Chapter Text
It was not unusual to be invited to Professor Byleth's room for tea. Indeed, all of the Black Eagles had grown accustomed to their little one-on-one sessions, including their professor's seemingly uncanny ability to predict each student's preferred tea blend.
Hubert was not altogether surprised, therefore, to receive such an invitation himself. Though no sooner had he sat down at the table occupying what precious little empty space could be found in Byleth's dorm room, did he learn that this was not a mere social occasion.
He sat up a bit straighter in his chair, feeling in no small part flattered to have the question posed to him. "Our professor, seeking my counsel? What a rare moment this is indeed."
Byleth regarded Hubert with that same blank stare that they always had. It was a look that he had once erroneously interpreted to mean there was little thought behind those dark eyes. But he had heard too many classroom lectures, fought beneath them in too many battles, to make such a mistake anymore. When Professor Byleth gazed at him like this, it meant they were evaluating something about Hubert. "Well," Byleth stated flatly, "I must consider our overall class makeup when I make this decision. It's not just about who would be best suited as a Dancer. It's about who I can afford to remove from another role."
Hubert felt a swell of approval for his professor for considering such matters, and quickly took a sip of cinnamon tea to cover the smile tugging at his lips. They could not possibly know yet that the Black Eagles may soon need to use their talents for a fight much larger than these skirmishes and minor missions the church sent them on. Hubert himself had been trying to subtly nudge his classmates in certain directions, cultivating their strengths and trying to compensate for their weaknesses. If they were to serve Lady Edelgard in the coming war, they would need to not only improve their own skills, but learn to operate well as a united force.
He lowered his cup. "Very astute. I will admit that the same thought has occurred to me. Many of my classmates appear to view this White Heron Cup as a frivolous activity, but not only would obtaining a Dancer among our numbers give us an advantage over other classes, but it would require a shuffle in our own ranks. Though, despite that, it seems to me that you already have a clear contender."
Byleth reached for a biscuit and idly broke it up on their plate. They had thoughtfully provided a tray of savory offerings, little salted biscuits topped with cheese and spices rather than the usual pile of sweets, which Hubert found surprisingly touching. Most people tried to foist sweets upon him regardless of his protests, but his teacher was oddly observant about such little details without having ever to ask. "Dorothea is the obvious choice, of course." They looked at Hubert expectantly, as if this was a classroom exercise and he was expected to demonstrate his understanding of the current chapter of his textbook.
Fortunately, such hypotheticals were exactly within Hubert's area of interest, and he did not squirm at being put on the spot. "Without question." He considered the songstress. "She has the prior training as well as the eagerness to perform before an audience. In the competition, there is no doubt that she would take the award."
"Indeed." Byleth took a sip of their tea but continued to watch him. Hubert knew he was being prompted to elaborate further.
"Additionally, her current skills are duplicated elsewhere. Linhardt seems content to focus on Faith if it means he can engage with battle as little as possible, and he will excel in it if he manages not to become distracted by whatever his latest interest is. Likewise, Reason is already covered by my own skills." Hubert saw no reason to feign humility in this instance. His abilities were a mere fact that his professor would certainly already be aware of. "Though it is helpful to have more pure magic among our ranks, too much redundancy risks an inability for our class to rise to every situation. Splitting the magic users up into further specializations ensures that we have as many high-level skills as possible at our disposal."
Byleth nodded. Of course they did -- Hubert was quite logical in his reasoning. He could see no flaw in anything he said. Dorothea remained the obvious choice for the Black Eagles representative.
And yet, still his professor regarded him expectantly. There was something else. There had to be. Why else would they ask him to discuss what was already so obvious?
Hubert sighed, leaning his chin on his gloved hand. He tried to think back to past lessons, to private sessions he'd observed between Dorothea and the professor. The way that Dorothea laughed with delight the first time she'd cast thunder. It had taken her longer than some of the others to cast her first black magic spell, but when she did, her smile had been so bright that even Hubert found himself praising her efforts. Reason was traditionally the domain of the nobility. How admirable it was that she'd risen to the challenge despite that.
"I seem to recall," he finally said carefully, "you discussing the Gremory class with Dorothea. Of course, that is a highly advanced class, something that would take years for her to achieve."
"Yes." Byleth did not fidget as they spoke. Every movement they made was deliberate, including the way that they had neatly broken the biscuit up into quarters, one of which they had quietly chewed while Hubert spoke. "Dorothea did not come to the officer's academy only to extend her role as a songstress. She may believe she is only here to attract a husband, and taking on the Dancer class may help her in such endeavors, but she should not comfortably remain in a place where she limits herself so firmly. She has a knack for both Reason and Faith magic, which is rare in any case, but that particular combination is not as common in our class. Were I to ask her to be our Dancer, I believe that she would take that as confirmation that her studies are secondary to her appearance, and she may in turn fail to excel in those areas as well as she might if encouraged to pursue them."
Hubert stared at his professor as they popped another quarter of biscuit into their mouth. Was this really how much thought they put into their students? Not just skills and tactics, but… life goals? Desires, both conscious and unconscious? Did they consider such things for everyone?
He cautiously took one of the biscuits just to cover up how much he felt taken by surprise. Perhaps he was in for more of a lesson than he had anticipated. "I must admit that I had not considered such factors where Miss Arnault is concerned. So you are convinced, then, that she is not the best choice."
"I am." Byleth lifted the cup to their lips, offering a shrug that on any other might look impassive, but on Byleth said, "and I don't intend to change my mind."
"Well then," Hubert nodded. At least he could see now why Byleth would seek his advice. This choice was no longer as clear as it seemed. "What other candidates are you considering?"
"The next obvious choice is Ferdinand."
There was no stopping the rush of annoyance that always seemed to accompany that name when Hubert heard it. And unfortunately, he was forced to hear it often, given that its bearer seemed to think proper conduct required him to shout it at every interval. "Certainly, you could not name any among our class who seeks the spotlight more fervently, our own songstress included. He would doubtlessly be eager to pursue any goal that guaranteed the entire student body's undivided attention for a length of time."
There was a faint crinkle in the corner of one of Byleth's eyes. A subtle shift in the lines of their face that Hubert had learned could be an expression of amusement. "This is true. He would be pleased if I asked him."
There was a pause, as Byleth continued to enjoy their tea and Hubert found the experience soured somewhat by the reminder of tea's most ardent consumer. His professor was waiting for more from Hubert, and what was he to say? He tried his best to think of Ferdinand von Aegir as little as possible.
No, that was the problem. He wished he could think of Ferdinand as little as possible. Instead he was forced to think of him more than any other attendee at Garreg Mach.
If only he were just another spoiled lord, Hubert could ignore him. Unfortunately, that pompous redhead was the heir of the most powerful noble house in the Adrestian Empire. The son of the very man who now led the country in the Emperor's place. In the months leading up to entering the officers academy, Hubert had done his best to gather intel on all of their classmates, but few had he studied so extensively as Ferdinand. And still, he had not been prepared for the full scale of Ferdinand's personality up close.
He was both less and more than Hubert expected. Less threatening, less conniving, than he feared. Maddeningly optimistic and eager to please. Yet he was also altogether too much. Too quick to pick up his lessons to be discounted as an imbecile. Too determined to prove his superiority over Lady Edelgard despite Hubert's repeated warnings. Too quick to smile, to laugh, to heap praise upon his classmates.
Hubert refused to allow his annoyance to get the better of him. This was just another thought experiment, surely. He could endure analyzing even this blight upon his class. He huffed out a sigh. "Of course, he has the formal training necessary to pick up the steps, as any noble would. He has also shown promise in the sword and both forms of magic despite his preference for the lance."
There would be the matter of the costume, of course. The heavy armor worn by combat units or thick robes favored by magic practitioners would have to be traded in for light silks to accommodate movement. Hubert hastily took a sip of tea, allowing the sharp tinge of cinnamon to burn away the imagined image of Ferdinand in such wrappings.
"Yes, he would take to the role quite easily," Byleth replied blandly, giving no indication that they noticed the slight heat flushing Hubert's cheeks.
Again, Hubert found himself wondering what his professor saw that he did not. Surely the Aegir ego was not in need of preserving. Ferdinand might have considered the Dancer class a step down from his ambitions, but if anything Hubert was of the opinion that his ambitions could use some deflation. What did Ferdinand have to offer their class that was not found elsewhere? Lady Edelgard, Petra, and Caspar all excelled at physical weaponry. There was little else to set Ferdinand apart, except--
Except that no other could be reliably found waking with the dawn to skip down to the stables and check on the horses every morning before class. Ferdinand rode for fun. He lived and breathed and dreamed of horses. He only wore clothing that could be easily worn in the saddle.
Their class was not like the Blue Lions or even the Golden Deer, where they were overflowing with knights. The Black Eagles were at a strong disadvantage where cavalry were concerned.
"He can't do it," Hubert conceded. "We cannot afford to lose our best rider, not unless he somehow conceives of a way to dance atop horseback." Knowing Ferdinand, he might just try it with the slightest provocation.
Byleth wiped some crumbs away with a napkin. "Perhaps he might teach the horse to learn the steps."
Hubert felt a particular kind of dread that only Ferdinand could inspire. "Please, do not make such a suggestion to him. He is almost certain to try it."
"So you agree that he is not the best choice."
"Unfortunately." Hubert refused to entertain the odd feeling of disappointment lingering behind his relief at not having to see Ferdinand represent the class. Obviously it was mere disappointment at not having resolved this matter. "Who else remains, then?"
"Petra."
Hubert turned the idea over in his mind, relieved to think of someone so pleasantly straightforward rather than infuriating. "Certainly she could take to the role easily enough. Her swordsmanship skills are unmatched among our ranks and would easily be applied to such a position. Though she is not as well versed in magic, she is a quick enough study that it would hardly hold her back. Her speed and dexterity would make her practically untouchable. But..." Hubert sighed. He did not need to wait for Byleth's prompting to see the drawbacks of this choice. He had been watching Petra demonstrate her skill with camouflage with a mixture of respect and envy. How easily she could vanish into the shadows without a trace. How swiftly she could move behind a target with blade at the ready.
"The Dancer is a role that draws attention on even the most chaotic battlefield. It is a unifying class, a role that is meant to operate in the thick of your troop's numbers to bolster them. To shift Petra into this position is to lose her gift of stealth. She is far too valuable as a unit who works on the fringes of the battlefield, quietly eliminating key opponents. There are many in our ranks who could work in the light of day but precious few who can so easily work in shadow."
Hubert knew that his own bias was creeping into this assessment. Working in the shadows was how he himself preferred to operate, particularly with his keen awareness of how many of their enemies did the same. Petra would be a powerful asset no matter what role she chose -- if, of course, she chose to support Edelgard when the time came. But that realm of darkness, of secrecy and trickery, that was Hubert's domain, and he selfishly wanted to hold onto every advantage he could obtain.
Byleth regarded him with that same impenetrable gaze. If they knew Hubert's reasons for being so adamant on this, they did not show it. "So Petra should remain on track to mastering Assassin, then."
"Yes," Hubert drummed his fingers on the table. "Have you not assigned a role to Flayn yet now that she's joined us? She seems eager to participate." In Hubert's mind, there was no reason to put much care into Flayn other than to maintain appearances. Flayn was highly unlikely to remain among their allies once Lady Edelgard's plans were set in motion. Having the young girl in their class might ensure leverage against the church should Rhea move against them too quickly, but otherwise Hubert had little interest in integrating her too fully into the group. Making her the Dancer would be a wasted effort.
Byleth nodded. "I did make the suggestion to Seteth. He did not seem to appreciate the idea. Something about impressionable young men."
Even Hubert had to wince at the thought of Seteth's reaction. "I take it he does not wish to see his precious sister in such revealing clothing."
"There was quite a lot of shouting," Byleth stated blandly, apparently unruffled by this. "Something about her age. In any case, I do not believe he would allow her to remain in class if I asked her."
Hubert wanted to growl something about Flayn being old enough to be Byleth's great-grandmother, but held his tongue. This seemed as good of an excuse as any to discount what he considered a temporary invasion of their ranks. "That seems quite decisive, then. Let us consider her off the table." Hubert paused to actually consume the biscuit sitting on his plate. This was beginning to look like a significant dilemma. "Caspar hardly bears consideration, of course. Unless the contestants were being judged by volume."
Byleth nodded, evidently choosing to treat his statement as fact rather than a joke. "I notice that you have not yet mentioned Edelgard."
Hubert refrained from his usual biting response to anybody who failed to include the future emperor's title. As long as she remained under their instruction, it was not entirely inappropriate for Byleth to treat Edelgard as just another student, even if he would have preferred a little more deference. "There can be no question that Lady Edelgard would win the cup easily. She has both the skill and the grace to outmatch any others here. Her abilities with Reason magic are also uniquely powerful."
Hubert remembered long hours spent by candlelight as he and Edelgard practiced, and practiced, and practiced again at every spell they thought could give them an edge. Edelgard had even picked up some of the same dark magic that Hubert specialized in. It was a pity that she'd chosen to turn away from magic and concentrate on her axe work, but they both reasoned that they should seek to balance out one another's skills.
"However," he continued, "it would be an inappropriate role for the future Emperor of the Adrestian Empire. Her place is at the front of the troops, not behind them. The Dancer is a supportive position. And it is ill-matched with her preferred weapon. Though Lady Edelgard is skilled with a sword, her strength with an axe remains an incredible asset."
Byleth nodded, as if Hubert's statements simply confirmed what they already suspected he would say. "There is Bernadetta."
Hubert paused. Bernadetta required a light hand. It was not just that she was easily frightened, but that she too easily beat herself up over every small failing. He was still trying to understand what horrors her family must have inflicted to make her confidence so fragile, but at least Hubert was learning what to avoid with her. Bernadetta hardly had the confidence to be seen by her own classmates, let alone the entire school. "I do not believe being asked to perform in such a public sphere would do Bernadetta any good. Perhaps, if she had more time to gain confidence, she would feel secure enough for such a role, but it would be a cruelty to place her in such a position now, especially with the pressure of the entire class relying on her."
Byleth gave him a long look that made Hubert eventually glance away in search of another biscuit. "What? Is it so surprising that I consider my classmates' wellbeing?"
"No," Byleth said simply. Hubert did not know how to take that, so he ate his biscuit instead.
Byleth reached for the teapot and topped up both of their cups. The scent of cinnamon stirred warmly through the air. "It seems that Linhardt is becoming your choice."
Hubert groaned into his teacup. "If he can be convinced to show up on the day of the competition. And to practice. And to actually... dance when required."
He lowered the cup onto his saucer. No, if he could maintain a level head where Ferdinand was concerned, surely he could do the same for Linhardt. "Linhardt has no interest in joining the fray. He prefers any role that allows him to shun the battle as much as possible. Fortunately for him, his mastery of Physic enables him to do just that. Dancer would enable him to continue to avoid direct engagement, but he would still be required to move further into the midst of the fight if he is to be effective."
"Still," Byleth mused, "if he could be convinced..."
"If he could be convinced," Hubert began, "he would do it, and do it very well, for all of ten minutes, before he grew bored. Healing suits Linhardt well because he is attentive -- and even caring when he can remember to be -- and because every wound he is presented with is a novel problem for him to solve. Even he cannot allow himself to lose focus when he's tasked with keeping somebody from bleeding out, even if his only motivation is to avoid having to see the blood. But a Dancer must be attuned to the overall state of the battlefield at all times. They must make rapid decisions about which of their forces need bolstering and where to urge them to reposition themselves. Linhardt will buck against such responsibility."
"So," Byleth stated lightly, "we have our decision."
"Do we?" Hubert frowned at them. "I cannot say that we do. It seems as though every option comes with significant drawbacks."
"As you say," the professor began, "we need someone who is proficient in magic, yet willing and able to move in the thick of battle. Somebody who is adept at predicting the flow of the battlefield, and can be trusted to make quick decisions about how to affect it." Byleth picked up their cup and took a slow sip before meeting his gaze. "So, how proficient are you at dancing?"
It felt, for a moment, as if the entire room had dropped out from beneath Hubert. Surely this was a prank. All of this effort, the tea, the long conversation, even these biscuits. What a fool he was not to recognize sooner that he was being lured into some horrible joke. He stared at his professor, desperately seeking some hint of amusement, some sign of deceit. "I had considered you above such merriment, Professor."
Byleth stared back at him, in that same distant way they always did. "I am not joking."
"You must be," Hubert persisted, daring to cast a glance at the single tiny window in the professor's room. But even he had to admit that it remained too high and frosted over to be any good for spying through. Unless somebody was very good at staying quiet while squeezed under the low bed, there remained nowhere else for some prankster to eavesdrop on their conversation. Even the door opened to the outdoors, so that if someone were standing outside of it with their ear pressed against the wood at this time of day, Hubert would be able to see their shadow through the tiny crack at the bottom. Still, even if nobody apparent was around to have put his professor up to this, he persisted with his accusation. "You must be joking, else you would be making an incredibly misguided decision, one of a calibre that I would not expect someone of your wisdom to make. Forget all that I said before. You would be better off asking Caspar to do it, if you are going to make such disastrous decisions."
"I am not," Byleth repeated. "I want you to be our Dancer."
"I was under the impression that you wanted to win the White Heron Cup," Hubert said with as much restraint as he could manage.
"Oh?" Byleth looked at him with what must have been pure obliviousness. "Are you under the impression that you would lose?"
"Professor," Hubert disliked the way that the word sounded strained in his throat, like he could barely choke it out. It was one thing for Byleth to know little about politics or religion, but quite another for them to pretend not to recognize what was plainly staring them in the face. "The goal of the contest is to charm the judges, not frighten them. Surely even you must grasp that there are many who would prefer not to look upon a visage such as mine."
Byleth shook their head. "I see no problem. You have danced before, haven't you? Edelgard told me that all nobles have had training."
"I…" Hubert felt like he was on shaky ground, only just beginning to regain his footing before this new betrayal swept him off his feet again. They spoke to Edelgard first. They spoke to Edelgard first, and she agreed to this madness. All he could do was concede and let Byleth take this wherever they had obviously planned to direct it from the start. "Of course I have."
Byleth gave a single decisive nod. "Good. Practice starts tomorrow. You can give me your answer then."
Hubert stared hard at his unfinished tea, growing colder by the minute. "And if I do not agree to this horrible plan?"
Byleth reached for another biscuit, and began to break it up in the same neat way they did before. "Then you can present to me your reasons for choosing someone else."