House Vestra is known for working in the shadows and for having the sort of patience one finds both a delight and utterly infuriating. They do not openly react. They do not openly voice their opinions unless their Lord or Lady requests it of them. And they certainly do not criticize said Lord or Lady's plans in public before the thrice damned enemy.
Like so many things as of late, Hubert's impossibly high standards for himself and those around him have utterly failed.
Edelgard's drinking, for example, has become enough of a concern that he has taken upon himself to sample, create, and water down a suitable substitute that tastes nearly identical to even a refined palate such as hers. He has seen what happens when anxiety ridden rules turn to spirits to comfort or otherwise imbue them with a bit of steel they can strap to their backbones. She is no drunken lout, far be it, but three glasses, up to four or even five, in a single day is worrying where it was a struggle to get her to even finish a single glass.
The increasing recklessness in her actions troubles him greatly. As does the growing restlessness that he cannot find an appropriate solution for.
With her increasingly frantic behavior, exhaustion, and all around weaknesses coming closer to light (and possible exploitation by those who do not have her best interests in mind), he has had to work overtime and a half in order to ensure she is seen as infallible, immortal, and utterly untouchable to her own subjects.
Her damnable "uncle" in particular.
A walk, she'd told him, would do her good. She needed air that wasn't hovering stagnant and walled in by stone on every corner. There were troops they needed to meet with anyway and a messenger she'd anticipated hearing from. She had promised to contact him at the appointed time and, if something were to go wrong, would send word without hesitation.
He had not seen or heard from her at their appointed check-in time.
No message sent. No distress signal. Not a sign, word, nothing from her normally punctual self for more than twenty-four hours.
Even Ferdinand, who's entire existence served as nothing but to be his direct foil and opposite in just about everything one could possibly be, voiced his own concern after no word had come. Dorothea had done her best to comfort them in her own way; little gestures of near-invisible affection like his favorite coffee served to him at the moment he is prepared to rise and brew it himself, a touch that lingers against the back of his hand, and some sharp witted and utterly cutting statement when they most needed it. She too had been greatly worried by the Empress' absence.
The three of them had managed, somehow, to keep the Black Eagles Strike Force as well as the Imperial Forces together and continued their Lady's work in her brief absence. The moment they had received word, however, they'd put Lindhart and Petra in charge of matters, and as an added bonus: left Caspar in charge of Lindhart to make sure he'd actually do his job. Lindhart hadn't quite forgiven them for that. Not that Hubert necessarily cared for the young man's forgiveness, but it was something to keep in mind the next time some unfortunate soul managed to hit him and he required healing.
Seeing her unharmed had been its own reward. Alive. Unharmed… even rested compared to the last time he had seen her- if more than a little distracted and anxious. He did not expect the woman behind her, however, and his fury at seeing their enemy trailing along after five years of vanishing entirely coupled with his sleeplessness and concern had boiled over.
For the first time in his memory, he snapped at Edelgard the way he had his father all of once, at Hanneman for bringing up his father, and when he had 'dealt' with Count Varley.
Hubert dismisses the line of thinking as a pair of interlopers- former enemies, at that- came into view. There would be plenty of time to fret about his lack of control in the heat of the moment at a later date. He had more important matters to attend to.
Like figuring out if he had been sent dead weight or pawns he could actually use by these supposed allies.
Aforementioned interlopers, escorted by Bernadetta and Ferdinand, comprise of a soft spoken woman with a clear, straight-forward gaze and a boisterous knight with a reputation that extended clear into the Empire for his skirt chasing ways. He almost understands the logic behind the woman; her presence was a near constant within the Cathedral itself and her head always bowed in prayer. She looks healthier now, more at peace with herself, than she had during their Academy days. She even meets his eye without flinching and offers a curtsy in greeting moments later.
At least one of them has a sense of decorum.
Bernadetta, on the other hand, is preoccupied with the red-head who won't stop pestering her about an update of some sort. The skittish sniper seems torn between fleeing behind Ferdinand or himself… or smacking the knight and running for her life. It's a different sight than Hubert is accustomed to and, while interesting, an unnecessary distraction.
He clears his throat and catches their attention. "I will say this but once; I expect you to conduct yourselves with the knowledge that any reckless action, or petulant inaction, will result in our task's catastrophic failure. Do I make myself clear?"
Any sense of light-heartedness from the knight has gone in an instant at the reminder; his gaze and expression runs cold in a manner that both surprises and intrigues Hubert. Catching the skirt-chaser's eye, he gives him a singular nod of approval and turns to the other newcomer. The woman, a healer given what he recalls of her, closes her eyes and bows her head in prayer to a Goddess who has no power in these lands. Habit, he is certain, but none of his business. If anything, her devotion to the Goddess will aid them in ensuring the former Archbishop's cooperation.
Bernadetta already knows the cost of failure and her knuckles whiten against her bow's grip. She swallows hard and nods in response. Ferdinand's eyes had narrowed at his cold tone, but the gravity and magnitude of what they were tasked with means he says nothing. His expression also resembles the other red-head in the group; grim but determined, though utterly lacking the cold, detached manner the other carries himself with. The three of them have prepared for this on their own under the assumption that the promise of aid was nothing more than a clever ruse- if not a set up to bring the Empire to its knees once and for all. To have said aid is surprising in and of itself, more so two key players who may very well be the key to ensuring the final stage of their plan is a success.
Another heavy hitter, like Ferdinand, means a stronger wall between Bernadetta and himself. With the healer added to the mix, their chances of getting out of this relatively unscathed is more possible than he anticipated.
Hubert pretends not to notice the way Bernadetta whimpers when he smiles.
"Now then, let us go over the plan once more."
...
"This feels wrong." Bernadetta whispers. Her head cocks a little to the left in order to get a better look at what Sylvain's holding in one black gauntlet covered hand. It's embarrassing, but the little details she keeps picking up and storing at the back of her brain will inevitably end up in something she writes. Being surprised twice now when they rounded a corner, Sylvain had shocked her speechless when he pulled out a small mirror and used it to look around the corner for the enemy's position.
Just like the main character in that stupid story of hers he keeps pestering her about.
She isn't sure if she's flattered or terrified that he's so much of a fan he can recite the entirety of that scene frontwards and back.
She feels the short chuckle more than she hears it. A moment later she hears him speak, his voice low. "It sucks turning your weapons on your own people, doesn't it?." A moment later. "How's this?"
Focus, Bernie! They're counting on you. She scolds herself for getting distracted at the thought of Sylvain having done the same thing she is and glances up at the mirror in his hand. At the angle he has it, she can make out the legs of someone, a mage by the look of it, but she can't tell by the position of their feet just where they are. "Um… can you move it a little to the right? Up a littl- there. Perfect!" She can see them perfectly now; two of them close by and chatting like there wasn't a siege going on right under their noses.
Is it a siege or a coup? A betrayal? I don't know what to call it. But, as Sylvain said; it sucks. It really, really sucks knowing that she had to kill people she's seen in passing or trained with. She nods to him and moves, inch by inch, into position with Sylvain prepared to cover her should they notice. Bernadetta notches an arrow into place and curls her fingers around the string. She nods once more and moves her eyes to the people just beyond her sight. It may be dark down that spooky corridor, but now that she has their positions down…
She whispers a soft apology as she swiftly lifts her bow from its position and draws back until her thumb hits her ear. One heartbeat later and she fires. Notches a second on reflex and lets it fly too. Sylvain is already racing down the hall, pulls something from his side and hurls it with all his might seconds later. She hears the screams as the arrows connect. Hears a second scream, a curse, and a flare of red, red magic that gutters out in the next instance. The metallic scent of blood fills the air moments later and she hears a low, two note whistle from up ahead.
All clear.
...
Hubert reminds himself once more of House Vestra's reputation for patience and self-discipline as he counts the number of enemies flooding out of the chambers below. A bunch of ants swarming from a destroyed anthill, the entire lot of them. "Remind me why I remain here while Lady Edelgard rides to the battlefield with Dorothea and Petra."
"Would you care for the truth or would you prefer something more to your palate?"
He contemplates the positive and negative consequences of getting rid of Ferdinand in the process of fulfilling his mission. "The latter meaning what exactly?"
There is a smirk to the long-haired noble that he doesn't need to look at in order to see. "You are being punished for your actions a few moons ago. Edelgard-"
"Lady Edelgard."
"The very same." Ferdinand ignores the reprimand in the man's voice. "As you know all too well, Edelgard is quite capable of holding a grudge. Who is to say that this is not her way of turning the tables and putting you in your place?"
It would annoy him more if he hadn't considered that very thing himself. To hear that even Ferdinand had considered that an option fills him with revulsion. And worry. Has he truly stepped that far out of line? They had been terribly preoccupied with putting in layers and layers of safeguards, espionage, and fail-safes into place for this very day… so much so that he hadn't the chance to truly apologize for his disgraceful demeanor.
His silence is enough of an answer for the knight. Moments later Hubert feels a heavy hand against his shoulder.
"Hubert. I jest; the only one Edelgard ever actually gets annoyed enough at to raise her voice at or actually punish is me and we both know that." Ferdinand is as quick to reassure as he is to challenge something he sees as unjust or otherwise unacceptable. There's a squeeze before he releases his grip. "The truth is clear: Edelgard assigned you to this mission specifically because she knows you will carry it out flawlessly and without error. You are her retainer and most trusted confidant, are you not?"
The acknowledgement and reminder of who he is and his place in the Empress' life, much to his complete disgust, removes more than just a scant touch of his anxiety. "I never thought I would see the day I received comfort from you."
Ferdinand, the bastard, merely flashes him a smile that rivals the flash of lightning. "You are welcome, Hubert."
"Be silent and attend to your duties at once" He replies sourly and turns his back so the shorter noble can't see the faint pink cast to his cheeks.
Marianne looks between the two and feels a little smile curve against her lips. Ferdinand is overbearing on a good day, and Hubert has always been a little… intimidating, to say the least. It's refreshing, she thinks, to see them both acting a little more naturally than they do in formal interactions. They remind me a little of Lorenz and Claude.
"I do not think I have ever seen you smile, it suits you well." Ferdinand's words break into her thoughts.
She jumps, startled, and feels her cheeks burn at the compliment. "Please…"
He holds up both hands. "I do not mean to embarrass you. It seems as though you have truly changed in the past five years. It is nice to see. I mean it."
"Rather than continue nattering about, Ferdinand, why don't you do something about that flock of fools headed our direction?" Hubert interrupts whatever might have been said next. His hands are shrouded in dark fire, eerie purple-black light trailing from each gesture as he traces the arcane symbols into place. He focuses solely on a specific point in front of him; the heavily armored troops were first, if he could get them clumped up in just the proper order…
There's a brief flare of white-hot pain and a thump that sends him reeling back several steps. His spell gutters out in a flash and he looks down to the growing stain against his stomach and the pointed bit of wood and metal jutting out.
"Hubert!"