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Entry tags:
SIGNED AND SEALED
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses, but mostly a psl
Character(s): Marianne, Hubert
Pairing(s): Hubert/Marianne
Word Count: 3,322
Summary: Hubert's always been terrible at writing letters.
Notes: For Sable! I don't know how holidays work in 3H, just pretend this makes sense.
Ethereal Moon, the last month of the year. There are often celebrations at this time - St. Cichol’s day and the turning of the year are the most important. Marianne has never been one for celebrations, and some part of her is relieved to know that there won’t be a big deal made of these this year.
There hadn’t been last year, or the years before that, after all. With the war raging far from Enbarr, there simply isn’t any time for the Empress to throw together some celebration. It would be frivolous, Hubert had said.
Though there was never any sort of party, most of her former classmates found their way back to Enbarr towards the turning of the year. The Empress always had plenty of work to do here, and where she went, the Minister of the Imperial Household went. Marianne considered herself lucky to have the chance to spend the holiday with her boyfriend.
After all, she doesn’t have the freedom to go where she chooses. The majority of the castle is open to her, but leaving and going into town requires at least one guard with her at all times. It’s for her protection, that much has been stressed repeatedly. She trusts Hubert, and she has no doubt that he’s just being cautious, but it can be a bit unsettling. Still, if it means a quicker end to all of this fighting, she’s glad to do her part. She is a political hostage after all, even if no one treats her as such.
She’s taking tea in her room today, sitting at the balcony and looking out over royal gardens. For being a hostage, she certainly does have excellent accommodations. It’s obviously because Hubert holds a good amount of influence in Enbarr, so she can’t complain.
There’s a knock at her door, followed by a servant entering and bowing. “Lady Edmund,” He says, straightening up and waiting attentively.
Marianne quickly returns to the room - she hadn’t sent for someone, so she’s not sure what this is about. “Yes?” Though she’s certainly grown more comfortable over the past five years, there’s still something inherently awkward about being called Lady Edmund.
The servant holds out a letter for her, and the red wax seal nearly makes her heart stop. She grabs the letter a bit too quickly, nodding her thanks and she scarcely notices when the servant takes his leave.
She hurries to the desk, sitting and breaking the seal as she begins to read. It isn’t often Hubert sends her correspondence with House Vestra’s seal. Usually he doesn’t bother with a seal at all, to signify that it isn’t anything particularly important. She can’t help but wonder what it could be.
The letter is as short and stiff as everything Hubert sends her. His handwriting is neat and elegant, without any mistakes. But that’s not what’s causing the sinking feeling as she reads through it - it’s the idea that he won’t be returning to Enbarr for the turn of the year.
It makes sense, of course. They’ve recently reclaimed Garreg Mach and there’s still plenty of work to do to turn it into a proper base. It’s better situated for their strikes on the Alliance and Kingdom, and running back and forth would only be a headache. They’re likely to remain in Garreg Mach and work straight through the holiday.
It’s selfish of her to be disappointed by this. It’s already been five years and the war still rages, with no end in sight. This is the biggest step forward the imperial army has made in quite some time. She should be happy that they’re continuing to work hard and that they’re making progress.
Marianne carefully folds the letter and sets it with all of the others. Hubert doesn’t write to her often - and his correspondence is woefully short and devoid of any sort of emotion - but she understands that everything he wants to say to her, he’d prefer to say in person. He’s rather paranoid about letters being intercepted—
Oh, that’s right! Perhaps there’s a secret message in the letter. She retrieves it and frowns as she recalls the code.
Rereading the letter and applying the code does reveal a secondary message, one that constricts her chest and only serves to make the mild sting of disappointment far worse.
I’m sorry I cannot return home to be by your side. I miss you.
It’s such a simple message - and something that any other man would write outright instead of hiding it in a code - but it means the world to her. Hubert’s messages rarely carry any personal information, and certainly nothing about his feelings. She’s long ago accepted that he has difficulty with that sort of thing, and it’s never truly bothered her.
But to see him admit to something like that now...
Her tea remains forgotten on the balcony as she sets to work on a letter of her own.
It turns out that writing a letter to Hubert is far trickier than Marianne would have imagined.
This isn’t the first time she’s written to him. While it’s difficult to send a letter to a commander in the thick of battle, she always endeavors to respond to his letters. Sometimes her correspondence gets lost. Sometimes it isn’t able to be delivered. And sometimes he does receive her letters and respond, but it’s difficult to know when that will happen or how long it will take before he can respond. So usually she tries to be cheerful in them, without saying too much. There’s always the threat of the letters being intercepted, after all.
So in truth, Marianne has never written her boyfriend about her feelings. She has never had to use their code to hide such messages either. It turns out that organizing a letter to sound natural while containing a secret code is incredibly difficult. She’s not sure how Hubert manages to do it all the time. Maybe this is why his writing sounds a bit too stiff. Regardless, she keeps working on it.
The days slide by, as they always have. Marianne has no tasks to accomplish here; she’s free to roam the castle and do as she likes, and while she does frequent the library a lot, she doesn’t really have much to do with herself. Focusing entirely on this one letter isn’t difficult; she desperately wishes to let Hubert know that it’s fine, and that she misses him too. Yes, spending the holiday with him would be lovely, but she understands how important his work is.
While she may not be able to serve in battle - or even do anything of value here - she believes in the Empress’ cause just as much as all of the soldiers do. Flinging Fódlan into war was not the ideal way to do it, but things need to change. They must. A world where everyone is no longer bound by crests and free to do what they wish is one she desperately wants to support.
But for now, she focuses on writing to her boyfriend.
She’s on day five of failed attempts, and it’s beginning to look grim. The message she wants to send isn’t particularly long, but finding filler words to use in order to make it fit without sounding off is difficult. Marianne’s returning from a much-needed break for dinner, though she was rereading some of Hubert’s older letters so she scarcely remembers what she ate.
Marianne unlocks and opens the door to her room, shrugging off her shawl as she makes her way back to her desk. It’s a bit difficult to pick her way around all the discarded, crumpled attempts at letters, and the scattered books she’s been meaning to get around to picking up. She pauses, fingers still against the shawl as she notices something that definitely wasn’t on her desk before.
There’s a stack of papers. A large one. It certainly wasn’t present before, and her room was locked... How did this get here? She glances toward the balcony, but the doors are closed and locked there as well. Frowning, Marianne unties the string binding the letters together and picks up the first one.
There’s nothing off about it in terms of appearance. It’s sealed with wax, but no other identifying marks. Though she can’t help but feel nervous about this, curiosity wins out and she breaks the seal to read it.
Marianne von Edmund,
It has come to my attention that prior to our departure, I had not expressed my thanks. Your assistance in these trying times is crucial.
Sincerely,
Hubert von Vestra
It’s impossible to get through the letter without making a face. Hubert’s letters often sound impersonal, but this one is abysmal. Marianne slides into her chair and checks the cipher, but there isn’t a hidden message here.
That’s when her eyes stray to the date, printed neatly at the top corner of the page. Five years ago - at the start of the war, if she recalls correctly, not long after Hubert and Edelgard left Enbarr.
Her heart is pounding as she picks up the next letter.
Marianne von Edmund,
There’s much I have to tell you when I return. I fear I cannot express all I wish to in writing. All I can ask is that you remain patient.And even that I would not ask
It looks as though he didn’t bother finishing it. The date is from later, several months after the first one.
She opens the next.
Marianne,
I’ve given up all attempts at sending you the words I want to say. There’s simply no way to convey the depth of my gratitude in writing. For now, all the things I wish I could send you will remain here, where they won’t fall into the wrong hands.
Yours,
Hubert
That earns a small smile. She’s never seen his writing so candid. The next few letters follow the same pattern, slowly opening up just a little more each time. By the time she reaches the tenth, her smile is tinged with sadness.
Marianne,
I must apologize for the letter I sent you. For all of them, truly. They are so impersonal, lacking in any emotion whatsoever. I fear I’m paralyzed by the idea of putting my feelings down in such a way. Should a letter be intercepted, that information could be detrimental for us. That isn’t the real reason, however. I worry that I don’t know how to tell you the depth of my feelings, and how much I miss you. I wish I could be by your side.
Yours,
Hubert
Marianne,
I apologize for how brief my stay was. I wanted nothing more than to remain by your side for longer, but I was only in Enbarr for a few errands. I’ll continue to dream of your touch until next we meet. Your new hairstyle is endearing, pass my compliments on to the stylist.
Hubert
P.S. Would you let me style your hair again at some point? I cannot guarantee it would look nearly as nice, but I can think of nothing else and I must ask, even if this letter will never reach you.
Marianne,
We almost lost our battle today. It is a struggle just to hold our position, much less advance. Caspar was nearly run through, and were it not for Linhardt’s proximity, he would have died. I can’t help but wonder what would happen were we to lose. There are plans in place in case of Her Majesty’s death and in case of mine, of course, but I don’t know who would tell you. I don’t know how you would react.
I have always been prepared to lay down my life in service to Her Majesty, but I find myself desperate to return to you. I can’t leave you alone. I won’t.
With love,
Hubert
She sets that one aside with trembling hands, but the next several make no reference to it. Most of them are more light-hearted, growing with confidence in his words each time.
Marianne,
I find myself growing more and more distracted by you. This is in no small part because of that dress you were wearing. Was that Dorothea’s idea? It’s attractive beyond belief. I’m still irritated the only way I could think to describe it at the time was “nice”. You have always been beautiful, radiant, but seeing you in something so different has only reminded me why I developed those petals in the first place. As time has passed, you’ve truly grown into a stunningly beautiful young woman. I am lucky to have the opportunity to care for you and call you mine, and yet I squander it with lifeless letters that say nothing of how much you mean to me.
When this war is over, when I have destroyed those who would aim to hurt Her Majesty further, I will prove myself to you. Over and over, for as long as it takes. I will thank you for your patience and understanding, and I will make everything up to you.
Until that day, please wait for me.
Love,
Hubert
She’s scarlet by the time she reaches the next one. He’s never so bold with praise, and while it’s a little embarrassing, she finds she isn’t complaining. She doesn’t like the way he writes about himself, as though he somehow has to prove himself, but she certainly can’t stop now.
The letters that come after follow a similar pattern. They’re mostly about how much he cares for her, how much he misses her, and things he hopes for in the future, without ever listing any concrete plans or ideas. Sometimes they’re melancholy, expressing a desire for something different, where she wouldn’t have had to be left behind like this. And sometimes he writes of his insecurities, his concerns, and the things that truly terrify him.
Each and every letter is a deeper insight into Hubert’s mind, and she finds that it isn’t nearly as terrifying as she would have once thought.
Finally, she reaches the bottom of the stack, the very last letter.
My love,
I planned to burn all of these letters at the end of the war. There are far too many personal things within that I could never dream of burdening you with. But for every word I have regretted putting down, there are three I wish I had expressed. So I’ve changed my mind - I’ll deliver these to you.
I wanted to wait until the end of the war, but I find I cannot wait even a moment longer. The future we so desperately seek grows closer every day, and with it, my thoughts always turn to you. Will you be waiting when I return?
This one isn’t signed. It’s rushed, the ink smudged in places and no date at the top corner. It wasn’t even sealed properly, unlike all the ones before it.
Marianne carefully lowers it, letting out a soft, shaky breath. “Hubert,” She says, because she knows he’s here. Who else could have slipped into her room and delivered her such a large stack of personal letters without detection and without worrying about a locked door?
“I’m here.” He’s moved into the light when she turns; the shadowy corners of her room gave him plenty of space to hide. She finds a smile slipping back onto her face even though he looks worn and tired, and she’s not surprised when his expression softens to match it.
There isn’t any hesitation - Marianne closes the gap between them with rushed footsteps, nearly tripping over discarded papers and pulls him into a tight hug. Perhaps she’ll be embarrassed later; it isn’t often she’s so open or needy or desperate for affection.
He freezes for a moment, but then his arms wind around her, pulling her so close there’s almost no room left to breathe. She expects a wry remark about how much she’s missed him, but none comes.
“I missed you,” She says, “I wanted to write to you, to tell you that much, at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
She does pull back a bit at that so she can look up at him. It isn’t the first time Hubert’s apologized for something without her having any idea what he’s talking about, and it certainly won’t be the last.
Her confusion prompts him to continue. “All of the letters I’ve sent you have been so... impersonal.”
True, but she doesn’t say it. “There’s only so much you can say when a letter could be intercepted.”
“Yes,” His gaze darts anyway. “But...” Hubert hesitates, his eyes still fixed firmly on the wall as he struggles for words.
She’s always found it sort of cute when he gets like this. Usually he has no problems speaking, never stumbling over his words or hesitating at all. But when it comes to all matters emotional, that’s when he gets tongue-tied, fumbling over even the simplest things. Expressing himself has never been easy, and it seems even time hasn’t helped with that.
“It’s okay, Hubert.” She leans against him, resting her head against his chest and tightening her grip on him. “I love you too.”
She can feel one of his hands leave her and without looking, she knows he’s moved it to cover his mouth while he turns bright red. She’s very fond of that too.
“Yes, well,” He starts and hesitates. Tries again. “I’m afraid this isn’t going at all how I planned it.”
“Oh?”
He separates from her - gently, always gently - and rests a gloved hand at the side of her face. “I wanted to do this properly. There’s still so much left to do and now is hardly the time, but... I’m afraid I can’t wait another day.”
“Hubert?”
He kneels before her and suddenly he’s not the only one turning red. “Marianne,” She feels like she might faint as he frees a small black box from his jacket pocket. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
The ring inside the box is a delicate silver, glittering in the light. There’s a gorgeous set of blue and white gemstones at the center, though it’s hardly an ostentatious or showy ring. The metalwork of the band is intricate while remaining subtle. It’s everything she could have ever dreamed of.
Her legs promptly give out on her as she reaches for him with shaky hands, though her grip on him when she finds him is tight enough to bruise. “Yes,” The answer is breathless, soft. “Yes,” Louder this time. “Yes, Hubert, yes, of course—” Tears well up in her eyes, threatening to blind her to his relieved smile.
Hubert pulls her close, and even though they’re still on the floor and this is hardly the most dignified proposal, she couldn’t imagine it any other way. “My love,” He whispers into her hair, just as breathless, “thank you. Thank you...”
Character(s): Marianne, Hubert
Pairing(s): Hubert/Marianne
Word Count: 3,322
Summary: Hubert's always been terrible at writing letters.
Notes: For Sable! I don't know how holidays work in 3H, just pretend this makes sense.
Ethereal Moon, the last month of the year. There are often celebrations at this time - St. Cichol’s day and the turning of the year are the most important. Marianne has never been one for celebrations, and some part of her is relieved to know that there won’t be a big deal made of these this year.
There hadn’t been last year, or the years before that, after all. With the war raging far from Enbarr, there simply isn’t any time for the Empress to throw together some celebration. It would be frivolous, Hubert had said.
Though there was never any sort of party, most of her former classmates found their way back to Enbarr towards the turning of the year. The Empress always had plenty of work to do here, and where she went, the Minister of the Imperial Household went. Marianne considered herself lucky to have the chance to spend the holiday with her boyfriend.
After all, she doesn’t have the freedom to go where she chooses. The majority of the castle is open to her, but leaving and going into town requires at least one guard with her at all times. It’s for her protection, that much has been stressed repeatedly. She trusts Hubert, and she has no doubt that he’s just being cautious, but it can be a bit unsettling. Still, if it means a quicker end to all of this fighting, she’s glad to do her part. She is a political hostage after all, even if no one treats her as such.
She’s taking tea in her room today, sitting at the balcony and looking out over royal gardens. For being a hostage, she certainly does have excellent accommodations. It’s obviously because Hubert holds a good amount of influence in Enbarr, so she can’t complain.
There’s a knock at her door, followed by a servant entering and bowing. “Lady Edmund,” He says, straightening up and waiting attentively.
Marianne quickly returns to the room - she hadn’t sent for someone, so she’s not sure what this is about. “Yes?” Though she’s certainly grown more comfortable over the past five years, there’s still something inherently awkward about being called Lady Edmund.
The servant holds out a letter for her, and the red wax seal nearly makes her heart stop. She grabs the letter a bit too quickly, nodding her thanks and she scarcely notices when the servant takes his leave.
She hurries to the desk, sitting and breaking the seal as she begins to read. It isn’t often Hubert sends her correspondence with House Vestra’s seal. Usually he doesn’t bother with a seal at all, to signify that it isn’t anything particularly important. She can’t help but wonder what it could be.
The letter is as short and stiff as everything Hubert sends her. His handwriting is neat and elegant, without any mistakes. But that’s not what’s causing the sinking feeling as she reads through it - it’s the idea that he won’t be returning to Enbarr for the turn of the year.
It makes sense, of course. They’ve recently reclaimed Garreg Mach and there’s still plenty of work to do to turn it into a proper base. It’s better situated for their strikes on the Alliance and Kingdom, and running back and forth would only be a headache. They’re likely to remain in Garreg Mach and work straight through the holiday.
It’s selfish of her to be disappointed by this. It’s already been five years and the war still rages, with no end in sight. This is the biggest step forward the imperial army has made in quite some time. She should be happy that they’re continuing to work hard and that they’re making progress.
Marianne carefully folds the letter and sets it with all of the others. Hubert doesn’t write to her often - and his correspondence is woefully short and devoid of any sort of emotion - but she understands that everything he wants to say to her, he’d prefer to say in person. He’s rather paranoid about letters being intercepted—
Oh, that’s right! Perhaps there’s a secret message in the letter. She retrieves it and frowns as she recalls the code.
- One can never be too careful. Hubert had said, listing out letters and numbers as she tried to make sense of it. Information can be intercepted easily. There’s no telling how many spies are in Enbarr.
She had shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Do you really believe there are so many?
The look he’d leveled at her wasn’t cold, but it was so sharp it made her skin crawl. I have rooted out as many as I could find, but there will always be more. It wasn’t often she forgot how terrifying her boyfriend could be, but considering just how gentle he always was with her, perhaps it made sense that she’d sometimes forget.
Before she could reply, he’d pointed to the code. If you apply this here, and here, what do you see?
It had taken her a moment, but she gasped, There’s a hidden message!
That’s right, His expression had softened back into something gentle. Remember this code. If there is ever something I must tell you that I can’t say outright, I will use it.
I won’t forget. She’d promised.
Rereading the letter and applying the code does reveal a secondary message, one that constricts her chest and only serves to make the mild sting of disappointment far worse.
I’m sorry I cannot return home to be by your side. I miss you.
It’s such a simple message - and something that any other man would write outright instead of hiding it in a code - but it means the world to her. Hubert’s messages rarely carry any personal information, and certainly nothing about his feelings. She’s long ago accepted that he has difficulty with that sort of thing, and it’s never truly bothered her.
But to see him admit to something like that now...
Her tea remains forgotten on the balcony as she sets to work on a letter of her own.
It turns out that writing a letter to Hubert is far trickier than Marianne would have imagined.
This isn’t the first time she’s written to him. While it’s difficult to send a letter to a commander in the thick of battle, she always endeavors to respond to his letters. Sometimes her correspondence gets lost. Sometimes it isn’t able to be delivered. And sometimes he does receive her letters and respond, but it’s difficult to know when that will happen or how long it will take before he can respond. So usually she tries to be cheerful in them, without saying too much. There’s always the threat of the letters being intercepted, after all.
So in truth, Marianne has never written her boyfriend about her feelings. She has never had to use their code to hide such messages either. It turns out that organizing a letter to sound natural while containing a secret code is incredibly difficult. She’s not sure how Hubert manages to do it all the time. Maybe this is why his writing sounds a bit too stiff. Regardless, she keeps working on it.
The days slide by, as they always have. Marianne has no tasks to accomplish here; she’s free to roam the castle and do as she likes, and while she does frequent the library a lot, she doesn’t really have much to do with herself. Focusing entirely on this one letter isn’t difficult; she desperately wishes to let Hubert know that it’s fine, and that she misses him too. Yes, spending the holiday with him would be lovely, but she understands how important his work is.
While she may not be able to serve in battle - or even do anything of value here - she believes in the Empress’ cause just as much as all of the soldiers do. Flinging Fódlan into war was not the ideal way to do it, but things need to change. They must. A world where everyone is no longer bound by crests and free to do what they wish is one she desperately wants to support.
But for now, she focuses on writing to her boyfriend.
She’s on day five of failed attempts, and it’s beginning to look grim. The message she wants to send isn’t particularly long, but finding filler words to use in order to make it fit without sounding off is difficult. Marianne’s returning from a much-needed break for dinner, though she was rereading some of Hubert’s older letters so she scarcely remembers what she ate.
Marianne unlocks and opens the door to her room, shrugging off her shawl as she makes her way back to her desk. It’s a bit difficult to pick her way around all the discarded, crumpled attempts at letters, and the scattered books she’s been meaning to get around to picking up. She pauses, fingers still against the shawl as she notices something that definitely wasn’t on her desk before.
There’s a stack of papers. A large one. It certainly wasn’t present before, and her room was locked... How did this get here? She glances toward the balcony, but the doors are closed and locked there as well. Frowning, Marianne unties the string binding the letters together and picks up the first one.
There’s nothing off about it in terms of appearance. It’s sealed with wax, but no other identifying marks. Though she can’t help but feel nervous about this, curiosity wins out and she breaks the seal to read it.
Marianne von Edmund,
It has come to my attention that prior to our departure, I had not expressed my thanks. Your assistance in these trying times is crucial.
Sincerely,
Hubert von Vestra
It’s impossible to get through the letter without making a face. Hubert’s letters often sound impersonal, but this one is abysmal. Marianne slides into her chair and checks the cipher, but there isn’t a hidden message here.
That’s when her eyes stray to the date, printed neatly at the top corner of the page. Five years ago - at the start of the war, if she recalls correctly, not long after Hubert and Edelgard left Enbarr.
Her heart is pounding as she picks up the next letter.
Marianne von Edmund,
There’s much I have to tell you when I return. I fear I cannot express all I wish to in writing. All I can ask is that you remain patient.
It looks as though he didn’t bother finishing it. The date is from later, several months after the first one.
She opens the next.
Marianne,
I’ve given up all attempts at sending you the words I want to say. There’s simply no way to convey the depth of my gratitude in writing. For now, all the things I wish I could send you will remain here, where they won’t fall into the wrong hands.
Yours,
Hubert
That earns a small smile. She’s never seen his writing so candid. The next few letters follow the same pattern, slowly opening up just a little more each time. By the time she reaches the tenth, her smile is tinged with sadness.
Marianne,
I must apologize for the letter I sent you. For all of them, truly. They are so impersonal, lacking in any emotion whatsoever. I fear I’m paralyzed by the idea of putting my feelings down in such a way. Should a letter be intercepted, that information could be detrimental for us. That isn’t the real reason, however. I worry that I don’t know how to tell you the depth of my feelings, and how much I miss you. I wish I could be by your side.
Yours,
Hubert
Marianne,
I apologize for how brief my stay was. I wanted nothing more than to remain by your side for longer, but I was only in Enbarr for a few errands. I’ll continue to dream of your touch until next we meet. Your new hairstyle is endearing, pass my compliments on to the stylist.
Hubert
P.S. Would you let me style your hair again at some point? I cannot guarantee it would look nearly as nice, but I can think of nothing else and I must ask, even if this letter will never reach you.
Marianne,
We almost lost our battle today. It is a struggle just to hold our position, much less advance. Caspar was nearly run through, and were it not for Linhardt’s proximity, he would have died. I can’t help but wonder what would happen were we to lose. There are plans in place in case of Her Majesty’s death and in case of mine, of course, but I don’t know who would tell you. I don’t know how you would react.
I have always been prepared to lay down my life in service to Her Majesty, but I find myself desperate to return to you. I can’t leave you alone. I won’t.
With love,
Hubert
She sets that one aside with trembling hands, but the next several make no reference to it. Most of them are more light-hearted, growing with confidence in his words each time.
Marianne,
I find myself growing more and more distracted by you. This is in no small part because of that dress you were wearing. Was that Dorothea’s idea? It’s attractive beyond belief. I’m still irritated the only way I could think to describe it at the time was “nice”. You have always been beautiful, radiant, but seeing you in something so different has only reminded me why I developed those petals in the first place. As time has passed, you’ve truly grown into a stunningly beautiful young woman. I am lucky to have the opportunity to care for you and call you mine, and yet I squander it with lifeless letters that say nothing of how much you mean to me.
When this war is over, when I have destroyed those who would aim to hurt Her Majesty further, I will prove myself to you. Over and over, for as long as it takes. I will thank you for your patience and understanding, and I will make everything up to you.
Until that day, please wait for me.
Love,
Hubert
She’s scarlet by the time she reaches the next one. He’s never so bold with praise, and while it’s a little embarrassing, she finds she isn’t complaining. She doesn’t like the way he writes about himself, as though he somehow has to prove himself, but she certainly can’t stop now.
The letters that come after follow a similar pattern. They’re mostly about how much he cares for her, how much he misses her, and things he hopes for in the future, without ever listing any concrete plans or ideas. Sometimes they’re melancholy, expressing a desire for something different, where she wouldn’t have had to be left behind like this. And sometimes he writes of his insecurities, his concerns, and the things that truly terrify him.
Each and every letter is a deeper insight into Hubert’s mind, and she finds that it isn’t nearly as terrifying as she would have once thought.
Finally, she reaches the bottom of the stack, the very last letter.
My love,
I planned to burn all of these letters at the end of the war. There are far too many personal things within that I could never dream of burdening you with. But for every word I have regretted putting down, there are three I wish I had expressed. So I’ve changed my mind - I’ll deliver these to you.
I wanted to wait until the end of the war, but I find I cannot wait even a moment longer. The future we so desperately seek grows closer every day, and with it, my thoughts always turn to you. Will you be waiting when I return?
This one isn’t signed. It’s rushed, the ink smudged in places and no date at the top corner. It wasn’t even sealed properly, unlike all the ones before it.
Marianne carefully lowers it, letting out a soft, shaky breath. “Hubert,” She says, because she knows he’s here. Who else could have slipped into her room and delivered her such a large stack of personal letters without detection and without worrying about a locked door?
“I’m here.” He’s moved into the light when she turns; the shadowy corners of her room gave him plenty of space to hide. She finds a smile slipping back onto her face even though he looks worn and tired, and she’s not surprised when his expression softens to match it.
There isn’t any hesitation - Marianne closes the gap between them with rushed footsteps, nearly tripping over discarded papers and pulls him into a tight hug. Perhaps she’ll be embarrassed later; it isn’t often she’s so open or needy or desperate for affection.
He freezes for a moment, but then his arms wind around her, pulling her so close there’s almost no room left to breathe. She expects a wry remark about how much she’s missed him, but none comes.
“I missed you,” She says, “I wanted to write to you, to tell you that much, at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
She does pull back a bit at that so she can look up at him. It isn’t the first time Hubert’s apologized for something without her having any idea what he’s talking about, and it certainly won’t be the last.
Her confusion prompts him to continue. “All of the letters I’ve sent you have been so... impersonal.”
True, but she doesn’t say it. “There’s only so much you can say when a letter could be intercepted.”
“Yes,” His gaze darts anyway. “But...” Hubert hesitates, his eyes still fixed firmly on the wall as he struggles for words.
She’s always found it sort of cute when he gets like this. Usually he has no problems speaking, never stumbling over his words or hesitating at all. But when it comes to all matters emotional, that’s when he gets tongue-tied, fumbling over even the simplest things. Expressing himself has never been easy, and it seems even time hasn’t helped with that.
“It’s okay, Hubert.” She leans against him, resting her head against his chest and tightening her grip on him. “I love you too.”
She can feel one of his hands leave her and without looking, she knows he’s moved it to cover his mouth while he turns bright red. She’s very fond of that too.
“Yes, well,” He starts and hesitates. Tries again. “I’m afraid this isn’t going at all how I planned it.”
“Oh?”
He separates from her - gently, always gently - and rests a gloved hand at the side of her face. “I wanted to do this properly. There’s still so much left to do and now is hardly the time, but... I’m afraid I can’t wait another day.”
“Hubert?”
He kneels before her and suddenly he’s not the only one turning red. “Marianne,” She feels like she might faint as he frees a small black box from his jacket pocket. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
The ring inside the box is a delicate silver, glittering in the light. There’s a gorgeous set of blue and white gemstones at the center, though it’s hardly an ostentatious or showy ring. The metalwork of the band is intricate while remaining subtle. It’s everything she could have ever dreamed of.
Her legs promptly give out on her as she reaches for him with shaky hands, though her grip on him when she finds him is tight enough to bruise. “Yes,” The answer is breathless, soft. “Yes,” Louder this time. “Yes, Hubert, yes, of course—” Tears well up in her eyes, threatening to blind her to his relieved smile.
Hubert pulls her close, and even though they’re still on the floor and this is hardly the most dignified proposal, she couldn’t imagine it any other way. “My love,” He whispers into her hair, just as breathless, “thank you. Thank you...”