Ingrid Brandl Galatea

Enjoying food and finding joy in trying new and delicious meals was something that Dedue would never see as a downside. He was aware that there was a big cultural difference between how he viewed food and those outside of Duscur saw food. He didn’t think it was a problem that Ingrid like to come into the dining hall and have a meal, especially if it was one that he had a hand in making that evening. One thing that always gave him immense joy was seeing other’s reactions to the food that he made, or helped make, because it reminded him how something as simple as a meal was able to lift spirits and bring people together. 

“Mm. While there may not be any work or dedication in eating a meal, there is much to be said about sharing a meal with others.” Dedue was aware of the conflicting expression that Ingrid was adorning at the moment, though he wasn’t exactly sure why she seemed as conflicted as she was. “I do not believe that anyone would view you as someone who did not work hard.” He was aware of how hard Ingrid worked, as well as many of the rest of the Blue Lion’s, though he never felt like it was his place to explicitly ask about everyone’s motives. “One can be recognized for two things, enjoying a meal as well as being strong. Both can happen at the same time.” He didn’t think that being a fan of food meant that it took away from Ingrid’s strength, but wasn’t sure if that was something she’d feel comfortable talking about with him. 

He reached over, grabbing the skillet that she had finished before mixing it along with the meat that he had just finished. He grabbed a few more ingredients and moved them aside towards Ingrid. They were for the spice that they were going to make and he was going to work on the glaze that went on the top of the dish to add something a little sweet to balance out the slight kick. “There are measurements for each of the spices we need on the counter. We just need to mix them all together, I will make the glaze for the meal.”

He saw Ingrid’s expression fall once more and wondered if talking about his family had made her feel uncomfortable. He tried not to speak about his past, knowing that the tragedy was painful for many people, not just him. He didn’t know much about Glenn, outside of the fact that he was Felix’s brother and had been a model knight from what he had heard. He could tell how much pain losing Glenn had been for Ingrid and wondered if she still harbored that intense pain all these years later, if her intense drive to be a model knight was somehow tied with Glenn’s death.   

“Yes, I too try to keep my memories of my family close.” He was aware that the more years slipped by, the more gaps there were in things that seemed to be sharp to him. “Even if time slips by and erases memories that we hold close and cherish, those we love will always be beside us in spirit.” Dedue wasn’t sure if Ingrid or any of the Blue Lion’s felt the same way about those who had departed being by their side, even if they were unable to see them in the physical form. 

“I admire your dedication to becoming a knight. I vow my life to protecting His Highness and will do whatever I must in order to ensure his safety.” His voice was firm as he spoke, resolute in his dedication to Dimitri because of everything that he had done for him. “Many believe that food is simply energy for the body, but in Duscur, we believed that it did far more for us than just provide sustenance.”

“Well...yes, that is true. I would agree that no one is limited to only be recognized for a single endeavor. It’s silly to think that, for instance, Professor Byleth could only be seen as an excellent teacher or an excellent mercenary, when clearly they are both,” Ingrid replied, her spirts lifting some, though her eyebrows remained drawn together in thought, “but...a lot of times, people tend to focus on a single thing above all else about a person. Professor Byleth is seen foremost as a teacher, while all else follows behind. I would be horribly embarrassed, no, ashamed, if my appetite was recognized before my capability as a knight.” She admitted, her cheeks still carrying a light pink coloring.

Her thoughts snapped away from her own insecurities back to the meal before them as Dedue instructed her to prepare the spices, and she nodded in understanding. Though she was relatively well-versed in spices and other condiments, many of these were completely unfamiliar to her. Are these all from Duscur? She wondered as she gingerly completed the measurements, occasionally pausing to take in the variety of scents. Some of them carried a powder-like texture, while others were more flake-like, and it made her all the more curious to learn of their different tastes.

“A glaze? That sounds nice. I love the taste of meats that have been marinated, cured, or smothered in some form of sauce. It really adds to the natural flavors of the meat, and creates something completely new. There’s a market outside of Garreg Mach with a meat vendor that has a fantastic glazed pork...it’s just great!” Ingrid explained, her enthusiasm for food shining through despite her earlier embarrassment. 

Ingrid turned toward Dedue at the mention that food did so much more than sustain a person in Duscar’s culture, and offered him the bowl of prepared spices. She didn’t find the notion strange, but was geniunely curious.

The air around Caspar had only changed slightly, but that energy shift excited him. The first hit of his gauntlets had struck the steel of a lance instead of flesh, which meant that this fight would be a lot of fun!

“Thank you! I’m glad you’re surprised, be ready for that to happen a lot today!” Caspar cheekily retorted. 

Just as he replied, the glint of Ingrid’s lance had caught his eye. Before Caspar had a chance to reaction, her lance hit his shin and had knocked him on the ground. At least he fell on his side but before Ingrid could pin him , Caspar rolled on the ground, out of the way, and pop back up into a defensive position.

Being a little out of breath, Caspar complimented Ingrid, “HEY! You hit just as hard too, wow! That smarts! I gotta look out for that other end, a lance is definitively tougher than it looks. Maybe its just the wielder!”.

Though their bout of sparring had merely just begun, it had already become lucid to Ingrid that Caspar was the type of sparring partner she mostly preferred. His overall energy and excitement was proof that he had a strong enthusiasm for training, but it wasn’t just zeal that served him alone. Caspar was also capable. That meant that he trained diligently to obtain his demonstrated strength, and that was a quality that Ingrid admired. Though the boy was far more chatty, far more eccentric than herself, she could see some of her own characteristics within him, and she appreciated what they shared in common.

Her retaliation had landed, causing Caspar to drop into the dirt, but she was unable to strike with another swift follow-up, as he had already rolled to safety and returned to his feet. Impressed with his reaction time, her lips twitched into a small grin, but she retained her focus as to not sever her careful attention.

Felix had never been particularly in wonder of ballrooms as he grew older. It was something he had to do, though he genuinely did not want to. There was always some subtle nudging, like he was supposed to be getting something out of the women who tried to dance with him. Form some opinion and consider what sort of wife they might be. He was heir to a dukedom, so it wasn’t as if he could try climbing the social ladder (if he had such interest in such things), but whenever he was forced to these he was hounded by girls trying to catch his eye. Trying to be the next Duchess–luckily for him, he had by now enough of a reputation to keep most of the dogs at bay.

As Ingrid stumbled, Felix moved to help catch her, turning them in the same movement to keep the pair behind them from crashing into her. They did bump into him, but he merely cast a glare over his shoulder before turning his attention back to her. At first he thought perhaps she had twisted her ankle (what was with women and wearing heels to dance?), but her admission put him at ease. “It’s fine,” he muttered after a moment, glaring off to one side upon realizing that he’d been unconsciously looking her over to check for injuries–if she were favouring one side or the other. 

“…Do you want to stop?” he asked, still not looking at her. After a moment, he offered his hand. “If not… This isn’t terrible, I guess.”

The sheepish, embarrassed chuckle that slipped through Ingrid’s lips transformed into a quiet laugh, exposing a flash of her teeth and a certain rosiness to her cheeks. Their dancing had been imperfect, awkward even, but still Ingrid found herself pleasantly entertained compared to the dull dance partners with steps pretentiously precise. There was no burden on her shoulders to impress, no weight of involving herself in someone purely for financial gain, nor the discomfort that came with a stranger silently assessing unmalleable physical features. It was just as simple as it seemed: ballroom dancing.

“Actually, I’m having a lot of fun. The most fun I’ve had in a long time.” She said sincerely, pulling Felix forward into the next step of the dance with a beaming expression.

It was almost amusing, how their situations were so divergent. Felix would one day become the Duke of his House, and with that title, he would inherit the riches of his family. With so much power and resources, he had no limitations on who he could choose to one day rule alongside him. Ingrid, on the other hand, was the only hope for a practically collapsed House. She had no choice but to marry for wealth. So many people shared their very situations, and yet...here the two of them were, intentionally ruining a perfect opportunity to find a suitable partner to court.

Felix’s sharp eyes focused on Ingrid as she pulled the sheet back, though the warning on the tip of his tongue remained there. He could see the strain on her as she moved, sat up. She had only just recently been mended so moving was not advisable, but still he made no move to stop her just yet. Ingrid knew her own limits better than he did, and even if his worry for her was bubbling under his skin he waited patiently. Felix knew he would be pushing himself just the same were their roles reversed. 

Letting her move on her own, he watched and waited, noting the struggle she endured to even attempt being upright. Moving her probably wasn’t advisable. However, her request did not fall on deaf ears.

Instead of arguing that she should stay, that the healers would be upset if they left, that she was probably safer here… he moved to stand before her. Then, to her side, carefully lifting her arm up and over his shoulders. “They’ll probably be pretty pissed about you leaving,” he commented, but made no effort to try and change her mind. Instead, he fit his other arm around her waist securely. Waiting a few moments, he gave her a quiet countdown and then carefully helped lift her up to her feet. 

All the while, his gaze was intent on her face, looking for the first sign of discomfort or pain that might be overwhelming. Really, he had no problem carrying her back if it was easier, but he’d give her the chance to prove she could function before he just opted for that.

Perseverance. It had always been Ingrid’s most distinguished strength. No matter how difficult the journey became, no matter how hopeless it appeared, she never gave up in the face of arduous challenge. It was this very persistence that shaped her industrious, serious, and capable personality; something she wore with pride. Perseverance drove her motivations, encouraging her to test the boundaries of her very endurance. When her body ached with protest, she gradually pushed herself a little harder until she located that line. Realizing when she had reached that point was now as natural as hunger or thirst, and she cautiously approached that barrier with every endeavor. After all, there was little success to be found without pain, and pain was an indication she was achieving the progress she craved.

To an untrained eye, her determination to leave the clinic against the healer’s orders appeared reckless. In truth, it was highly calculated. Ingrid was well-aware of the danger of stressing fresh wounds, so she choose her actions carefully. She was pushing herself, but not enough to cause bleeding or other injury. With Felix beside her, she was confident she would be able to relocate safely. If somehow she did manage to injure herself, she would have immediate aid.

“Oh, I’m certain they will be,” Ingrid replied without hesitation, ignoring the small wave of dizziness once she was on her feet with Felix’s assistance, “but I need to do so. I...know I can do this.” She could feel the strain of her muscle from her torso cascading down to her calves, but the pain was manageable. She didn’t experience any pressure in her wounds, and therefore, she decided that for the moment, it was safe to use them.

From FERP Biweekly Ask Meme #4. || 28. what makes you happy? 

Beneath the cool shade of a great oak tree on the monastery grounds, Ingrid was reading through yet another book, which rested comfortably in her lap. It was yet another tale of a knight that rose through the ranks in Faerghus, one of her favorite types of novels, describing his courage, strength, and kindness in form of chapters describing his many endeavors. It was a quiet day at the academy and somehow, she had managed to even convince Bernadetta to come out from her room for a while to enjoy the cool weather.

From FERP Biweekly Ask Meme #4. ||  31. talk about the person you love most?

“E-excuse me?” Ingrid stuttered, visibly startled. Her expression was a concoction of both shock and embarrassment; her green eyes wide as plates and her cheeks as pink as the azaleas in the monastery’s greenhouse. The question was completely unexpected, let alone from someone like Edelgard. The girl had always held herself to such a high standard and trained so seriously that she never would have imagined that she’d have interests in something like romance.

From FERP Biweekly Ask Meme #4. || 16. do you like journaling? if so,what do you journal about?

A small, but sincere smile emerged from a resting frown. Compared to the question that she had answered previously, this inquiry was one Ingrid was more than happy to answer. It was well-known that she was passionate when it came to her training, but what was little realized was exactly how she tracked her progress.

“Well, I don’t keep a diary, but I do maintain a training journal,” Ingrid replied, her smile growing ever brighter as she continued, “it’s a great way to see if I’m measurably improving with each day of training. I track how strong I’m getting, the amount of spars I win, and the way I perform different lance techniques. I even track flight speeds and moves in the sky.” She looked to her hand, clenching a loose fist.

From FERP Biweekly Ask Meme #4. || 24. do you have any unusual fears? what are they?

The question posed to Ingrid was hardly one she sought to answer, though she managed to maintain a calm composure despite her discomfort. It was only natural for someone to be hesitant to portray any kind of weakness, especially to a strange, no less! But still, she decided it wasn’t too personal of a question, and would answer.

Keeping his back towards Ingrid, Dimitri took a knee to rest for a moment. He left out a deep exhale as he sensed her moving forward. “Hmph. If you’re as unfortunate as I am, that line does not exist. The dead will know peace only after they are avenged.”

In truth, Dimitri was tired of it all: the voices, the nightmares, the stench of death. Death… it followed him everywhere. The headaches grew more and more frequent, often becoming migraines. Ever since he was a boy he had the same metallic taste coating his mouth. Dimitri couldn’t even recall the last time he had gotten a decent night’s sleep. Sometimes he felt that fighting so recklessly would’ve ended his suffering all together. But alas, even he wasn’t that lucky.

“The age of chivalry and comradery is dead. Half of the country followed that Witch out of cowardice and weakness. If I have just as much blood on my hands as Edelgard then what does that make for the people of Faerghus? Do they really want a broken king in charge?”

“Your Highness...it would be insensitive for me to say I know exactly how you feel. I have suffered loss, but that pain is different for everyone,” Ingrid said, her voice even and calm. She stilled, her verdant eyes casting downward to study the geography of Dimitri’s back. A childish part of her hoped that a script would be etched into the fabric of his clothes, instructing her on the words that he needed to hear. But the words did not unveil themselves. What did he need her to say? She wondered, pursing her lips. What could she say to ease his pain, even if only a little? How could she reach the Dimitri she once knew?

She moved forward once more, passing his form by a mere couple steps before she turned toward him. Her eyes fell to him once more, searching for any form of reaction. Silently, she wondered what her expression must have looked like. Was it full of consternation? Courage? Or was it a picture of empathy and strength, like she hoped? When Dimitri didn’t immediately recoil away, she knelt down before him.

“Maybe so,” She said, her voice growing quiet, “those who turned their backs to Faerghus are cowardly traitors. There is no excuse for their allegiance to the Empire. But...Gautier, Fraldarius, and Galatea...our strength is yours. It always has been. The spilling of blood comes with war. It is not a war we raged, but we have no choice but to fight if we are to protect Faerghus. You aren’t broken, Prince Dimitri.” She wrung her hands together. Part of her wanted to reach for his hand, but she was wary. If she made one wrong move, she might not reach him.

The flinch and tensing of Ingrid’s form didn’t unsettle Sylvain. He knew that he had come up behind her and she wasn’t exactly in a situation where his normal invasion of personal space wouldn’t be seen as a slight threat. He hadn’t really thought about it, since he was normally throwing his arm around his friends and coming up behind them, getting as close as he physically could, but he also wanted to let the guys know that he wasn’t going anywhere either. He could be menacing when he wanted to be, but he didn’t want Ingrid to feel like he was coming to rescue her like she was a princess in need of saving by a knight. 

He did feel protective over her though. They had grown up together and he considered them to be close friends. He had always been impressed by her value system and how, no matter what, she fought for what she believed, even if other people didn’t feel the same. He was the exact opposite of Ingrid, constantly “rebelling” in every single way that he could from his father’s wealth and status. 

He let out a light chuckle as he looked over at her. “Aw, you wouldn’t break my heart like that Ingrid. You know that you’d miss me if I left. Besides, I’m just here to make sure that these guys get lost. Nothing is more sad to watch then for men to not be able to take a hint from a woman.” He knew that he was known for being overly flirty with people, but he never continued after someone told him no or asked him to get lost. There was a line between trying to ask someone out and being a nuisance and these guys seemed to have already crossed over that line. 

“You heard her, didn’t you? You might want to leave now and do as she says before she takes one of her bats and uses them on you for practice. I gotta say that would be pretty amusing to watch.”

Whenever Ingrid found herself in danger or involuntarily placed in an uncomfortable situation, Sylvain always seemed to inexplicably arrive on the scene to support her. Knowing that she had a friend at her side, particularly in times where she felt she was being disrespected, eased the tension in her shoulders. Regardless of whether or not she had assistance, Ingrid was perfectly capable of handling herself, but knowing she wasn’t completely cornered was a comfort. Sylvain was an idiot. One of the biggest idiots she had ever met. But she trusted him more than anyone else. Ingrid didn’t have the words to describe her appreciation for him--not that it mattered. She’d never admit it to him, as it would only boost his already inflated ego.

Sylvain’s next comment, however, immediately caused her to snort. Sylvain? Pick up on a hint? Rightttttt. She mused to herself, reflecting upon the many times she had to go to a stranger’s house to apologize personally on his behalf to the girls he had offended for one reason or another. Not to mention that time in high school when he mistook a girl for playing “hard to get” when in reality she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him in the first place. It was so very tempting to comment on his lack of awareness, but Ingrid ultimately decided against it. She didn’t want to encourage the guys attempting to persuade her to keep going, especially when it seemed they were starting to reconsider their pestering.

Much to her relief, it seemed Sylvain’s veiled threat had been effective. The men had begun looking to each other, a few shrugging while others shook their heads. Finally, one spat a few dismissive comments about how “she wasn’t that pretty anyway,” before finally turning to leave. Ingrid smirked at their minor victory, only releasing an audible huff once they were out of sight. She raised her arms placing her hands on her hips before turning her head back toward Sylvain.

Eirika pursed her lips. “That is a shame. I do hope that it stays unfrozen to  facilitate trade, at least.” It occurs to her how privileged Renais is in many respects due to its location. Its mountains are not overly burdensome, and its central location makes for ease of travel. Granted, some rugged terrain would have deterred Grado’s soldiers that weren’t wyvern knights…

The stranger painted a vivid picture of her land, though Eirika was a bit puzzled by something she had mentioned. “You’ll have to forgive me for my ignorance, but what is an ‘aurora?’ A friend of mind may have mentioned something about it, or I must have seen it mentioned in a book somewhere, but I do not know what it is.”

“The neighboring country I mentioned previously also has Pegasi. They are marvelous creatures, though I do prefer horses. I imagine the most common horses in your land are built sturdy, and not for speed?”

The blonde woman’s motion to adjust the umbrella did not escape Eirika’s notice. “Ah, it is rather hot today. I don’t wish to impose, but did you bring a canteen for yourself? I have a spare. It can be difficult to prepare for unfamiliar environments, after all.” She remembered her first visit to Caer Pelyn keenly.

Now that she had positioned herself beneath the protection of the umbrella’s shade, Ingrid shifted her body until she was seated more comfortably, facing toward the magnificent ocean that stretched to the horizon before her. Watching the waves roll toward her then away was oddly relaxing, and with each passing moment, she found herself more captivated. While on this brief respite from the stressors of her normal life, she felt that for once she could slow her daily pace, and truly relax. Turning to Eirika, she nodded.

“Fortunately in most parts of Faerghus, the climate hasn’t effected trade too severely. There are many territories where the weather isn’t as extreme as the kind my territory experiences. Larger neighboring territories located either in ports or towards central Faerghus are wealthy in resources,” Ingrid explained, motioning with her hands as if she had a map laying before her, “House Galatea typically purchases supplies from those territories. Of course, being reliant on currency and other territories isn’t ideal...but thankfully my family has a good relationship with our biggest trade partners.” Surprise flashed across Ingrid’s features, but she swiftly composed herself, not wishing to portray herself as rude.

“Oh, you’ve never seen one? It’s beautiful, really. It’s something sort of akin to...a rainbow. It’s ripples of light in the night sky. It lights up the whole sky, glowing in an array of colors. You can only see it in particularly frigid regions, so I’m not surprised if you haven’t heard of one,” Ingrid explained, pointing to the sky as if she could create one herself, “I believe the Goddess created it...at least, there’s really no other explanation.”

“As for mounts...it depends on the creature and the rider. My Pegasus and I are quite fast...but some are trained to carry weight instead. The horses of Fodlan are different than other breeds. They have a heavier coat, which protect them from the colder conditions of the continent.” Her smile grew sheepish when Eirika mentioned her discomfort, and she wrung her hands together.

After donning his gauntlets, Caspar walked closer to Ingrid and replied, “SEE! Thank you! Everyone always thinks I’m being stupid or idolizing knights n warriors for the wrong reasons. It’s not all about the fame, being a knight, ya know? When really, a person’s morals and good heart is what leads them to make the decisions that makes the most difference to people. Being in the history books would be nice, but its helping people and doing stuff like earning a whole town’s trust that makes a knight great. I’ll have to get some reading rec’s from you when were done here!”

Caspar readied himself for a direct hit against Ingrid. He’d completely forgotten his new ‘mantra’ he’s heard about in the market place (that he was failing to practice well) was going to try, which would get him to slow down and plan his attacks. Caspar widened his stance and raised his arms into attack mode and ran at Ingrid. Lunging to the left, he lead with his right arm and aimed for her left shoulder.

The moment the battle began, Ingrid’s disposition completely transformed. She no longer stood as a scolding elder sister, but as a warrior, with clear determination and concentration in her expression. Her verdant eyes focused on Caspar’s approach, searching his movements in an attempt to anticipate his first strike. As he approached, she noticed he had begun to raise his right arm, and quickly anticipated that would be the origin of his first attack. Ingrid tilted her lance, guarding her left side more prominently than her right. As she had anticipated, Ingrid had managed to catch his first strike with her lance. Her feet had been firmly planted on the ground beneath her, but the force of Caspar’s attack caused her to skid back a few inches.