Chapter Text
Ferdinand’s cough was becoming a problem.
It had started as little more than an itch in his throat, a potential threat of an approaching cold, and he endeavoured to give himself plenty of rest and drink even more herbal tea than usual to ensure it wouldn’t worsen, and soon enough the itch had faded. That was, at least, until he had been speaking to Edelgard a few days later, and his throat had suddenly started to burn.
“M-My apologies,” he had stammered, beating a fist against his chest, “I s-seem to have, ahem, something c-caught in my throat…”
Turning about in shame, hoping to get some space between him and Edelgard before he started coughing and hacking in a most undignified fashion, Ferdinand bumped straight into Hubert; his classmate had approached without him even hearing. At that stage words were well beyond him, so he merely shoved Hubert aside and hurried out of their classroom, ignoring Edelgard’s call after him or the strange look Hubert shot him.
The coughing bouts came and went as they pleased, seemingly without any pattern and certainly without warning. Ferdinand could be sitting in class listening to Professor Byleth give some half-hearted lecture about tactics when his throat would sting and his lungs were filled with fire, and he would be coughing and spluttering into his hands like a man with the plague. At times it would get so bad that his head would spin from lack of air and he feared he would pass out at his desk. One particular fit was so violent that Byleth demanded he take himself to the infirmary for treatment. He could barely stand, let alone put one foot in front of the other, so Hubert had volunteered to take him there.
“Do you truly… just enjoy… seeing me suffer?” Ferdinand wheezed between coughs, one arm clinging to Hubert’s shoulders.
Hubert chuckled, an oddly threatening sound. “I wouldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy it, but that’s not the reason I offered to help.”
“Then… why?”
“Because, as irksome as your presence is to Lady Edelgard, it would be even more irksome to watch you die from the flu.”
If he’d had the energy, Ferdinand would have been angry at him, but he was too preoccupied trying to get some air into his aching lungs. It wasn’t unusual, of course, for Hubert to prod at him like this; his classmate seemed to delight in tormenting him, no matter how hard Ferdinand tried to establish a friendship between the two of them. So when Hubert’s hand slipped around his waist to help support him, Ferdinand was more than a little surprised. Hopefully the red blush across his cheeks could be excused as a lack of air.
After downing the most vile concoction he had ever had the misfortune of tasting and two days of enforced bedrest, Ferdinand was feeling as good as new. There was still a lingering tightness in his chest, a weight he couldn’t quite shake off, but he put it down to part of the recovery process and was discharged by Manuela the day before the battle of the Eagle and Lion, which he was determined not to miss. It was, after all, the perfect opportunity to prove to Edelgard that he was not only at her level in terms of grades and politics, but also on the battlefield. He assured himself it had nothing to do with the fact that his father would undoubtedly hear of his performance and be furious with anything less than outstanding.
Thanks to Byleth’s strategies and Edelgard’s stoic leadership, the Black Eagles had, despite a fierce struggle with the Blue Lion house and some quick-thinking ploys by the Golden Deer, emerged victorious, and there’d been no trace of a cough to distract Ferdinand from fighting at his very best.
It seemed to him that, at long last, his brief struggle with the flu was well and truly over, and let himself celebrate the fact alongside their victory at the large feast Claude had proposed the three houses share with each other. The spread wasn’t exactly lavish, but Mercedes of the Blue Lions had baked sweet treats for them, and Hilda of the Golden Deer had managed to persuade Seteth into allowing them some blackberry wine for the occasion, and students from all houses were chatting and laughing and enjoying themselves, all rivalries and differences temporarily forgotten.
Ferdinand had been well into his second cup and discussing the intricacies of noble life in the Alliance with Lorenz when the much-dreaded sensation in his throat returned. With little more than a babbled farewell, Ferdinand hurriedly set his cup down, spilling wine over his gloves, and dashed out of the dining hall, slamming the door shut behind him just seconds before his chest heaved and the coughing started once again, worse than ever. It was as though something was trying to squeeze its way out of his body, trying to crawl out of his throat, scratching and clawing as it went. He’d never felt anything worse in his life.
By the time it passed, leaving him gasping and trembling on his knees, Ferdinand felt like he’d fought the mock battle ten times over. The wine must have been getting to him, too, for he swore, as he blinked down at the grass, that he could see small, white petals that hadn’t been there before his fit had begun.
“Ferdinand?”
He yelped in surprise, lurching up from his knees only for the world to sway around him and his vision to darken. His shoulder hit something – the wall, he assumed – and he was able to steady himself until his head settled and his vision returned. When it did, he blinked up into Hubert’s worried expression.
“You! What are you doing here?” Ferdinand realised that what he’d thought was the wall was in fact Hubert’s chest, and staggered back. “What do you want?”
Hubert scowled, any of his previous worry quickly set aside. “I saw your ridiculous exit and Lady Edelgard told me to check on you. She thought you’d had too much to drink.”
“Of course not!” he squeaked, wincing at how ragged he sounded. “I… must have over-exerted myself today, that is all. I should be well again with some more rest.”
A huff from Hubert. “You’re no good to Lady Edelgard in such a state. How do you possibly intend to serve her spending so much of your time in bed? It’s pathetic.”
This time, the sting wasn’t in his throat or lungs, but in something far worse: his heart. Perhaps it was the exhaustion he felt, or that Hubert’s words had struck a weakness Ferdinand had been trying to deny, but something in Ferdinand snapped. Before he even realised what he was doing, he shoved Hubert away from him, hard enough to almost knock him over.
“You are the pathetic one!” he shouted, hating how close to tears he was. “All you ever do is follow Edelgard around and look down on the rest of us! You… You are mean and spiteful and… and I cannot stand you!” Hubert’s expression was impassive, unchanged, but he didn’t resist when Ferdinand pushed him again. “Would it truly be so hard to be nice to someone for a change? Is it so hard for you to fathom having friends? Just… Just leave me be!”
There were definite tears in his eyes now as Ferdinand stormed away, marching off towards the dormitory. His chest was on fire, his whole body felt bruised and weak, but it was nothing compared to the sudden, inexplicable pain in his heart, a hollow, stabbing feeling that got worse and worse with each step he took. Once he reached his room and shut his door, he threw himself onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and let himself cry.
It was miserable of him to be doing something so childish – pathetic, just as Hubert had said – but Ferdinand couldn’t have stopped no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t even say why he was so upset, or why his heart felt like it was shrinking, but he struggled to remember a time he’d ever felt so utterly awful. Was it something about Hubert? Sure, he had a tendency to tease him at every opportunity, but nothing he’d said before had ever hurt Ferdinand quite as much as hearing him snarl the word ‘pathetic’ at him, or the scorn in his voice when he’d said it. But even if Hubert thought that about him, even if Hubert hated him, why did it upset Ferdinand so much? Why had it shaken the very last reserves of his fortitude? Why did it make him feel like he was dying?
Literally dying, Ferdinand realised, as his sobs bubbled into coughs just as bad as before. He let them come, waiting for it to pass again, only this time it didn’t. Cough after cough, again and again, with no sign of lessening, until he couldn’t even gasp between each one. He stumbled off the bed, trying to reach for the pitcher of water he kept above his desk now, but his legs gave out from underneath him and he was too weak to get up again. There was no more air in his lungs. There was no chance to try and call for help. He felt himself starting to pass out and there was nothing he could do. His limbs went limp, his body numb, and his vision blurred. Then everything went black.
The pain was overwhelming.
Ferdinand groaned as consciousness returned to him, too sore to move, too tired to open his eyes. The ground was unforgiving under him, the woven red carpet doing little to cushion him against the hard floor. How long had he been lying there? Pale sunlight greeted his eyes when he finally dared to try and open them. Morning already, it seemed.
From out in the corridor, the sound of energetic footsteps reached him. They stopped outside his door, followed by a thunderous knock and Caspar’s voice.
“Hey, Ferdie! Ya missed morning class and the professor’s gettin’ worried. Everything ok?”
No. “Yes!” I think I’m dying. “Everything’s fine, I simply overslept!”
He surprised himself with how normal he sounded; there was barely even a croak in his words. The ache in his lungs had also subsided, at least for now.
“Alrighty,” chirped Caspar. “Our next class it at the training grounds. See ya there!”
Footsteps again, this time darting away, leaving Ferdinand to slowly and carefully pick himself up off the ground and tidy himself up. Or he would have, had he not happened to glance down at the floor as he was standing and notice something that definitely shouldn’t be there.
Petals.
A handful of them, small and white, just near where his head had been. They were crumpled, possibly crushed by him as he slept, and starting to blacken at the edges. Had someone put a flower in his room and he hadn’t noticed? But then where was the flower, and how had its petals ended up in the middle of his floor? Something told him that the sight of those petals was terribly bad news, and he hurriedly scooped them up and tossed them out of the window before getting changed.
It was hard not to notice the way everyone stared at him when he made it to the training grounds a minute or two late, but Ferdinand did his best to act calm, retrieving a practice lance and pairing himself up with Caspar, who seemed to have been waiting for him. At least someone was looking out for him. He held back in their sparring, however, keeping his strikes slow and immediately dropping back whenever Ferdinand seemed out of breath, and it frustrated him to feel like he was being pitied. Why couldn’t this damn flu leave him alone already? If he kept this up, Hubert wouldn’t be the only one who thought he was letting their class down.
Speaking of Hubert, Ferdinand was keenly aware of pale green eyes watching him from the other side of the training grounds. Was he feeling sorry for what he had said the night before? Did he hate Ferdinand even more, now, because of what had been said in retaliation? The better part of Ferdinand felt like he should apologise, but the more childish part refused to let him. It had been Hubert’s fault for saying such awful things to him, after all. Especially while he was feeling so unwell.
When the class had finished and the students dispersed for lunch, Ferdinand pulled Linhardt aside – though he looked less than thrilled about it.
“What is it?” his friend groaned, stifling a yawn. “You’re delaying my much-needed nap…”
“I apologise, Linhardt, but I need to ask a favour of you. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be willing to use some healing magic on me, to see if it might chase off the last of this cold. I would greatly appreciate it.”
A shrug from Linhardt. “I suppose that’s not too much trouble. Hold still.”
He extended his arm towards Ferdinand’s torso, a circle of patterns and runes appearing around his hand. Ferdinand felt a soothing coolness pass over his skin, a silken caress, before it faded and Linhardt’s hand lowered.
“There,” he said simply. “Now I’m off to nap. Good-bye.”
Ferdinand watched him leave, feeling, impossibly, even more defeated than before. He felt no different. The stinging in his heart was fainter, but still present, and his chest still burned with a few lingering embers. Perhaps he was incurable, and this cold of his would be with him forever.
Or maybe, he began to wonder over the next two days, as a pattern to his coughing began to emerge, his little ‘flu’ wasn’t as natural as he had thought. Thankfully, his coughing was nowhere near as bad as it had been the night he had yelled at Hubert, but it was enough to be a nuisance, and every time it started up again Ferdinand noticed something.
Hubert was always nearby.
In class, when Ferdinand happened to glance over at Hubert and catch him glancing back. In the dining hall, when he caught a rare flash of a smile as Hubert talked to Edelgard. In the training grounds, when Ferdinand became distracted by Hubert as he honed his focus into casting complex spells. Whenever Ferdinand wondered, as he replayed the words he had spoken to Hubert, what had made him so upset that night. In all of these cases, Ferdinand had been instantly overwhelmed by another fit of coughing. The answer was obvious.
The next day, Ferdinand cornered him between classes, catching him by surprise.
“You.” The word was as threatening as Ferdinand could make it. “You have done something to me, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hubert hissed, folding his arms across his chest.
“I am certain you do! What is it? A hex? A spell of some kind? A curse, perhaps?”
“Your imagination,” he retorted harshly. “You’re sick, Ferdinand. That’s all.”
“Oh? Then why will it not go away? And why is it always worse when you are nearby?”
“How should I know? If it bothers you so much see a healer. Now get out of my way.”
He made to step around Ferdinand, but escape wouldn’t be so easy.
“I did see a healer and it did not help. There can only be one reason! It must be… ahem, a curse of some, hm, k-kind!” Goddess, why now? Why did he have to have another coughing fit now? “S-See?”
“Ferdinand, that’s ridiculous. You’re an ally to Edelgard, no matter how annoying you might be. What reason would I have to curse you?” He shook his head. “Perhaps this flu of yours is simply worse than you thought. It has nothing to do with me.”
“D-Do not… lie…!” Trying to fight off the urge to cough was only making it worse. It felt like a lump had gotten stuck in his throat, cutting off his airway, but he was determined to get an answer. “Y-You… have d-done… something…”
A wave of nausea slapped Ferdinand hard enough to make him weak at the knees. Perhaps there really was something stuck in his throat – he suddenly felt like he was choking. He couldn’t even cough, and when he opened his mouth to try, he nearly retched.
“What’s wrong?” Hubert actually managed to feign concern. “What is it?”
Ferdinand couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. He was doubled-over, thumping at his chest, but whatever was stuck refused to budge. No air could get past it, let alone words. It was likely only a matter of time before he passed out again, at this rate. His body convulsed and this time he did retch, an awful, wheezing hiss escaping him. He sounded like a cat with a furball, and if he wasn’t afraid of dying from lack of oxygen he might have died from embarrassment.
“Ferdinand!” Hands on his back, but Ferdinand swatted them away. “You need a healer, now!”
Another convulsion, another retch, and finally the lump began to budge enough that he could cough – and he did so with a desperation that only the dying possessed. He tasted something bitter but oddly sweet on his tongue, then with a final cough the wicked thing was spat into his waiting palm. Or rather, things.
More petals.
“You… see…” he gasped, staring down at them, at their crumpled white skin and black edges. “What… flu… does this…?”
A little unsteadily, Ferdinand straightened again and held the petals out to Hubert, looking up at his expression. He had expected Hubert to, at best, look at least a little guilty for having put such an awful curse on him, and at worst to flash him that wicked smirk, the same he saved for enemies right before he cut them down. But his expression wasn’t either of those, or even anything close to them. Hubert looked horrified.
“How… How long has this been happening?”
It wasn’t the reaction Ferdinand had expected, and it threw him off.
“The night that we argued… Why? Is this not because of your curse?”
Before Ferdinand could react, Hubert’s hands seized his shoulders, shook him roughly.
“You fool, Ferdinand, I haven’t cursed you!” he growled. “This shouldn’t be happening. Something is wrong.”
“You… You mean…” Ferdinand blinked. “So, you… really did not curse me?”
Knowing that Hubert hadn’t been responsible for his wretched situation gave him, for reason he couldn’t quite figure out, an immense sense of relief. It was unfortunately short-lived. Ferdinand looked down at the flowers in his palm; they were turning dark, rotting in his hand, curling in on themselves. Dead.
Panic set in.
When Ferdinand had thought about dying or being incurable before, he hadn’t really believed it. Had thought that, surely, there would be some cure, some way to get better, some magic that could reverse it – but seeing the genuine fear in Hubert’s eyes had finally allowed the truth to sink in.
This wasn’t an ordinary flu. This wasn’t any kind of ordinary illness at all. This was something that couldn’t be cured by ordinary means, and it was killing him. And if he couldn’t find a way to fix it soon, it would truly be the death of him.
That was the last coherent thought to pass through his mind before he blacked out, the world fading to nothing more than the sound of Hubert frantically shouting his name, then even that disappeared and he was swallowed up in the void.
Weightless. Painless. Quiet. Was this what death felt like?
It seemed silly to have died in such a way, and at such a young age. Ferdinand von Aegir, future prime minister of the Adrestian Empire, killed by a few stray flower petals stuck in his lungs. What had they even been doing there? Surely, he would have remembered something like breathing in an entire flower. It wasn’t even possible, was it? He tried to think back to when the cough had started, and the darkness around him shifted.
A sunny morning at the monastery. A horse’s whinny, dogs barking, students idling. The smell of Bergamot tea.
“I simply do not know why he has taken such a dislike to me,” he was saying. “I have only ever been polite to him, and yet he seems to look at me almost with… disdain!”
Soft laughter – Edelgard’s. She sat across from, her hands gently clasping a steaming teacup.
“I don’t he think dislikes you,” she offered. “He’s just… prickly, is all. It’s just his way of taking your measure.”
“My measure, hm?” Ferdinand frowned. “He certainly has a strange way of going about it.”
“I suppose it’s something like a test, of sorts. If anything, it means he’s curious about you. Usually he doesn’t take the time to bother.”
“Curious? About me?”
His vision shifted again. Late afternoon in the Black Eagles’ classroom, sitting alone at a desk, scowling down at the pages of a worn textbook.
“Well, well. The mighty Ferdinand von Aegir, bested by a few drawings on a page? What a sight.”
Hubert seemed to materialise from the shadows, both separate from it and a part of it, flickering in and out of form. Too tired to rise to the bait, Ferdinand just sighed.
“The finer workings of magical runes seem to escape me,” he admitted. “It seems magic simply is not one of my strengths.”
A quiet hum. “You’re overthinking it.” Shadows curling over his shoulder, Hubert’s voice close to his ear, a thundering heartbeat in his chest. “Focus on the pattern in each circle. See how it repeats?”
It was hard to focus on anything. His heart was racing and his mind had gone blank. Deep in his chest, a weight seemed to be taking root.
The next day, chasing after a phantom as he drifted through the dining hall.
“Hubert! I must thank you for your aid yesterday. Without you I would never have gotten my head around those spells. You must allow me to repay the favour somehow.”
For a moment, there was something strange about Hubert’s expression, something unusually honest, but it passed before Ferdinand could place it, replaced by the stern mask he wore so well.
“I couldn’t risk you bothering Lady Edelgard about the matter. And besides, you looked so hopeless even I couldn’t stand it.” He turned back around. “Repay me by keeping well out of my way.”
As Ferdinand watched Hubert leave, there was a faint tickle at the back of his throat.
Why had that rejection hit so hard? Like their argument after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion feast, why had it upset him so much? Why was it that, whenever he spoke to Hubert, whenever he saw him, there was a strange feeling in his heart, barely perceptible? It couldn’t possibly be feelings, could it? Feelings for Hubert, of all people? It had to be. What else could explain that strange feeling in his heart, or the hurt when Hubert shot him down?
How typical of Ferdinand to fall for the man who hated him more than anyone else.
Darkness again, but it felt different. It felt… soft. Not as soft as the bed in his room, but close. The smell was different, too. Or rather, there was a smell now where there hadn’t been one before; a faint scent of herbs, medicine, and alcohol. Ferdinand felt warm. Not from the blanket covering him to his shoulders, but warm from the inside, creeping outwards from his chest in a way that made him feel… strange. Pleasant. Happy.
A voice through the dark, quiet and earnest, more genuine than he’d expected.
“Ferdinand… please…” A hand on his own, gentle. “Please come back to us…”
If he was dead, why did Ferdinand suddenly feel so alive? For the first time in so long, the weight in his chest was gone, and he could breathe freely. Where that same weight had been, he felt as though a part of him, long missing, had at last been returned. Something deep in the centre of his heart.
Daylight. Stone ceiling. Cool air. Ferdinand realised, as his eyes cracked open, that he was in the infirmary again. He wasn’t alone, either. Sitting beside the bed, looking down at him in surprise, was Hubert, red-eyed from lack of sleep and momentarily at a loss for words. At the sight, Ferdinand smiled.
“I thought you said… that watching me die would be irksome…”
For a second Hubert just continued to stare at him, blinking in disbelief. Then, slowly, he began to laugh, and even though it was more out of relief – or perhaps fatigue-induced insanity – than happiness, to Ferdinand it was the most wonderful sound in the world.
“I was wrong,” Hubert managed once his laughter had settled. “Watching you die isn’t irksome at all.” He suddenly went serious, catching Ferdinand off-guard. “It was devastating. I couldn’t stand feeling so helpless as you slipped away right in front of me. I… couldn’t sleep.”
Silence. Ferdinand watched him, wide-eyed, as he looked away, biting at his lip, hesitating.
“I’ve been sworn to serve Edelgard since I was a child. It is my duty to always be at her side, to protect her no matter what is required of me.” Hubert’s voice was quiet, pained. “When I… pushed you away, it was because I was concerned that you would distract me from that duty.”
“Distract you?” Ferdinand frowned. “I suppose you mean that I am an annoyance to you.”
“Ha. At first, yes. But…” Finally, Hubert’s gaze returned to him. The softness in his eyes was… strangely enchanting, and Ferdinand found himself blushing. “When you collapsed in front of me, I was terrified. I realised that losing you would have destroyed me. Because… I care about you.” An awkward cough, a shrug. “Somewhat.”
Ferdinand smiled. “Well, I certainly hope you do, Hubert. I am afraid I think I might care about you, too. A great deal more than I should, in truth.”
Their hands found each other, holding tight, and for a moment all they can really do is smile – Ferdinand too tired for anything and Hubert too shy. Then Hubert’s expression darkens a little.
“What about your illness? Will you be alright?”
The answer was without hesitation. “I have never felt better.”