[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

For Petra

[bloodypath]

[This was not something Hubert expected to see. He didn't even recall touching the mirror.]

[Himself and Petra, as he remembered it. "How unusually formal," his dream-self began before his ally (as she should be) launched into her complaint. Hubert shakes his head at the scene, a bitterness rising in his heart. Like salt in a wound.]

Of all things, why would...

[He freezes with the realization. Hubert glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.]

I see. It's you.

Edelgard (cw: child torture may be a topic)

[bloodypath]

This was too much.

Hubert knew something of their enemy's methods, after years of digging and bitter cooperation; he'd felt Edelgard's night terror months ago. He'd thought that alone would paint a better understand of these tragic events than he'd ever know.

He's never been more wrong.

Watching it all was impossible. He fell to his knees, trembling and head hanging, unable to catch his breath as if the horror alone had stolen the air from his lungs. Faces—too many faces Hubert never fathomed seeing again, faces he had known... even if the child he'd been at the time hadn't liked all of the individuals. He'd known them. And Edelgard—

The world had carried on, utterly oblivious of the great tragedy beneath its feet.

He couldn't stand (his limbs wouldn't stop shaking) and words caught in his throat (what was there to say?) between the extreme tangle of grief and fury. To think, he'd once described Edelgard's capture to her, as horrific as if I'd lost all my limbs.

How naive. Such a thing paled in comparison to witnessing this.

[islandhuntress]

[The surroundings had confused and distracted her at first until she hears her own voice. She's looking at the back of Hubert but also upon a conversation the two of them are apparently having. Unlike Hubert, she doesn't have any context for the conversation, her first assumption isn't that this is a memory. She's not sure what it is but she's transfixed, driven by curiosity.

They both seem so at ease.

She all but ignores the Hubert who seems to react to her, stepping closer to watch the exchange. Both leading part of the army... Edelgard's army.

She turns to look at Hubert.] What is happening? What is this?

[bloodypath]

[At ease. Just like how he'd initially approached her, in that first dream. Hubert crosses his arms, mouth drawing into a thin line. He doesn't owe her an explanation. He doesn't owe her anything. He really ought to just walk away.]

[Still, he couldn't help the irrational indignant flash at her question.]

An impossibility is what it is.

A

[bergamotrose]

['So the rumors were true', Lorenz thought distantly as he unconsciously held his breath, affixing his person against the stone walls of the unfamiliar corridor as he tried to hide away from the obvious predator in the room. He was himself for once in one of these shared dreams-- bereft of his hooves and antlers, but also the shining armor he had started cladding himself in over the last five years. Dressed in a simple set of pants and shirt, and without a weapon on hand, he was quite defenseless.

But, a predator himself, he still had his wits.

Hubert's presence was that of a terrible raven, his feathers raised and disheveled in his withering agitation as he swooped into the fortress in Enbarr-- his worn and dusty cloak seeming almost like wings. He painted a picture of a Harbinger of Doom within confines of the building, bringing death and destruction to everyone he touched.

Lorenz couldn't tear his eyes away.]

A

[prayerwheel]

[ Okay! Well, since she's already been in Edelgard's mirror, this one has to be Hubert's. Sometimes you can go either way with these two. Matching set, don't separate, etc etc.

This doesn't look good, though. ]

...his father?

[ Azura looks around for actual-not-a-dream-Hubert, since she doesn't know him as well, and that's kinda rude to be stomping around in a near-stranger's dream mirror. ]

CW for child torture, emetophobia, and talk of mortality. This thread will be heavy.

[unyieldingmarch]

Edelgard hadn't been able to watch.

She'd not been able to keep herself from looking away, from covering her ears and closing her eyes and waiting...hoping...for it to stop, soon. The vision had been a nightmarish trip down a lane of memories she had never wanted to acknowledge, let alone relive.

Why this she'd thought over and over, her stomach roiling. If she had food in her stomach, she'd have spilled it onto the floor long before it was over.

Even now, standing here in the safe confines of a different room altogether, the Emperor held her arms to her stomach and shook. She could barely stand, her breathing labored. She felt faint, dizzy, her head swirling with thoughts, but words? Words failed her

What does she...even say to that. What can she say? And how do words even come out, after that. How do you talk to your best friend about an event that you barely remember, an event so horrific that you lost your memories of the time before.

[islandhuntress]

[She watches, enraptured, gaze moving between herself and Hubert, heart beating faster, louder in her ears the more they say. She still doesn't quite understand what this is. Had this happened? Obviously not for her but for Hubert?

It seems I've done you a great disservice, Petra. Your friendship is important to me.

Her lips part but she's at a loss for words, unable to tear her eyes away for even a moment to look back to Hubert standing close by.

Your past, full of hardship. Your unwavering determination. Your uncommon excellence.

That part hits her hard, makes her chest hurt, her heart ache.

Had she... Did she... She knew her subtle tells, that smile... It's almost impossible for her to deny. It looks like in his world, she likes him. Likes him, likes him.]

[bloodypath]

[Hubert's expression pinches further into a scowl as Petra holds her silence in favor of watching the scene. His own voice, quiet yet sincere admiration brimming within it and almost gentle without the usual derision it carried, burns his ears. His skin crawled at the idea of this... impostor witnessing something so honest.]

[What a mockery this dream was, brandishing this memory before him, salting the wound. Complete and utter mockery. He hates it.]

Don't bother investing yourself in such illusions. You are not her. Nothing but a stranger and a traitor, bearing the flag of another.

[He hates it because Petra's too intelligent. This singular moment was too disproportionate a clue for the scarce words passed between their dream counterparts. Hubert—the real one—was still comparing her, only to his enemies instead of Edelgard; something he still did not do with the others. Not even Felix had manged to evoke the same kind of raw, genuine ire Hubert bore towards her.]

[Not simply because she was a traitor—because he was hurt. It was the kind of anger that only came from shattered trust and the ashes of respect, things Hubert so rarely gifted, and lent his words an even keener edge, like he was trying to convince himself of the gravity of her choice as much as Petra.]

[islandhuntress]

[One day, between the two of us, you will be choosing me.

My... that was... bold. Even for her. She feels her cheeks warm slightly and wonders if she's blushing.

Petra all but ignores what Hubert says. Of course, he still hates her, this her, the real her, and he has every right to. But it doesn't quell her fascination with this other life that was never to be.]

Were you choosing me? The me you know? [Now she's even more curious and just as blunt, prying into something very personal that didn't technically involve her... but did at the same time. It doesn't feel like she's asking about herself though, it feels like she's asking about this stranger she's watching now and how her life unfolded.]

Re: A

[bloodypath]

[The party sweeps right on by Lorenz, oblivious. The newly revealed room was a moderately-sized office, elegant and rich in a minimalist way. Furnishings of fine reddish woods, simple but flawlessly crafted, dotted the room and adorned only with the Adrestian double-headed eagle. Books and folders and other practical things sat in their perfect place, uncrowded somehow despite not an inch of wasted space. The space was nothing short of the ideal clerk's office.]

[The bearded man behind the desk seemed almost a far-off echo of Hubert's modern self: darkly and immaculately dressed, black hair largely shot through with grey. He sat patiently with a glass of liquor in hand, green eyes as keen as the iconic eagle decorating the room, and yet... somehow dull, almost uncaring as the world past by.]

[When the steps of the soldiers and mages came to a halt, a horrible silence reigned, like they didn't even dare breathe. Dream-Hubert stepped before the desk, silently meeting that sharp gaze.]

[The fingers of his empty hand tensed, twitching once as if fighting the urge to reach for something. In time, a shadow of an expression flickered across Hubert's face, but the dissonantly professional smile prevailed.]

"Marquis Vestra, you've been found guilty of crimes of the highest treason. Today, through Imperial will, you and your conspirators are condemned, purged of peerage and land." [No taunts, no sneer, nothing of the terrible bloodlust the then-student showed in the hallway. The flask clicked against the hardwood of the desk, top open. The Marquis never even glanced at it.] "For your role, you are to be executed."

[Behind Lorenz, that same voice sounded.]

Remarkable restraint, isn't it? You almost can't tell I wanted nothing more than to cut the wretch's throat and watch him bleed.

[bloodypath]

You heard correctly.

[Azura clearly knows this dream-routine well by now. Hubert the Marquis enters through the first set of doors as the dream entourage proceeds onward through the second. Real-Hubert's expression isn't all that different from its usual, but there's a faint echo of the maliciousness his dream-self showed in his voice.]

I only regret I lacked the time to savor this.

[The newly revealed room was a moderately-sized office, elegant and rich in a minimalist way. Furnishings of fine reddish woods, simple but flawlessly crafted, dotted the room and adorned only with the Adrestian double-headed eagle. Books and folders and other practical things sat in their perfect place, uncrowded somehow despite not an inch of wasted space. The space was nothing short of the ideal clerk's office.]

[The bearded man behind the desk seemed almost a far-off echo of Hubert's modern self: darkly and immaculately dressed, black hair largely shot through with grey. He sat patiently with a glass of liquor in hand, green eyes as keen as the iconic eagle decorating the room, and yet... somehow dull, almost uncaring as the world past by.]

[When the steps of the soldiers and mages came to a halt, a horrible silence reigned, like they didn't even dare breathe. Dream-Hubert stepped before the desk, silently meeting that sharp gaze.]

[The fingers of his empty hand tensed, twitching once as if fighting the urge to reach for something. In time, a shadow of an expression flickered across Hubert's face, but the dissonantly professional smile prevailed.]

"Marquis Vestra, you've been found guilty of crimes of the highest treason. Today, through Imperial will, you and your conspirators are condemned, purged of peerage and land." [No taunts, no sneer, nothing of the terrible bloodlust the then-student showed in the hallway. The flask clicked against the hardwood of the desk, top open. The Marquis never even glanced at it.] "For your role, you are to be executed."

[bergamotrose]

[It was like a thread of cold had touched the back of his neck.

Lorenz stiffened and started at the silken tone of Hubert's voice, barely maintaining enough control of himself to reduce his reaction to simply glancing over his shoulder and staring at Hubert with the wild eyes of a startled woodland creature. Status between predator or prey animal hardly mattered when there was something infinitly darker and sharper that lurked within the shadowed caverns and underbrush at dusk, just beyond sight.]

Truly, you are the only one worthy of your position within the Empire, [Lorenz said as smoothly as he could manage, a lingering discomfort still evident in his stance and in the depths of his gaze. He was clearly intruding on matters that were deeply personal-- and, Lorenz realized, he hadn't wanted to know this truth.

The rumors had been more than enough.]

...Your acting skills are impressive, [He added dryly.] You should look into a tour at the Mittlefrank Opera House when you return to your Adrestria.

[bloodypath]

[It was difficult to tell which was the most insulting part: Petra's repeated and blatant disregard of him, or that question. For a second, in his indignation, words fail Hubert.]

[This impostor dared to sound enchanted by scene, as if it were a thought to entertain.]

Do you ever stop spewing filth? You have the audacity to question my choices, after the one you've made? I owe you nothing.

[In truth, Hubert couldn't answer even if he were inclined. The mirrors has pulled him from Fhirdiad's torched bones in the wake of the final battle, his clothes still reeking of smoke and blood at the time. There had been no time to even have a such a choice.]

[bloodypath]

[He chuckles lowly, morbidly amused eyes meeting startled ones.]

Truly, brevity suits you far more than prattling.

[Hubert the Marquis turned his eyes into the office. Seconds ticked by. Marquis Vestra the Elder took up the flask with an unsettlingly casual motion; he almost looked thoughtful as he poured the contents into his half-empty glass.]

[It's a remarkably impersonal scene for such a deeply personal affair, almost like a scripted ritual rather than the first stone in the dramatic chain of events of that Pegasus Moon.]

It's better than he deserved, [Real Hubert sneered.] If only I hadn't been in such a rush. I would've liked to savor this.

[bergamotrose]

what method would you have preferred?

[Lorenz asked pointedly, genuinly curious. He turned away from the Real Hubert and turned back to watch the scene unfold-- somehow, he couldn't determine which vision was more terrible to behold.]

This is simple and, if properly compounded, not necessarily painless or quick. Others would have made your hand too obvious, been too protracted, or not worthwhile enough.

[It was a terrible conversation to have with another, even within the private landscape of a dream. Such knowledge was itself terrible, and spoke volumes of the person who possessed it.]

[islandhuntress]

[Of course her smile falters at that, sighing. She wouldn't stoop to that level. There was no reason to forego civility. Part of her somewhat understood it. Hubert was hurt and here they were seeing a private moment, one her very existence spat in the face of.]

I am not wanting to know to judge. I am only having curiosity. [She speaks quietly, reasonable and measured.] But you are correct. You are owing me nothing. I am not forcing answers from you. I would not.

[She gives him a nod.]

I do have curiosity- I am curious what the differences we have. What was making her choose one path and me another...

B

[hegemonwings]

[ that figure on the run... something about him is familiar, but it's difficult to tell in the gloom. byleth doesn't jump on hearing hubert's voice, but she's clearly taken a bit off guard. she briefly turns to look in his direction. ]

... I'm lucky enough to say that I haven't. What... are we seeing, exactly?

well I guess he's going to talk about graphic violence now that's a thing, heads up for that

[bloodypath]

[Calmly, the man behind the desk knocked back the remainder of his poisoned liquor. If the poison fouled the taste, he gave no indication. Just as calmly, he planted his elbows on the arms of the chair and laced his fingers, as if waiting for his son to speak again instead of death.]

[Dream-Hubert did not. The mages and soldiers stood statue-still. In anticipation? Or in distress?]

Don't play the fool. I didn't want this to be clean. I cared not who knew. [Hubert's voice was always controlled in some manner; when his particular eloquence ever had inflection, it was a sinister lilt, and intentional. Only the emotions he wanted to touch his voice did.]

[But there was something different about this. It was genuine, almost raw in its vitriol. Nearly straight-up bloodlust, even, like the boogeyman Hubert pretended to be was no longer just a facade.]

You heard me; I wanted to watch him bleed. To slit his throat shallowly, across the trachea, and watch the light drain from his eyes while cur slowly drowns in his lifeblood. [His voice is disturbingly eager, brimming with passion and hatred.] It would be but a fraction of the suffering this monster enabled, whose vile hands set in motion horrific tragedies in the wake of his treason.

[Hubert had wanted to, so desperately. Even now, with the event but history, he felt the dark pull that wasn't entirely his. It urged him to acknowledge horrible truths and spread that truth to the world, even if it was merely the extent of his hatred and lust for revenge.]

[But he'd chosen poison, as planned. A semblance of law. Discipline. The guise of duty. Reason. Held onto it all by the skin of his teeth, despite the weight of the dagger on his belt that day. It was perhaps the only thing that separated him from the trappings of a typical dark mage, those who lost sight of what they valued for the whispers in their hearts.]

Ten years I dreamed of watching him die so. And yet, that day, I executed a criminal instead of culling a beast.

[bloodypath]

The last day of my childhood.

[The child nocks an arrow, hands shaking with either cold or exhaustion or nerves. Despite the training bow, the missile was full-sized and bore a vicious steel head, likely stolen from elsewhere. The voices grow louder and the faint light of a torch appears downtrail.]

When, in the wake of the Insurrection, I realized the Goddess does not answer, that intentions alone are insufficient, and that chivalry was a fairy-tale's lie.

[Real-Hubert steps up beside Byleth. The boy leans around his tree, aiming towards the torch's glow; his form isn't correctly braced and he's drawn the string far too soon, arm trembling with effort well before finding his mark.]

[The arrow doesn't go wild, but it's a poor shot. He winces when the bowstring slaps up at the arm of his coat; at the same time, the alarmed shouts redouble at the bottom of the trail.]

[hegemonwings]

[ she winces at the child's poor form and his desperation, but only nods at first as hubert speaks, gaze softening. after the insurrection... ]

... This is... after they took her, isn't it? [ what else would have driven hubert on like this at that age? and from the look of the child... ] After they took all of them.

[bloodypath]

Yes. [There's sorrow in that one word.]

[If it weren't for the weight this memory was associated with, Hubert might've found it embarrassing, counting all the tactical and practical errors he's made in the last minute alone. Even if it was expected from a child.]

I snuck out of Enbarr and made for Fhirdiad. My father's soldiers caught me after three days. [Hubert shakes his head. The boy runs further into the woods as armored figures rush up the trail with a hound in tow.] I didn't even make it to Fort Merceus. Even without the soldiers, I doubt I would've made it to the border.

"Lord Hubert! Enough of this! We've found the horse!"

[Child-Hubert clearly didn't learn from the last time he glanced over his shoulder; this time, he slips across gravel, and the misstep sends the boy spilling down a steep hill.]

[hegemonwings]

[ oh, that's... unpleasant. but she doesn't look away.

it occurs to her, distantly, that given hubert's apparent age, thinking of how old she would have been herself at the time... it was a defining and terrible year for all three of them. but more than that: ]

... I've never thought to ask. It... wasn't just what happened to Edelgard, was it? You must have known the others... [ she can't help but feel as if she's intruding in this, somehow. as if despite everything, and all that she knows, disturbing the memory of what happened is territory for edelgard and hubert alone, something that she cannot touch. ]

[bloodypath]

[Hubert easily picks his way through the gloom of the woods. It's a stark juxtaposition to fifteen years ago.]

You are correct. [A breath that isn't quite a sigh. He peers over the short ledge as the pursuing soldiers to the same. The tracking hound's barking eagerly.] I do not remember them as well than I'd like; some, better than others. I even didn't like a few of them, at the time.

[The child's trying to push himself up; it isn't going well. He's made it to his knees, but the bow's broken, and he's holding his left arm against his chest. There's a creek glimmering in the moonlight not too far from the hill. Another group of soldiers seem to be running along the banks.]

But... I did know them. I felt their loss nearly as keenly. I was still deluded into thinking being a Vestra meant something, at that age.

[He chuckles humorlessly.] That did not last long.

[hegemonwings]

[ byleth listens and walks alongside him, not sure what to say to that, not knowing what she could possibly say to that. so she focuses on the last portion, watching the soldiers close in. it's clear where this is going. ]

If anyone decides what being a Vestra means, it's you. It's not as if the former Marquis is in a position to argue. [ they're forming a clean break from the past in so many other respects, after all. she feels like that might be a bit trite, and maybe she's either missing hubert's point or not phrasing her own very well, but she says it regardless. ]