Chapter Text
He beelines to the outer walls, where the canals are wide and sluggish. Ferdinand had told him he was hiding around here.
Best case scenario, Voronin is gone and forgotten, having given up on waiting for the traps too long lest someone else find them, and that Ferdinand is willing to listen to his apologies after a bit of time to cool off after that stupid stunt with the collar. Or Voronin is still here and he finds her and, yeah, fuck it. He’ll escort her out of the city himself and leave the guard knowing on no uncertain terms that she and any of her entourage are not allowed reentry.
He’s going over what threat would be suitable to put the fear of the goddess into the guards while also not asking for another of Edelgard’s lectures on scaring the people that work for them when he catches the first sign of the Faerghans.
A turquoise necklace, glittering on the dark street stones.
He approaches and sees a cluster of fat, dark spots around the jewelry, smeared and spattered haphazardly around the lip of the canal. Blood, unmistakably. He scuffs a particularly large spot with the toe of his boot and it smears thickly, leaving a ring behind. Congealed. Not fully dried, but nearly so. It’s cool, but humid and in the low lantern light he can see the damp outline of the struggle, the wavy pink outline where the water washed out more blood. He kneels. Right on the edge, between two stones, a cluster of small, orange shapes glitter. Hubert pinches them, deposits them in his palm and any hope of Ferdinand making away with only wounding one of the bastards dissolves.
“Oh, fuck you,” Hubert growls. He counts ten or twelve scales, bent and bloodstained, each about the size of his thumb tip. If they’re going to try and smuggle a merman, the least they could do was be gentle with him. But by the sheer amount of blood around him, he very much doubted they would risk injuring their merchandise so severely. No, Ferdinand almost certainly gave as good as he got.
Hubert estimates that he could be anywhere between fifteen minutes to an hour behind them. But undoubtedly, they were still close enough that he could catch up if he didn’t squander his time.
A bit of searching turns up a few more blood drops across the street, through and intersection and down the street leading towards the north. He’s willing to bet they’re heading towards the gate. No matter what, she would have to go North to get home, and given enough time, he would eventually catch up to her on the northern highway. But, he would like to catch her at the gate. She has Ferdinand with her, in who knows what kind of state. It may be difficult to get him back to Enbarr.
Would he even want to return?
Honestly, if he were in Ferdinand’s place he would never come back to this city again. Not after Hubert failed to keep him safe. Be that as it may, it’s also unthinkable to leave Ferdinand to his fate. Whether he winds up returning Ferdinand to the river, or the sea, or back to Enbarr, it’s fully within the merman’s right to choose. He had no choice in being bundled into a cart and sold off into the cold waters of Fhirdiad.
He stops looking and takes a moment to calm his breath, tell himself the thought that Ferdinand wouldn’t return with him didn’t bother him as much as it did. He closes his eyes and pictures the Northern gate, the red flags, the massive wooden doors, the guard tower larger than the others. Then he casts warp. A looping, weightless feeling, the smell of ozone and a ringing in his ears and suddenly he’s there, a horse puffing nervously a bit too close for comfort. Hubert shakes off the tingling, static feeling of the magic and takes a couple steps forward out of the way and glances over his shoulder.
The guard’s brows shoot up under the rim of his helmet as he reigns his horse tighter. It’s ears swivel back and it gives Hubert a distrustful look, even after the guard soothes it with a pat on the neck. Then the guard seems to remember himself, snaps up in the saddle and salutes.
“Sir?”
“Did a group of Farghan merchants come through here tonight? It wouldn’t have been long ago.”
“No, sir.”
“What about injuries?” Hubert asks. Goddess, he’ll lose so much time if he can’t get a better track on them. The fear is set aside almost as soon as it comes to mind when then guards eyes flash in recognition.
“Oh, yes. A blond woman had a terrible gash on her arm. We tried to convince her to stay and let us get a healer but she wouldn’t hear of it. Only said she knew one just outside the city. They seemed like they were in a rush.” A beat, and then the guard leans down conspiratorially. “They would be the ones we were supposed to be keeping an eye on, right?”
“You didn’t think that was at all suspicious?” Hubert asks. The guards mouth twists, hurt.
“Of course I did! Uh, excuse me, sir, but there’s only a few of us on duty right now. Not enough to detain all of them if they didn’t wish to be, especially since we couldn’t find anything in their cart we could use as an excuse to keep them here either.” So, Hubert thinks, they had to have hidden Ferdinand somehow if the guards hadn’t seen him in the cart. “We had to let them loose. We sent one guy back to the castle for backup, and me and a couple other men were going to track them down in the meantime. It’s only been about an hour, it shouldn’t be difficult to find them again.”
“What’s your name? Hubert asks.
“Oh? I’m Arnold,” He points down the road, where two more guards on horses are waiting on them, one looking back while the other is already meandering distractedly down the road. “The one actually waiting for us is Voigt. The other is Wolf. Between the three of us I think we can track them down.”
“Good. Let me get a spare horse. I’m coming with you.”
Within ten minutes Hubert and the three guards are leading their horses down the highway North of Enbarr at a canter. The highway is a road all on its own for several miles so, assuming Voronin hasn’t pushed her men and her cart to the absolute dangerous limit, there should be little doubt that they’ll be able to catch up before the first fork. A single person or small group could slip into the woods or fields that line the road, but Voronin got greedy with Ferdinand. They were stuck lugging an angry merman around in a cart and she’s already wounded besides. They would have to stop and deal with one or the other before long.
They go along for nearly two miles before Wolf, always wandering impatiently ahead, finally slows his horse and leads towards the right side of the road, edging along the thin line of trees. Hubert and the others pull their own horses to a stop in for a long minute they sit in tense silence. Then he hears it.
“They’re talking,” Arnold, mutters. After a moment Hubert hears it as well. Voices, and the splash of water. The nervous bray of a mule. Wolf pushes into the brush first and the others follow close behind onto a rough crushed trail that quickly gives away to a rocky riverbank. The Faerghans are a hundred yards further down at the end of two muddy ruts against the water. Their wheels are caked, sunk into the sandy mud nearly to the spokes. Two Faerghans are hauling buckets of water out of the river while another two are in the cart, crowbars in hand. A fifth tries to calm the mule as it kicks the cart. Further up the bank sits Voronin, her blonde hair shimmering in the moonlight, cradling her shredded and bloodied sleeve against her chest.
“Boss--” one of the men in the cart notices them first, hefting his crowbar.
“Drop the weapon, get out of the cart, and you’ll live beyond the next five seconds,” Hubert snaps, curls of black magic already forming at his hand. Arnold makes a surprised, gasping laugh at the threat even as he and the others trot past him, hands on the pommels of their swords.
“Do as he says, you stupid bastards,” Voronin snaps at her own man. He drops it atop the crate. “Where would be go? Just take your lumps. No use in dying over a fucking fish.” Hubert lingers back as the guards secure the Faerghans peacefully and line them up along the bank beside Voronin. Only Voronin herself avoids the chains behind her back, but only when she presents her injured arm, two big thin slices deep into her forearm and a semicircle of punctures in the meat of her hand. So Ferdinand had managed to bite her pretty severely.
“I’d think your tale of Rowe losing his fingers would be enough warning not to try it yourself,” Hubert says, swinging down off his horse in front of Voronin. Voigt bandages her injury with supplies from her own stock while Arnold calms their mule. Wolf stands behind the Faerghans, hand on sword. Hubert continues. “He may not be worth dying for, but all of this is? Why not just take my answer as a loss and find your profit elsewhere?” With the mule unhooked from the cart and Voronin patched up, the guards start leading the Faerghans up to the road to wait for their reinforcements once Hubert motions that he’s fine on his own.
“I’d think the Emporer’s spymaster would realize this isn’t a standard deal, yes? You know how the black market works?” she says, and Hubert knows, instantly, that Ferdinand was never destined for Fhirdiad at all.
“I once sold a minor lord from Morfis a puffin for half a million gold. Why so much for just one little bird, you ask? Because he’d never seen it before. Because he thought his daughter would find it cute. Because I told him it was rare and he believed me. I just happened to have it, and he just happened to see it. And guess what? There’s hundreds, thousands of those birds the eastern coasts. Can you imagine? I was kicking myself because I didn’t hold onto the other two or three I’d grabbed long enough to really make a payday.”
“Then who were you selling Ferdinand to?”
She shrugs. “The highest bidder. Those people. They live in gold. Mers are so rare and finicky. The only people who can keep one has enough space and pride and stupid wealth to throw it away on a living trophy. So, who knows? I was expecting to get enough out of him to retire. Enough to make the fact that I can’t feel my thumb anymore a simple occupational hazard.”
“You’re disgusting,” Hubert growls.
“Says the man who would kill me in an instant, purely out of spite, if he didn’t think I had any worthwhile information,” Voronin muses. Pebbles crunching under boots and Hubert looks up to see the Arnold making his way back towards them.
“Guards from the city are here,” he says as he approaches. With Hubert’s help, they get Voronin to her feet. “What’s your call?”
Hubert motions towards the street, and the other Faerghans. “The lower cells,” then to Voronon: “Solitary.”
“Are you making plans already?” Voronin asks, her voice drips with such sweet malice that Hubert thinks he may be luckier than he realized that’ she’s outnumbered and injured. This is the cutthroat type of person even he would be wary of cornering in an alleyway.
“You have no idea. Where’s Ferdinand?” he asks.
“I suppose you should grab a crowbar,” Voronin says. Arnold rolls his eyes and steers Voronin up the bank. Hubert remains the only one on the beach. Stones clatter with his steps as he approaches the cart, distant calls of the guards to each other up on the road. He circles around to the end of the cart, hops in under the arched cover, and instantly realizes the cart is filled with water to just above his ankles and the entire interior is black and rough with a layer of pitch. The same massive crate he’d seen the Faerghans wrestling dominates the space in the cart and a pile of frayed rope rests in the corner. The instant the cart rocks under his weight, a low, furious hissing issues from the box. Hubert grabs a crowbar discarded atop the crate.
“Ferdinand?”
“Let me out!” the merman snaps. The box shudders with his wriggling. “It is dark and cramped and I shall make whoever put me in here sorely regret it! Where am I?!” Hubert makes to fit the crowbar under the lid but it once again lurches as Ferdinand struggles.
“Darling, hold still,” Hubert huffs, sets a hand on the crate as if he could comfort the merman through it. “I have to pry the lid off.”
“Hurry…” Ferdinand whines. “My tail hurts…” Hubert hooks the crowbar and wrenches it once. The corner comes up and Hubert sees a hint of scales and jewelry glittering in the scant light. He moves it up and twists it again, and once more, and on the fourth go the lid creaks and snaps up under the pressure of Ferdinand’s tail. Hubert catches it, tosses the crowbar out the back of the cart and rocks the lid back and forth until it comes free. He struggles tossing the nail studded thing out more than he’d readily admit, but he eventually gets it.
Ferdinand slings his tail over the side of the crate with a tired whimper and Hubert burns with frustration. It had to take every Faerghan to get him in there; his tail curled nearly in half. Blood stains Ferdinand’s chin and chest, his nails reddened as well as he grips the edge of the crate. Rope is coiled around his wrists and upper arms, more around his waist and the end of his tail. They must have restrained him while he was still netted. What a macabre skill a poacher has. His hair has had enough time to dry completely and it’s been left mussed and tangled in the ordeal. Ferdinand catches his breath, then pulls himself over the lip of the box with shaky arms. He flattens himself on his stomach in the shallow water in the bottom of the cart, panting as he continues to nibble at a loop of rope around his wrist. In the bottom of the crate there’s a mess of shredded rope and short lengths; he’s been chewing and clawing his way out of his bonds since he’d been nailed in.
Hubert gingerly steps across Ferdinand’s tail, silently hoping the merman remains docile, or too tired, to take a swing at him. As he moves, he makes a note of the pale, slightly bloodied patch on Ferdinand’s hip where his scales are damaged, or altogether missing. One of the first things to do when he gets back is to research what he can do about repairing that. He kneels by Ferdinand’s head. The merman lays still, panting.
“Will you be alright?” he asks. Ferdinand is quiet for a long moment as, after seemingly being satisfied that he’s gotten the rope from his wrists, starts to wash his face in the shallow water.
“You came for me,” he finally says, swinging his little tail with a little wince and waving water across his back.
“Yes, I did. I was worried about you,” Hubert says. Ferdinand shoves his face in the water and starts to drink but quickly spits it back out. “Hold on.” Hubert jumps out of the back of the cart and quickly locates one of the discarded buckets. He takes it, wades out knee deep into the river and scoops up a full bucket of cold, running water. He hauls it back, struggles just a little to lift it over the edge of the cart. Ferdinand drinks deeply and purrs.
After he’s had his fill, he dumps the rest over his head and shivers. “You know, I only thought you were actually working with them for a moment. I did not think they would actually…” Ferdinand trails off, his expression dropping to something pained and sad.
“Oh, darling,” Hubert soothes quietly. He doesn’t realize what he’s said, or what he’s doing, until his fingers are already sinking into Ferdinand’s hair, easing it out of his face. The merman’s eyes go wide, but ultimately he allows it, pushing gently into Hubert’s palm. “I’m so sorry this happened. I should have gotten rid of them the instant you told me they were bothering you.”
“I bit her,” Ferdinand chirrs softly.
“You certainly did. I saw,” Hubert praises. “Quite a nasty wound indeed.”
“Where are they? I thought they were going to open the box but then it sounded like a bunch of other people showed up and then it got quiet,” Ferdinand says. As if to assure himself of this fact, he pushes up onto his arms and peers out of the back of the cart, focusing on the flickering edge of torch lights moving around at the top of the hill, along the road.
“We arrested them. They’ll have an escort all the way out of Adrestia, I assure you.” A shamed pause. “For what that’s worth.”
“I’ll bite her again.” Hubert chuckles.
“I’m sure you will,” he says. There’s a lull in the conversation then as Ferdinand lays down again and closes his eyes. He allows Hubert to stroke his hair, run his thumb along a slightly pointed ear. “Ferdinand.”
“Hm?”
“Do you want to go back?” he asks. Ferdinand takes a slow, deep breath. Hubert has failed this beautiful creature. Ferdinand warned him and he was too lax, and thus allowed him to be shoved in that little box to be sold off to who even knew where. Ferdinand had come frighteningly close to becoming nothing more than someone’s pet for a stranger’s profit. Who was he to just assume Ferdinand would want to return to Enbarr with him, back among the public? Ferdinand opens his eyes and rolls onto his back. His tail sways gently, sloshing through the water. Some waves over the damaged spot on his tail and Ferdinand grumbles, fingers straying near the damaged scales.
“What do you mean?” the merman asks.
“We’re on the river. You can stay here if you don’t feel that Enbarr is safe for you anymore. I’ll even have you taken to the ocean if you’d like. Whatever you want, Ferdinand, just tell me, and I won’t leave you until it’s done properly this time,” he says. Thank the goddess it’s dark. Just saying that is making him want to cool his face in this water as well.
“Truly?” The merman asks. His voice carries a soft innocence to it, but his smile is knowing, calculated. “Whatever I want?”
Oh, that may have been a dangerous thing to offer. But Hubert clears his throat, gathers his nerves. “I’m tired of failing you,” just as he says this, he hears heavy footsteps and knows that Arnold and Voigt are returning to fetch the cart. They’ve probably already heard him, and as he glances out and finds them walking blithely past, he knows they’ve already seen him petting the merman with such affection. Well… let them. He’s tired of letting his own stubborn worries over his own reputation keep him from what he really wants.
“You mentioned the palace gardens,” Ferdinand starts. “I wish to see that sand you promised me.”
“You do?”
“You seem to think I am more delicate than I really am. The sea is a very rough and crowded place. That is why I cherish Enbarr so. Spoiled as I am,” Ferdinand says, lazily waving his decorated tail and hunting out Hubert’s hand with his own, squeezing tightly. “No human is a match for me. I will simply bite them again.” His tail shivers threateningly. “I will live. I dare say I am merely more annoyed than truly injured.”
Hubert grips Ferdinand’s hand tight, touching it to his own chest. “Then allow me to escort you there. There is no more pleasant place than the palace gardens.”
***
It’s slow going getting the cart unstuck and the mule happy enough to pull it back into the city, the Faerghans already well ahead of them and locked away. Hubert and the three guards help Ferdinand back into the canals just inside the city, and as the sun rises over the eastern roofs Hubert leads him into the gardens. The channel along the wall accommodates Ferdinand nicely and Hubert watches on patiently as the merman pauses here and there to admire the flowers. That is, until he sees the sand bar. Ferdinand chirps, lifting himself onto the cool, soft sand with a powerful swing of his tail.
“Do you like it?” Hubert asks, chuckling to himself as Ferdinand flattens himself into the sand, rocking his hips back and forth so the sand gives under his weight and creates a shallow divot for him to lie in.
“Magnificent. Exactly what I wished for.” Ferdinand spends another minute getting comfortable in his new nest, sinking deeper in and curling his tail just so. But Hubert can see that he’s being careful with the damaged patched on his hip. Surely it’s tender, but the castle doesn’t want for a healer.
He’ll have to find one to tend to Ferdinand soon. Perhaps he could convince Linhardt, but he’ll have to make sure he doesn’t prod Ferdinand too long to satisfy his own curiosity…
Edelgard will surely want to be involved in deciding how the Faerghans should be handled.
Dimitri deserves a letter informing him that poachers from his lands are trying to work in the Emporer’s own city. Surely he’ll be interested to hear Rowe’s named dropped (though now Hubert wonders how related he is to Voronin at all, and yet). Though, how strongly should he word such a letter…
And goddess, Dorothea will have to know about this as soon as possible. A shiver runs down his spine thinking of the hell she’ll give him for even allowing this to happen.
“Hubert?” Ferdinand starts. Hubert pulls himself from his thoughts and glances down to find Ferdinand gently waving his tail, his chin pillowed on his arms.
“Do you need something?”
“It is just… I have been in squished into a box and carted around all night and now I finally have my sand and I am so comfortable. Yet…” the merman trails off, but looks at him meaningfully. A long pause.
“Are you hungry,” he guesses. Ferdinand chirrs, low and, well, alluring, if the warmth in Hubert’s chest is anything to go by.
“I could easily hunt something for myself. However…” he purrs, arching his back. “You said whatever I want, yes?” Hubert huffs, amused. So much easier to read than Edelgard.
“And what would you like, Ferdinand? The palace kitchens are well stocked.” Ferdinand’s smile betrays just how much he’s enjoying being tended to. This one could be extraordinarily spoiled if Hubert weren’t careful.
“I want to see what you would think I like,” Ferdinand purrs. Hubert indulges him with a tiny bow. It’s fine for now. He’s been through a lot tonight, let him be spoiled today. He returns fifteen minutes later with a thick tuna steak and most of an octopus. Ferdinand seems delighted with his breakfast.
And then he promptly sleeps for the next sixteen hours.
***
Enbarr enters a mild winter and Ferdinand more or less spends all his time in the gardens. Within a few weeks the merman has moved most of his coins and sparkling collection to the garden nest until the entire patch of sand glitters with his hoard. It takes even less time for Hubert to adjust his morning routine around him. Instead of skipping breakfast, he’ll often have something along with his coffee. Not particularly because he himself wants anything, but because Ferdinand can, and often will nick anything he likes directly from Hubert’s table. But his favorite, so far, was a fancy blend of fruity tea, which he insisted on having with Hubert just about every morning.
This particular morning however, Hubert has a bit more to offer him. And he’s quite nervous about it. He had always planned on selling the choker but he could somehow never bring himself to do so. It was stupid, but he still clung to the image of Ferdinand wearing his onyx choker. Of accepting his gift and, yes, he’ll admit now, his affections. Hubert could no longer deny his infatuation with the merman. Ferdinand had gotten used to him, he was happy in his garden, he took his breakfast with Hubert every morning and never seemed to tire of talking to him of all people. Ferdinand made Hubert feel like someone worth spending time with, someone who made him happy. It was an odd feeling, but one Hubert was coming to crave.
Today, Ferdinand sits up tall beside Hubert’s chair. His tail, mostly healed and the scales coming back in, trailing into the pond. He’s playing with his hair, fussing with it in a way that Hubert’s never seen before. It had never struck him that Ferdinand particularly cared what his hair was doing, but now he appears worried about it, testing how it rests this way and that.
“It looks perfectly fine to me,” Hubert interrupts. Ferdinand jerks and glances at him over his shoulder as he’s still schooling his expression into a noble pout. “I can tie it up if you want.”
Ferdinand flicks his tail, humming and tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Dorothea told me you were the one who always did Edie’s hair so pretty,” he says. He tries to sound disbelieving but Hubert has been around nobles and Ferdinand far too long to miss the curious, hopeful glint in the merman’s eyes.
“Shall I?” he asks. Ferdinand chirrs softly and turns, sitting up nice and straight, his left hand digging lightly into the sand at his hip. It’s as much an invitation as he’s going to get. It’s all that he needs. Hubert turns in his chair and so he’s facing Ferdinand’s back, his knees bracketing either side of Ferdinand’s shoulders. Hubert gently pulls his fingers through the mer’s long, red hair. For his environment, it’s surprisingly soft when it’s dry like now, though it lacks the silkiness that comes with conditioning. Perhaps he could convince Ferdinand into allowing him to wash it for him someday…
For now, he gently works out the tangles with his fingers, trying to ignore the smell of clean water and flowers coming off of him, the warmth of his back on the insides of his thighs as the merman leans into his lap. Hubert takes perhaps more time than he needs to divide Ferdinand’s hair into pieces and twists them into a loose braid. But when he finishes, he indulges himself in playing with the ends of his hair between his fingers. Now, that box is burning against his chest.
“Ferdinand-”
“Hubert-”
“Ah-” Hubert stars, almost relieved to be interrupted. He pulls a spare length of ribbon from his jacket pocket and ties the ends together in a bow. “Go ahead.”
“Oh, well…” Again, Ferdinand digs his claws into the sand beside him, deeper, as if searching. “I have been holding onto something, and I suppose that, after everything, I no longer have a right to keep it from you.” The merman then produces what he’s been looking for. He twists to face Hubert and offers him his old razor.
Or, what used to be his razor.
It’s been neglected for so long rust spots the blade and the handle has some very definite signs of… chewing. He runs his thumb over a patch of rough teeth marks. Ferdinand’s cheeks color and his sharp teeth flash into view for a moment as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
“I was quite frustrated with you sometimes,” the merman huffs. Well, that was fair. “But I kept it! I always intended to return it!” Hubert chuckles and tucks the razor in his breast pocket. He closes his fingers around the choker’s box instead.
“I suppose I wanted to give you something as well,” he says. Ferdinand gives a curious chirp as he pulls the box out. He leans forward, eager, and Hubert hopes to the Goddess that he recognizes the box and has it in him to forgive him. “The last time I tried to give you this, I had foolishly mistaken you as someone who could be bought. That isn’t true, and has never been true, and it was my mistake to ever think that. But I still always held onto the hope that we could…” he swallows thickly, nervous in a way so utterly foreign to him. Lovesick. It comes to him in a single word, and in a moment he knows it’s true. “stay together, and that someday I would be able to offer this to you once again and you would see it as what I originally intended it to be.” He opens the box. Ferdinand’s mouth quivers as he looks at the choker with wide eyes. “As a sign of my affection, and nothing more.”
“Oh, Hubert…” Ferdinand breathes. He takes the choker up, holds it delicately in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment and suddenly Hubert is scared that he’ll once again be turned down. “I had hoped you had kept it… I always told myself I would accept it if you ever offered it again. Especially since I started staying here. In the gardens.”
“You did?” Hubert asks, sounding too breathless in his own ears. Ferdinand grins and offers it too him and then turns back. He pulls his braid aside and exposes his neck. Fingers shaking, Hubert loops the choker around the merman’s neck, clasping it against warm, tanned skin. Ferdinand drops his hair and trills, pleased and leans back so his head rests against Hubert’s knee.
“Yes, because I had realized that I liked you quite a lot. I knew then that you were telling the truth when you told me you wanted nothing more than my own happiness. I would not be here without you, Hubert, and I would not have it any other way. I adore you.”
“And I you, Ferdinand,” Hubert breathes. He traces the pad of his finger for only a moment over the black jewel, but more stunning than any piece of jewelry is the merman wearing it. His hand trails up, cupping Ferdinand’s cheek, his thumb tracing over his gorgeous smile. He leans forward and Ferdinand’s fingers tangle in his hair as their lips meet.