops back to his side, unsure if it should rejoin the embrace or pull back.

"Thank you," Hubert murmurs after a moment, gratitude heavy in the words. He would've doubted the strength of it if not for feeling it firsthand; it's enheartening, warming, anchoring.

As anchoring as anything could be, right now. What he saw here would likely haunt the forefront of his mind for a while.

[unyieldingmarch]

"And thank you."

As anchoring as she is trying to be, it's him that keeps her from being a rudderless mess most of the time. His drive and ambition are at least an equal to hers.

The dream begins to fade out, shimmering and fuzzing at the edges, and moments later they are free and clear, standing outside her mirror.

"...Now I think perhaps we should cover this."