Ingrid stared at the greenhouse, at the remains of the plots nestled within the building.
The air outside was cool, but inside she could already feel the building heat, warmth soaking in from the late morning sunlight through the glass of the walls. It painted the inner greenhouse in a soft glow, like a page out of a fairytale storybook.
If only things could be so magical as a fairytale.
The inside of the greenhouse was a mess, and while the walls and roof of the building had already been repaired, the plots and supplies had been left in a disarray. It looked more like an overturned, barren field than a true greenhouse any longer.
Ingrid remembered when it had been filled with lush foliage, vibrant flowers, ripe fruits and vegetables. She remembered the smell of the flowers when they bloomed, the earthiness of the soil, the soft chatter of the people working
Ingrid didn’t know the first thing about taking care of plants. Galatea wasn’t exactly known for its plentiful crops and harvests. And although she had read books on plants and gardening and plant care, she still felt she understood very little.
She knew about weapons, and horses, and pegasi. She knew about fairytales and heroes. But she did not know much about plants.
Not that it mattered. She was volunteering to do whatever she could, getting her hands dirty to help rebuild the monastery. She would do anything she could to help her fellow students, to help the townsfolk, to help her friends.
And she craved the hands on work. After what had felt like an eternity of doing so little, of sleepless nights and anxious days, Ingrid needed to use her hands. Needed to sink them into the soil, needed to feel the strain of muscles in her arms and back, needed to get dirty.
So she was here, with a bag full of seeds and a watering can and a shovel and a seedling of hope.
She stepped into the greenhouse, the warmth wrapping around like a comforting blanket, the light a little softer beneath the glass panelled roof.
She had absolutely no idea where to start.
It was then that she noticed the shock of red hair, stark in the desolate greenhouse. Relief washed over her, muscles in her shoulders loosening as she realized she would not be alone, blundering aimlessly.
“Hi!” She called, lifting a hand. “Are you helping with the greenhouse too?”
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Another night I find myself lying awake. What shame I have brought to myself, to my family, to my friends. My parents try to console me, but it only puts me more on edge. I’ve started searching for my old hideaways from when I was a child. I-
Ingrid’s hand stilled at the sound of footsteps echoing down the stone halls of her home.
Or rather, the place that used to be her home. It still was, according to her parents, but it didn’t feel that way any longer. The very marrow in her bones felt like it did not belong any longer, like she were a ghost in a land that had long since passed her by.
She was being dramatic, and she knew it, but sleepless nights could do that. And she had gotten very little sleep as of late.
Ingrid could still taste it, the bitter ash and the bite of copper. It coated her tongue and filled her throat, stifling her until she could not breathe.
Although she had spent her life dreaming of being a knight, a hero who protected her friends and family, when it had truly mattered she had turned tail like a coward.
She remembered it all too well, like a nightmare that she could not wake herself up from. The feel of Luin, steady and cool in her grip. The bend of her knees as she had prepared for battle, the long stretch of shadows bathed in firelight, the suffocating smoke of flame and crumbling stone.
And she remembered, too, the hand closing around her arm. The shouts from a voice as familiar to her as her own. Sylvain taking her arm and yanking her away from the battle, from the duty of a real, true knight.
Animal instinct had kicked in then, and she had raced alongside him. Until her lungs screamed for air, until her thighs burned, until there was nothing in her mind but the sound of footfalls and the slice of each breath that passed her lips.
They had run all the way back to Faerghus, to the remnants of their families.
Clearly she was not a true knight. Maybe she never would be, with how quickly she had let herself be snatched from the battle. She should have fought, should have shaken off her friend’s grip. She had given in so easily, had run away so easily.
There was important work to be done at home, yes, that she could not deny. Helping her parents hold together the fraying edges of the Galatea lands, easing some of their burdens as she used some of what she had learned at the academy.
There was comforting her family, as much as they had tried to console her. There was exchanging letters with Sylvain, who she should have despised for dragging her away from the battle. But she couldn’t find it in herself to hate him, wasn’t sure if such a feeling could still exist within the barren remains of her heart.
All that remained was fatigue, and indignity, and worry. As much as she was barely holding onto herself, Sylvain was doing even worse. Shewanted to comfort him, wanted to ensure he was okay.
Remember to eat, she would write. Try to get some sleep. Your mother needs you.
Sometimes, when she was in her better moods, she would add a joke. Remind him to behave, lest he make her travel to the Gautier lands to give him an earful.
A dry sob rattled in her chest, the pen in her hand quivering as her grip loosened. Ingrid had to hold her breath, keeping her shame caged like an animal as the footsteps drew near.
It felt like a lifetime ago that she had issued such threats to her friend in person. That she had chastised all of her friends. Studied with them. Trained with them. Ate with them at mealtime and waxed on about the newest restaurant she’d heard about not far from the monastery.
Not just a lifetime, it felt like another world entirely. So different from the persistent cold that had buried itself in her bones now, the exhaustion that weighed her down, the nerves that made it impossible for her sleep.
She shifted, and the bite of stone against her side brought her back to the present, reeling her in from the undertow of her thoughts.
Ingrid held her breath as the footsteps came closer, folding her legs up and bringing them to her chest, the journal she’d had on her lap pressing into her stomach.
She’d hidden herself away in an old hidey-hole she had once used as a child, when she was pretending to be a great hero. She was out of sight, and so long as she did not make a noise, she wouldn’t be seen.
Not that she needed to hide, but she’d found she often wanted to, as of late. Especially at night, when sleep evaded her and even the promise of a late-night snack offered her no comfort.
Sometimes she would take off into the night on her horse, searching for places she had once hidden in as a child, pretending they were forts where she needed to prepare for a grand battle. Sometimes she would go off searching through her family home, getting on her knees to wiggle into hidden alcoves or forgotten half-built rooms.
If pressed for a reason why, Ingrid could not think of anything. Perhaps it was because she did not want to be seen, not when she felt the weight of her failure hanging over her like a shroud. Or perhaps it was because she wanted to retreat into her childhood, into a time when she was hopeful and brave and so sure she could be a true knight.
Or perhaps because it offered her some modicum of comfort, hiding away from the world.
She held her breath until the sound of footsteps melted into nothing, leaving her in solitude once more. Even then she breathed slowly, quietly, until she was sure she was utterly alone.
Only then did she stretch out her legs, sprawling out in the small space she had wedged herself into. Her journal tumbled to the side, thunking softly against the stone floor.
She picked it up slowly, staring down at the ink drying on the page. Tonight she was not writing a letter to Sylvain. Instead, she was trying to put her thoughts to paper, hoping it would relieve her enough to finally rest for a few hours.
She thumbed through the pages, nearly the entire journal filled with similar entries, ramblings from sleepless nights and anxious days. Scrawling handwriting describing dreams that had jolted her awake, days where the sun was too bright and hurt her eyes, the shame and sorrow she felt at her actions - or rather, her lack of actions.
It was a grim volume compared to the ones she had used to keep, another part of her childhood she was chasing after along with her hiding places. She had used to scribble about her imaginary adventures, and when she had first gotten to the academy she had written about her classes and her hopes for future adventures. But this was all dismal musings, gloomy thoughts she kept bottled up all day until she had to pour them out somewhere before she exploded.
If it truly helped she wasn’t certain, but she kept at it, night after night, hoping for relief, or hoping that maybe the next day her entry would not be so bleak.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her and she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. She wanted to be better, wanted to be strong.
But could she? Could she ever be a knight, could she ever protect her friends? Her loved ones? Her king?
The line of thought was hard to follow as her mind grew fuzzy, her thoughts drifting away.
She just wanted to protect the people she loved. She just wanted to be like all the heroes in her books.
Her heart ached as she faded away, her dreams blurring together. She didn’t even realise she was falling asleep, not until she awoke, the candle she had brought with her burned low. A puddle of wax was conegealing on the stones, and a sharp pain radiated from her neck from the awkward angle she’d sat in.
Ingrid struggled to her feet, gathering up her things and tucking them into the small satchel she had brought with her. Then she squeezed her way out of the narrow entrance to the hiding place, quickly hurrying for her rooms before the household started to wake.
The sun had not yet risen, but the indigo of the night sky was softening to a warm dove gray, the dawn reaching rosy fingers towards the horizon. She paused next to a window, staring out at it, at the Galatea lands unfurling before her.
How peaceful everything looked, softened by the touch of dawn, like maybe there could be goodness still in the world.
It hurt, worse than any blade piercing her flesh. It was entirely at odds with the taste of ash still in her mouth, the smell of smoke burning her nose, the ringing of steel in her ears.
She shook her head to clear the memories, hurrying down the corridor towards her room. She should bathe, taking advantage of the last vestiges of quiet before everyone roused. She had slept, with was a blessing, although washing herself would certainly make it seem more like she had slept in her bed and not in a dusty corner of the house long-since forgotten.
But when she returned to her room she paused, noticing something on her desk that had not been there when she had absconded when the night had cloaked the world.
A cream-coloured envelope. Small, thin, with neat handwriting scrawled over the top.
She approached it slowly, like an enemy rather than a piece of paper. The handwriting was familiar, and the realisation made her stomach drop.
Ingrid snatched up the letter without a second thought, ripping into it with little ceremony. Inside was a letter, short, simple, little more than a page.
She read through the letter once. Twice. Three times before her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor, silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
Her friends, alive. Her friends. Alive.
For a moment there was no guilt or shame. For a moment there was no failure. For one beautiful moment there was only sweet relief, so sweet that it made her teeth ache.
She cried then, like she hadn’t allowed herself to even in the aftermath of everything. Cried like she hadn’t since she’d been a babe. Cried until her body ached and her eyes were sore and her throat burned.
Slowly she sat up, smoothing out the paper where she had crumpled in her grip as she had sobbed. She wiped her eyes, her room turning silvery as she read through the letter one final time.
The thoughts she’d had when she’d drifted off earlier returned in full force, as bright as the first piercing ray of sunlight cutting through a storm. She would be better. She had to be better. She would protect her friends.
With meticulous care, Mercedes empties the matchbox in her hand, certain not to let any scatter and fall out onto the floor. They could end up stuck in here for days if they lost the matches. Especially when the box was largely empty, filled only with air. Yet a few drop onto the palm of her hand. Running a fingertip gently across her palm she counts exactly five matches.
"Hmm, there's five in here, Ingrid," she murmurs, something about the darkness feels almost suppressive, stifling. To speak far above a whisper felt wrong somehow and given their surroundings, perhaps a noise too loud would trigger a booby trap of sorts. Mercedes taps Ingrid's arm to get her attention before pressing a single match into the younger woman's hand. "Here, you take this for now. I think the matches are a clue but..."
"We're likely to have to light one more candle than we have matches for. Though whether that means we should use one now to find them is another matter," Mercedes says, hesitating slightly. Should they light one now? Or will they need all five. At any rate though, they'd make little progress stuck in one place. Nothing would be gained here without any risk. She could light a candle magically if necessary - though Mercedes found herself disinclined to do so this early on and break the immersion. "Puzzles like these almost always have a failsafe though, or a way around the problem. So, if you want to light the match, go ahead."
Even though it was just a game, she was cautious not to ruin the fun. Alas, she was always the indecisive type. More than capable of wasting time going to and fro between her options without a strong feeling or conviction either way. Sometimes, she wished she could be more like Ingrid, reliable and conscientious. Certainly, she'd trust her friend's decision above her own.
"What would you like to do going forward? I trust you'll make the best decision possible, Ingrid."
She mulled over Mercedes’ words, about the matches likely being clues, about potentially needing one more candle than they had matches available to them.
Lighting a match was a risk, in case they needed all of them to escape the puzzle room. But on the other hand, how were they meant to escape if they could not see?
The weight of her words, ‘I trust that you’ll make the best decision possible,’ settled over her, heavy as iron.
The stakes were low, so incredibly low, and yet Ingrid took Mercedes’ trust seriously. She had laid her faith in Ingrid’s hands, and she was not about to take such a thing for granted. She would not give her friend reason to regret that choice.
She did not light the match right away, instead peering into the darkness, waiting to see if her eyes would adjust. If there was another light source somewhere deeper in the room, maybe they could move towards that and not waste any matches.
But there was nothing. The darkness remained heavy as a shroud, and she could not even make out the outline of her friend beside her.
“I’m going to light the match,” she said, settling on her decision. One flash of light would help them to get an idea of what the room looked like at the very least. And maybe they would be able to find a candle, or a lantern, to help them along.
She didn’t hesitate, reaching out to strike the match against the stone of the wall.
Light flared, golden-bright. White flashes blurred before her, blinding her for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light.
She lifted the match high, heat washing over her fingertips as the fire quickly ate through the wood.
The room before them was strange, so large that most of it remained bathed in shadow. But what little she could see looked like they were in the bowels of a crumbling castle. Far ahead, nearly out of sight of the light she thought she saw the oily black sheen of bars, like the door to a dungeon. And the soft, squishy parts of the wall looked like moss, as if to simulate nature slowly taking over the remnants of some aging stone building.
“Look,” she said, pointing forward, into the near darkness. “It looks like there’s a bend in the hall there.”
The heat grew near painful, little of the match remaining already. “Do you see anything we can light? A candle or a lantern?”
If this truly was part of a castle there would be sconces they could light on the sides of the walls. But the match illuminated so little, she couldn’t even see to the other side of the room.
What she could see were sticks and stones littering the floor, and what looked like creeping ivy, further immersing them in this strange, almost haunting space.
“Could we make a torch?” She asked, thinking quickly as she eyed the sticks and ivy. “Do you think if we wrapped some fabric around one of those sticks it could work?”
They met at the stables. It was nice to see someone taking care of them, when Marianne arrived, everything had been in such disarray that she just left Dorte tied to a post near where the stables were and she had headed straight for the infirmary. “Can I help you with anything Ingrid?” Marianne asked, exhausted after her time in the infirmary but too restless to sit still and rest.
Ingrid looked up at the sound of Marianne’s voice, soft and lilting as birdsong.
She was tired, more tired than she had ever been. She still wasn’t sleeping well, oftentimes staring into darkness until the light of the dawn bled through the shadows and she started her day anew.
“Marianne,” she said, as her mind tried to catch up.
It had been only herself in the stables, or what was left of them, anyways. There were more important things that needed to be tended to, but Ingrid was all jitters. She needed the solitude of the stables, needed the practiced motions she had gone through so many times before she could do them in her sleep.
There were not many horses or pegasi that had been left here, not when everything was in such a disarray. But the few that were here she was going through and grooming. Brushing them down, offering them apples and oats that had been dumped unceremoniously in front of the building.
This new arrival of her friend was not unwelcome, but it was a surprise, and she was too tired and too anxious for surprises.
She blinked slowly, taking in the sight of her friend. When was the last time she had seen her?
She wanted to be alone. She did not want her friend to go.
Her mind was a mire, her thoughts blending together into a dark sludge. She had to take a deep breath, and another, and another, trying to find the thread of something intelligible she could say.
“I’m doing alright,” she said slowly. “I would not want to force you to do labour when I’m sure you’ve been very busy…”
Don’t go, don’t go.
She sucked in another breath, wishing she didn’t feel like such a child.
“But,” she continued, lowering the brush she had been holding. “If you wanted to help, I was just about finished tending to the horses and was going to work on trying to fix up the stalls. Just so the horses can have comfortable spaces again.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her free hand twisting into the fabric of her skirt. “And I wouldn’t mind the company, either, if you just wanted to hang around.”
Between returning from Gautier, seeing the monastery in shambles, people missing and injured everywhere and somehow finding both the prince and Felix alive among those allowed to stay in Garreg Mach to directly aid in its reconstruction, Sylvain is completely emotionally exhausted. He helps the clergy, balancing boxes and equipment left and right to aid the construction workers as well as provide guards at the front gates with resources that will be redistributed to the town and other camps scattered in the monastery’s vicinity- always with that same easy smile on his face, though slightly drier than usual.
His sclera a pinkish tone, the skin under his eyes slightly dark. Ginger locks washed and styled but not quite brushed as it stook wilder than he would’ve liked, one uniform sleeve rolled up further than the other. The sword, usually found by his side at the belt, left in his bedroom. Warm eyes looking but not quite seeing, always watching slightly above others’ shoulders and getting lost somewhere else.
It was a hard month. Sylvain has gone through hell in his childhood at the hands of his brother and is no stranger to suffering and pain, but this felt different.
When the monastery fell, all he was able to do was grab the Lance of Ruin and leave. The prince of his homeland- his friends, all of them lost in the chaos as fire and blood took over Garreg Mach as locating anyone became essentially impossible. Not even his father was found in the crowd, and Sylvain thought himself alone. Just him and his relic against an army of enemies he couldn’t comprehend. The heir of Gautier was just about to engage one disfigured creature in combat, the relic in his hands burning bright orange and twitching with the anticipation of battle, when he saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye.
There was no blue cape- a braid, rather. Ingrid.
Sylvain didn’t think twice, retreating immediately to reach for her and grab her forearm. They needed to leave, she was the only one he had managed to find and as much as he wanted to throw himself in the flames and burn with the monastery itself he needed to save one. At least one. They escaped together, returning to their home territories to start finding ways to manage the war and find their missing prince, but Sylvain couldn’t help but think he failed every single person he vowed to protect and make proud that day.
Night after night were spent crying his eyes out, cradling the Lance of Ruin as if it could offer him any shred of comfort or advice other than remind himself that even with his family’s relic in hands, he wasn’t able to fight nor save his friends and father. A failure.
Today, once more, he finds himself with Ingrid- but sitting inside a weird little store. Something about building bears and that the money would go to the monastery’s restoration, and as heirs to major faerghan houses it would be a good symbol of hope for their people to participate so directly in Garreg Mach’s situation. Sylvain didn’t really pay much attention to the explanation though, jacket now wrapped around his waist in a crooked knot, face balanced on one hand as he waited for one of the staff to bring them the materials for the bears.
“Hey, Ingrid.” After a long moment staring into nothingness, he finally got himself to look at her. Most likely one of the few people- the only one aside from his own mother, that kept him sane for this month. “How are you holding up?”
I feel like shit, there was no need to dance around their pain and exhaustion. “You look like hell. Like you didn’t sleep at all…you have to rest too.” Please. His tone was quiet, not wanting others around to overhear. It was for them and their ears only- features soft and worn with worry as he watched his childhood friend.
A thin mask was pulled up as soon as a lady approached their table, handing them all sorts of materials with a gentle smile. Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to mimic it, much less to add a flirty flavor- in the end all he offered was a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes and a tone filled with half-cheer. “Oh, here we go! Thanks.” The ginger could tell that the lady’s gaze shifted into worry for a split second, lingering on them for just a bit before she left to assist other tables. Sylvain left a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding.
“...alright, let’s try to do something nice for Felix and His Highness.” We need to gather ourselves up for them.
Teeth grinding together so hard Ingrid’s jaw ached, she stared at the materials strewn across the table.
It’s for the monastery. The funds go to the monastery
And yet a cold nausea roiled through her that drowned out such thoughts as surely as someone who had never learned to swim would be easily stolen by the waves of a storm.
She was a failure. She had failed.
A knight was meant to protect her kingdom and king until her dying breath.
What had she done? What had she done but run? Run like a child, like a coward, like someone who would never be strong enough to be a knight?
And then to spend so much time shaking with nerves? Unable to sleep as she struggled to take on tasks to alleviate her parents’ burdens? To send pointless letters to Sylvain, who was mired in his own grief as they tried and failed to search for their missing friends?
It made her wish he had left her to burn in the razing of the monastery. Better to be fodder for those monsters, her life given in exchange for someone else's, than to have been a coward who ran and hid. What value was there in that?
But her friends were safe. Dimitri, her prince, was safe. There was no point in dwelling on what had happened. Even as the guilt ate at her, gnawing at the edges of her mind until it was all she thought about, all she felt, filling her belly so she could not even eat for all the space it took up within her.
She swallowed, lifting a hand to slowly sift through the materials left at their table. Across from her sat one of her oldest and dearest friends, one of the only ones she had known for certain had survived, as he had snatched her from the battlefield and coaxed her to run. The pallor in his face was clear
She should have hated Sylvain. Should have despised him for snagging her arm, dragging her away from the battle before she could fully brandish her lance.
But she could not find it in herself to hate him. He had acted on an instinct, grabbing something precious and running as hard as his body would let him. Sylvain remembered best of all the things that had ravaged their childhood, shredding their friendships until it hung together by threads.
And he was the last of their friends. She wanted to cling to him as tightly as a child held their favourite toy. A weapon, shield, safety, the last thread of her childhood and memories of a time that were more dream than reality.
There was hardly any anger left in her. Not towards him, anyways. Not enough to sharpen like a blade against a whetstone, to wield like steel in battle.
There was only cold. And nausea. And guilt.
Ingrid shook her head, trying to yank herself from the quicksand of her thoughts and back into the present.
She would just have to train harder. Work harder. Be better. So she was ready. So she was not yanked away like a ragdoll. So she could give her life for her people and her king, as a knight was meant to do. Just as…
A sour feeling rose in her body, coating her tongue like bile. She swallowed thickly, wishing she had something to drink. Some water, something. Anything to rinse the feeling away.
In the back of her mind she knew it would take more than a glass of water to help, but still she felt parched, like she had not drank anything for days. Maybe years.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was this, and the little good it would do for the monastery as it was rebuilt. And perhaps creating a gift that would bring a smile to her friends faces, ease some of the stinging pain left in the wake of everything that had happened.
Would they accept such a meagre gift? An item that held so little value, when compared to the rivers of blood that fed her heart? Would it be something that would have any value at all, compared to the life she should have willingly laid down?
“Which one do you want to make?” She asked, because voicing aloud the thoughts that screeched in her mind like banshees made her feel even more sick than running away had. If she has to be a coward then she could at least suffer in silence, clinging to the last vestiges of her dreams for knighthood.
“I think I want to make a horse,” she continued, feigning indecision as she lifted different materials. The stuffing-less bodies of creatures that would soon be plushies. “Or a pegasus maybe.”
Now indecision did begin creeping in, like a wild animal sneaking past an opened door. She lifted both of the options in her hands, frowning. “Maybe they’ll let us do two?”
Two. One for each friend. One for each apology she owed to them. Although she did not know how a stuffed animal of all things could make up for her cowardice. But maybe it could open the door for her to start making amends.
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There were some days which one, while they might not necessarily have looked forward to them, would find them impossible to forget, indelible in the frames of one's memory and held not if not in reverence, then of the utmost importance.
Dimitri remembered his friends' birthdays. It was something that he could not help, a consequence of marking the days on a calendar so steadily, so stalwart in remembrance of this holiday or that, this event or suchlike, the passing of those lost and the greeting of those who stood at their gravestones. He would not have claimed that his memory was immaculate, but loathe be it for him to miss that day on which one of his friends or family celebrated their birth.
Er, whether they celebrated or not.
"Ingrid! Good morning! I know that it isn't anything like those we used to celebrate, but I was hoping that you would join me for a ride today?" It was a remarkably clear day, and the cold nothing like the frostbitten mornings of the north but more akin to the temperate and balmy windblown morns of Galatea itself.
He smiled as he approached, for once in no hurry to do so, not out of any lack of care for her, but for that he did not want it to seem as though he had anywhere better to be than here, with her.
"I've taken the liberty to have two of the more rambunctious horses kitted for our journey, we're to be assisting the stables in breaking them." It was an excuse, mostly, knowing that she was just like him in that it felt better to have something productive to do but - he leaned forward; "There is a field a few kilometers away which would be a perfect place for a race. If you think you're up for it," he added, straightening.
The smile became a grin, boyish, and he brought his hands from behind his back to reveal the parcel there. Wrapped neatly, if without ornament, was a new, soft white leather bridle, its trimmings and trappings inlaid with gold Galatean Crests, and a matching strip of the same leather.
"For the haft of your lance. The grip should be easier to grip tightly while mounted, that way you won't have to sacrifice strength for speed in the air."
He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but simply shook his head with a gentle chuckle through his nose, and gestured to the waiting stables.
"Happy birthday, Ingrid."
The morning was cold. Not anything like the biting winter of the capital, closest to the Northern mountains and the ice that clung to the wind as it keened through the air. It reminded her of home, a cold that was stained with warmth at the edges like the rosy fingers of dawn creeping across the horizon.
The call from a familiar voice had her pausing, craning her head back from where it had been tilted up to enjoy the morning wind on her face.
Dimitri, calling out to her in the quiet of the morning. A bright, boyish smile on his face that reminded her of softer mornings, gentler winds.
He’d commandeered some horses, to break in so he claimed, although the spark in his eyes was playful, bordering on silly. He was in a losing battle with a smile, and in another moment he was handing her a gift. A beautiful leather bridle, adorned in crests of her house.
The gold shimmered in the growing light, like beams of sunshine had been stitched into the buttery softness of the leather. It felt like she was carrying a piece of the sun, cradling a little bit of warmth in her palms that would be both succor and shield.
She gripped it tightly, heat pricking at the back of her eyes, the sharpness a contrast to the mild morning. It was so small a gesture, offering to share the morning with her, presenting her with a gift made only for her.
But it was the pleased smile her friend wore, a curving half moon that reached all the way to his eyes, as blue as a cloudless sky in the spring. How rare to see such a smile, to not feel obligations hanging over either of them like shrouds.
In this moment he was her friend, and he had wished her a happy birthday, and it meant the world to her.
“Thank you,” she said, holding the gift a little tighter. It was not sand, and it would not slip through the spaces between her fingers, yet she wanted to hold fast all the same. Moments like this were what were like sand, but maybe if she held tight to the gift she could hold tight to this moment in time.
“That sounds like an enjoyable way to spend the day. I haven’t taken a ride very far past the monastery in ages.” Already she could feel the wind in her hair, the leather of the bridle gripped in her hands, the somersault of her stomach as she moved faster, and faster, until the world was little more than a blur.
“And,” she added, smiling widely, hoping it showed just how truly happy she felt. “I look forward to beating you in a race once more.”
It wasn't merely that Ingrid had jumped, just slightly, had angled her body in such a way that gave Dimitri pause when he approached the pegasus' stall – there was something brittle about her, cracked in her shell that seemed as though it might have flaked away like ash on a strong wind.
He frowned, and did not cease his approach, flicking his eyes up and down her form for a moment, silent, before he turned his attention to Rhiannon, and that fragility in Ingrid came into sharp relief in his mind at the state of the pegasus' wings, at the scratches that marred her normally pristine and shiny coat, at the distressed paw of her hooves and the snuffle she released at the sudden presence of too many bodies in the stall.
The mask his expression took on scarcely faltered, though his footsteps stopped there, still as ice for a moment while he considered the scene, began to piece together the facts in his mind. He knew, for example, that there had been attacks of late – many of them, in fact, always targeting the pegasi of the Academy, as though they were weaker to pick off. He knew, too, Ingrid's general training schedule, not an exact mirror to his but a solid complement to it, running side by side and as much in tandem as it could – and that it had been off-kilter, recently.
"I...see." And he did, he saw the missing pinions on Rhiannon's wings, and that close terror in her eyes. And he saw that Ingrid was lying to him.
What he didn't understand was why. Why she might have pretended that this was fine – she would not roll over so easily, and yet the fear in mount and rider were palpable and thick in his lungs – and worse, why she would do so to him. Did she think him uncaring? Or incapable of assistance?
Did she simply not want his help, in specific?
He considered the feedbag in his hands for a quiet moment, eyes hardening.
No. No, regardless of her reasoning, he could not allow vagrants to take another precious life from Ingrid's periphery. It did not matter why she elected not to tell him – he knew, and he was nothing if not a man of direct action.
"If she isn't feeling well, perhaps it's better that you...give her the meals directly. I...it's unfortunate, but I've just realized there's something I need to do. Ingrid, can I trust you to complete my shift here today?"
And without even waiting for a reply, he set the feedbag on the partition separating Rhiannon's stall from the open area, and nodded, curtly, turning on his heel to gather his kit.
The feeling of ice in her veins only strengthened as she caught the flicker of emotion that danced across Dimitri’s face.
It was quick, like the flicker of starlight over the surface of a lake before clouds drowned out the light. He hid it well, behind a mask that felt more akin to an icey rictus rather than the polite smile he so often wore. But still it was there, a crack in the ice, a peek at darkened depths that had her shivering before it vanished again.
She was left staring in his wake, the feedbag he’d been carrying left carefully on the partition of Rhiannon’s stall.
‘If she isn’t feeling well-’
Ingrid turned, unease a brewing storm; whistling winds through the tangle of her nerves, hair standing on end as lightning crackled through her veins. She had not said that Rhiannon was unwell. Only that she was giving her an extra brush. How could he-
Inwardly, Ingrid cursed. And then again she cursed aloud, for once not caring if it was something a hero would do. Something a knight would do.
She had been so caught up in the missing feathers, the damage to Rhiannon’s wings, that she hadn’t even thought of the scrapes on her sides. She’d thought she’d hid that damage well enough while she’d been brushing, but Dimitri’s eyes were keen.
She had been a fool to think she could hide it. But still she had tried. She could not search for comfort every time she was scared, or something happened that unnerved her. Not if she was to be a knight, not if she was to protect her prince. How could she be a knight if she burdened her prince with anything that made her jump?
He wasn’t just her prince, though, was he? He was her friend, too, and surely seeking comfort from a friend was no burden.
Rhiannon pawed at the floor of the stall and Ingrid looked up, meeting her eyes, derailing her thoughts before they could go much further. There was fear there, animal and raw. She felt it in her own belly, felt it sitting heavy in her body like she had eaten something rotten.
But seeing the slight wounds on Rhiannon did not account for the strangeness of his behaviour. That crack that had been quickly smoothed away.
Again she found herself staring at the feedbag, remembering Dimitri’s genuine geniality falling away into something polite and cold. It was the first kiss of cold that harkened the coming winter, the first breeze that came down from the Northern mountains that left frost in its wake.
Had she… Upset him? Hurt his feelings?
It was a childish thought; surely Dimitri had more important things to concern himself with than a few scrapes and scratches on a pegasus.
And yet Ingrid must have been in a childish mood, because her body was moving of its own accord, stumbling from Rhiannon’s stall and after where she thought Dimitri had gone.
It was stupid. It was dumb. He’d said there was something he’d needed to do. He was an important person; perhaps the most important person in all of Faerghus. Interrupting him wasn’t a good idea, in fact it was the worst idea she could think of. This wasn’t how a hero acted, this wasn’t how a knight was supposed to act.
But for a moment she wasn’t a knight. She wasn’t even a student at Garreg Mach.
For a moment she was small, and the world was very large, and she needed to find her friend before night fell and the darkness warped everything into monsters.
Ingrid moved towards the exit, fingers grasping at her skirt as if that could offer her any comfort. She was the only one in the stables save for the other horses and pegasi, and her heart began to sink like the setting sun.
“Dimitri?” She called, hating how small her voice sounded. Logically she knew it was because she was alone, and the stables were large, and voices sometimes echoed against the wooden rafters. Still, it did not help much.
Marianne followed Ingrid's gaze, seeing the angry stall-owner shaking their fist in anger as a blur shoved through the crowd with what looked like an armful of stuffed animals. The thief's grip was poor, or there were too many stuffed animals too grip.
Why did they have to get involved? There were peace guards around for a reason, wasn't that their job?
It was easier to go along with the plan. "Um... Alright..."
One last bite of her delightful cake before it was abandoned. "Why don't you go after the thief? I can talk to the stall owner..."
I can pay the stall owner to calm down, was more what she was thinking.
The girls went their separate ways. Marianne hoped Ingrid wouldn't run into too much trouble. Maybe she should have stayed with her... What if things got violent?
"Um... Sir..."
The stall owner turned their anger to Marianne. "I have every right to be upset! Those thieving urchins stole my prizes! I'm losing a fortune!!! If I don't have prizes to entice customers to my game then I won't make any money!"
Marianne took a step back as an angry red finger was stuck in her face. "I... I'm sorry... I-"
"And OF COURSE they took off with the big pegasus! People have been trying to win that one at every single faire I've been to! It's my biggest money maker!" The stall owner continued to rant.
"I... I could perhaps pay for the missing toys." Marianne said softly, almost hoping the owner wouldn't hear her.
"You!? With what? Your pocket money from babysitting? Bah!" The stall owner waved their hand dismissively. "I doubt you even have the money to play a game!"
Marianne frowned. "I... I assure you I have money."
"Ha!" A fat finger was in her face again. "I bet you're in on the con! Gonna pay with counterfeit coin are you! Guards!" The stall owner grabbed Marianne's arm and began to pull her away.
"Ow! Hey! That's not necessary!" She tried pulling the iron grip off of her to no avail. "You're hurting me!"
Of course, she was so worried about Ingrid running into trouble she didn't stop to think about what SHE would do if she was in trouble.
Marianne soon found herself sitting in a tent, rubbing her temples as the stall owner argued very loudly with one of the peace guards. It seemed at this rate it was safer for her to be by the guards. How utterly useless she was. She only wished Ingrid was having more luck..
It had been Marianne’s idea to split up. It was a sound plan, Ingrid chasing down the thief while Marianne tried to smooth things over with the stall owner. That way the criminal would be caught and unnecessary panic would be avoided.
Marianne had a gentle countenance, and she always spoke so softly. Ingrid always felt more at ease when she was around, even when Marianne would pray softly or murmur to the horses when they worked together in the stables. If anyone could calm the furious stall owner it would surely be Marianne.
Ingrid knew she could be too brash, too curt. She was not the one who would be able to help ease the anger she could see clear as day on the stall owner’s face.
But still Ingrid couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Marianne was powerful, although she rarely wanted to admit it, and with her help they both surely would have caught the thief quickly.
Not that she couldn’t do it on her own, and she resolved to end this matter quickly so she could return to her friend and her delicious cake. The sooner this thief was caught the sooner she could return to sampling the wonderful foods the festival had to offer.
It took Ingrid maybe five minutes to catch up. All she had to do was follow the annoyed mutterings of the crowd and the abandoned stuffed animals that the thief had dropped. A bear, a small dragon, a sparkly horse, a cartoonish boar that she was tempted to give to Felix.
“Hey!” A surprised shout drew her focus, and she saw the thief barrel past a young woman holding a small child. Ingrid caught up to them quickly, steadying the woman and child before taking off after the thief.
“Stop!” She tried to infuse her voice with authority as she wove through the crowd, trying to avoid causing more problems than the thief already had.
But they were causing a lot of problems. Whoever the thief was, they weren’t very good, running into nearly every single person in their desperation to escape.
People shouted, food fell from hands to splatter unceremoniously to the ground. A tear slipped from Ingrid’s eye as she watched a steaming leg of lamb thrown skyward as the thief elbowed someone in the side and dove forward.
Pumping her legs faster, inhaling with each step to keep her breathing steady, the little distance between them shrank. She was practically jogging beside them in no time, quickly snatching at their clothes and yanking them to a stop.
“You do know you’re disrupting the festival, right?” She gave them a shake, scowling at the thief, staring up at her with eyes wide as saucers. “And theft is a serious crime.”
“But it’s-it’s just stuffed animals!”
She gave them another shake. “Are you kidding me? You ransacked someone’s stall, and you’ve made at least fifty people drop their food. Their delicious, steaming hot food.”
They wriggled in her grip, trying to make a break for it. It was easy enough for her to flip them around to the ground, pressing her knee into their back to hold them down. “Nice try, you’re not getting away that easily.”
“Come on, it was just a prank.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. The thief couldn’t have been older than her, and even she knew this was a poor excuse for a prank. Even her childhood friends knew this would be a poor prank.
“Give me this,” she snatched the only stuffed animal they still held, a massive snowy-white pegasus with shimmery wings. It was soft to the touch, her fingers sinking into the plush fluff like she was holding a cloud.
No wonder the thief had been running into so many people; this stuffed animal was massive.
“Alright, let’s go.” She grabbed the back of their shirt, hauling them to their feet. “You have some apologising to do.”
Only when Ingrid returned to the stall she found the stall owner and Marianne nowhere to be found.
“What in the goddess's name…” She frowned at the pilfered stall, confusion etching itself into her brow. “Where’d they go?”
It was a bystander who pointed her in the right direction, towards the main tent where the Peace Guards were headquartered for the festival. Knights meant to keep the peace and stop troublemakers like the thief she’d caught from causing a ruckus.
She stormed over to the tent, anger rising like an ember to kindling. When she shoved her way into the tent she was met with wide eyes from the guards and the stall owner, red-faced with spit coating his beard. From shouting, no doubt.
“Here’s your thief,” she spat, tossing the actual thief into the middle of the tent. “No thanks to any of you.”
She didn’t even care that the stall owner’s face was turning redder than an overripe tomato. Already her attention was on Marianne, who sat massaging her temples in the corner.
She looked pale, tired, and Ingrid felt herself hesitating, wondering if she’d made the right choice. If indulging in her knightly daydreams had made things harder for her friend.
“Marianne?” She asked, still holding that soft, fluffy pegasus she had confiscated from the thief. “Are you alright?”
It was the sound of a hairpin falling to the floor that drew her attention, eyebrow quirked against fallen crimson in sheer curiosity with a hand falling onto her hips— There the woman stood as she spoke alongside Ingrid about her dilemma. Edelgard could not bring herself to back away; instead, she listened from afar.
She had seen plenty of dark magic in her days, both past and present. Even so, she did not wield it herself. For as jarring as the situation called itself out to be, she took the woman's words seriously. To rule out anything was a disservice to the fear in her voice and disheveled silhouette. Utilize it she might not, yet the mind holds knowledge of its own.
Upon the call of her name, Edelgard approached closer with poignancy to her step. "Hello, Ingrid. To you, as well," she greeted the pair. "It was not my intention to pry, but I happened to catch glimpse of your situation. A soul finding itself trapped, was it.." Her words drifted, albeit slight. A glance to the fallen accessory as she bent forward to pick it up. The princess gripped it between delicate digits and placed it where it belonged; wordless.
"I can see the sorrow through your eyes alone. We will need to study this painting for ourselves in order to help you. Is that acceptable?" There lay no refusal, only adamancy to save her wife sooner rather than later.
"Please!" She called again. "Please, I will even take you there."
She turned her attention back to Ingrid and took a silent breath: "I apologize. She had approached you, after all. And yet, here I am.." A petite pause. "I appreciate you calling me over. How much do you know about dark magic? It is no easy feat to master."
Relief at Edelgard’s response bubbled up like fresh fountain water.
There was much that Ingrid could handle, but dark magic was not yet one of those things.
“To be honest, my knowledge is introductory at best.” She crossed her arms, hiding her hands so she did not tug at the material of her skirt like usual. “I’ve read a little on it, and I believe I can identify it, but I’m not able to wield it currently.”
She’d seen others wield it though, and she had seen it at work since she’d been enrolled at the academy. And Ingrid was fast to pick up knowledge and respond to anything thrown her way.
Turning to the noblewoman, who looked as though her agitation was beginning to ease. That was good; she would need a clear head if she were to give them any other details they could use to help. And it meant that their combined presences brought her some amount of comfort, no matter how small.
“I still think I would be of help, and I’m willing to do anything I can to prepare. If you’ll have me on this expedition.”
The noblewoman’s eyes widened, and she gave a furious nod. Her response placated Ingrid, but it was Edelgard’s response she was most concerned with now. She did not want to be perceived as a burden, but she did want to come. She wanted to help this woman and save her wife as quickly as she could.
“I believe there is still much that I am capable of doing to help.”
Relieved that Ingrid seemed to be taking things in a more optimistic approach, Lapis smiles. It'd give her hope that if the blonde took her ideas to heart, then Lapis really would have helped out some folks, but more than that... right here, right now, it was nice to see the other girl's resolve not crumble. There was something uplifting and admirable about the strength in someone who picked themselves up after a failure, determined to face through it again and work harder.
And right now? Ingrid was starting to sparkle with that determined resolve in her spirit.
To her questions, Lapis is pulled out of her reverie and sees fit to respond in kind. “ The people back home could for the most part make them just fine... but I guess we all get a lot of practice in since we're used to it. ”
She had always thought of it as a modest skill, but after seeing the Divine One struggle first with it and now Ingrid, maybe it had more of a learning curve that she had forgotten about since her own struggles would have been so long ago?
“ Any failed pieces, if they're big enough, can be used for later dummies. If they're too small, you can reuse them to make toys for little kids or mouse traps, ” she explains. “ There's not much in any project that can't be used for something. ”
Despite the earnest atmosphere, a smile stretched across Ingrid’s face as Lapis listed off other uses for the scrap pieces.
It made her wonder what sorts of children’s toys could be fashioned with the scraps. Little animals and dolls, building blocks, clothes for dolls and dress-up games.
She nodded as Lapis grew quiet, pushing aside the silly fancies for the moment to digest the information.
In Lapis’ home, crafting things was a basic skill that everyone had. The same could not be said of the people here, especially not in Faerghus. Her kingdom was made up of hardy, clever, brave people, but their first instincts were not to create such things as these dummies.
It could be an invaluable skill, especially when resources became so sparse for some of the kingdom’s people. Like the people in Galatea, like her own family. What things would they be able to accomplish, even beyond what was necessary for battle?
It was somewhat foolish, a fantasy at best, and she had to shake herself to bring herself back to the present. Right now she needed to focus on the task at hand, not daydreaming ways she could help her family.
“You know this is really quite brilliant,” she said aloud, still mulling things over in the back of her mind. “I wonder if the academy would ever offer a class on developing these skills.”
They needed more people like Lapis, who thought in ways beyond direct combat. Even Ingrid knew she herself needed to broaden her knowledge, to consider other tactics than what had been trained into her when she was a child.
“Even just having a few people competent enough to have the skills necessary to build the dummies could be useful,” she continued. She poked at some of the scrap pieces leftover from her own attempt, flipping them over in her hands. “Especially in situations where we don’t have many knights available, to give them an advantage.”
She looked up at Lapis, wondering if she was making any sense at all. “What do you think?”
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The door slams shut and suddenly the pair of them are engulfed in complete and total darkness. Mercedes frowns slightly. Atmospheric it might be, but how on earth where they supposed to solve clues if they couldn't even read them?
"Ah, maybe there's a light source in the room for us to find? If I was organising this, I think," Mercedes pauses for a second to turn towards Ingrid's voice. Hands held out in front of her, she takes careful steps forward until her fingertips brush against the starched cotton of Ingrid's school uniform, "I think I'd pick something small, like a single candle. Otherwise it might be a little too easy."
"Are you quite alright though? Sounded like you had quite the surprise," Mercedes offers a reassuring smile, despite the fact she knows Ingrid can't see her face in the pitch black of the escape room. In it's place, she gently squeezes Ingrid's shoulder, cautiously trying to step around her. Mercedes braces herself to place her palm in something wet, slimy and sticky; what she's met with is almost pleasant in comparison. Lifting her hand, she trails her fingertips in search of a seam or pocket of some kind. "Aha! I've found something!"
Slipping her hands inside, the pocket is mostly empty. Resignation almost gets the better of her until she grazes against the rough, gravelly edge of a very small box.
"Oh, I think we have a matchbox! That's a great start, well done Ingrid. Maybe there's a candle somewhere or... maybe this is all the light we get?"
The hand on Ingrid’s shoulder was a comfort, and in the place of her discomfort she felt relief blooming.
Her other friends would have undoubtedly teased her, but Mercedes had only offered her reassurance. A part of Ingrid balked, mentally chastising herself for acting out. She needed to be brave, to steel herself against whatever came her way no matter how surprising or weird it was.
But that part of her was easy to brush off. Something about Mercedes put her at ease, although she could not place her finger on what. Maybe it was just the steady hand she had placed on Ingrid’s shoulder, or maybe it was that she did not feel like her friend had any expectations laid out for her.
For better or for worse she didn’t feel like she had to be a brave knight, or a protector, or a soldier. She felt like she was just Ingrid. Whoever that was.
She shook her head, discarding those thoughts before they could sidetrack her. They needed light so they could see what kind of room, exactly, they had been locked into.
Focusing on the matters at hand, namely the darkness swathing them like a tightly wrapped blanket, Ingrid hummed, sliding her hand further along the wall. Now that Mercedes had confirmed it wasn’t something gross and instead had just been the first part of the puzzle.
“It would be very odd if they didn’t have a candle we could light with the matches,” she mused.
Sucking in a deep breath, she began moving along the wall, stepping around Mercedes as she did her best to investigate. “Maybe the candles are somewhere else? In a similar hiding place?”
She winced, waiting for the change in texture, from rough stone to sudden softness. But the feeling never came, and after wandering for what felt like an eternity, she turned back around.
“Can you tell how many matches are in the box?” She called back, wondering what was hiding in the darkness of the room. Maybe there was something they needed to find not far away from where the matches had been found. “Do you think we can spare one or two so we can get a better look at the room and find a candle?”
“I can’t seem to find anything else on this wall,” she continued, slowly making her way back. She was hesitant to move from the wall, not knowing what could be lurking in the darkness. If there was some manner of magical creature lying in wait, or if she would trip over a box and embarrass herself again.
Although a little faith in herself might be warranted, especially if they needed to take small risks to solve the puzzles.
“Do you think there might be something on the other side of the room?”
It was proactive if nothing else. Most in current attendance would very quickly find themselves with child. The turn around between marriage and child rearing seemed to grow smaller and smaller. What exactly that was a sign of, he wouldn't dare speak nor linger too long on the thought.
More than there being little point to such a thing, the wailing cries from each of the small lifelike dolls left little room for one to be with their own thoughts.
He would mainly supervise, watch over as the students slowly but eventually came to understand the needs of the little ones.
One particular student however had caught his eye. It had been sometime since he had made his way to Galatea for anything other than business. Sreng had been relentless and the winters called for their aid ever more.
He watched with a small chuckle as she diligently walked through the steps, as she always did. A student that any professor would be glad to teach, she picked up so quickly and made good use of all she gained.
Though this exercise seemed to prove a bit more trying, her patience was always admirable. He expected nothing less from the one person who could so swiftly handle Sylvain.
As she approached him he covered the small chuckle before looking at the doll.
"It looks like you've handled it for now..."
A gentle hand place against the small child's back. This rest was fleeting.
"When last did you feed it? I think the little one is torn between hunger and sleep."
Perhaps the worst way to find a child. Hunger would beget anger and weariness would incur those oh so upsetting shrill screams.
"I can assist you in preparing it's food."
With widened eyes Ingrid looked back at the demon - the baby - now so docile after its villainous outburst.
“Um, I haven’t fed it at all.”
The moment the words left her mouth she realized how idiotic they sounded. Obviously children needed to eat. They were so small and yet they were always ravenous, eating at all hours of the day and through the night. The professors had even just said that, as they had been going through the papers they had distributed to the class before handing out the dolls.
But hadn’t the dolls just been given sentience? Hadn’t it only been a few minutes since it had been set into her arms before it had started wailing?
Sweat pricked at the back of her neck as she realized that, if the professors had not been exaggerating when they had said these babies could be ravenous, she had an incredibly short window to find it something to eat before it attacked her again.
Trepidation was ice sluicing in her veins. “What kind of food does it need? And how often?”
She should probably stop calling the baby an ‘it’ and give it a proper name, too. But for now she couldn’t let herself be distracted when she likely only had moments before it began crying anew.
She followed Mattias to where the supplies for the food was in a daze. Had she been like this as a baby? Had her friends been like this?
What a terrifying thought.
A quiet burble from the baby brought her back to the present, reminding her that she had to focus. The only way to overcome a hurdle was to see it through, so she was going to see this through.She pointed with one hand to the supplies lining a table in the back of the classroom. “Are these all for food?”
Ingrid leads her to a table, but it's her words that make Marianne stumble.
"N-no you... You're a guest here in the alliance. It would be rude of me to make you pay." She insisted as they took a seat. "Please. If anything, my adoptive father would be happy to hear I'm spending my allowance on a..." were they friends? They met frequently in the stables caring for their horses but the mostly left each other alone in those moment... Sometimes they had riding classes together, though Ingrid was mostly a flier who was taking the classes to become the best knight she could be. Marianne just took the classes because she enjoyed being around Dorte.
She shouldn't presume them to be friends. After all, surely Ingrid was just being polite.
"A classmate." She finished.
(Classmates don't buy each other exquisite journals for their birthdays...)
Marianne quickly filled her mouth with a bite of her dessert, hoping to stop herself from putting her foot in her mouth. She instead focused on what she was actually good at, listening to someone else talk.
Marianne taking her first bites of food gave Ingrid pause. It was either exceptionally delicious, or she had made Marianne uncomfortable in some way.
She’d become skilled at reading the emotions of the friends she had grown up with in Faerghus, but the friends she had made at the academy were still sometimes mysteries to her. And although she enjoyed the quiet moments she shared with Marianne when they worked together in the stables and took their riding classes together, the girl was still an enigma.
“Forgive me,” Ingrid said, ducking her head. “I did not mean to be rude, I know the Alliance is your home. I only-”
She only what? What was it that she wanted? It wasn’t like she had much money anyways, what little coin she had squirreled away in a hidden corner of her room back at the Academy.
But it wasn’t about the coin, not really. She would happily give every last piece she owned to someone else who needed it more. It’s what the heroes in her stories would do, it’s what her family would do, it’s what she wanted to do.
And she wanted to buy her friend something delicious, too, if she would let her. As surely as she would buy a treat for any of her childhood friends (when they weren’t being deeply annoying) she would be happy to get Marianne something, too. How else was one meant to show they cared?
“Marianne…” she began, but found she could not finish the thought. Maybe she was overthinking things, reading too many books late into the night making her melodramatic. Maybe Marianne was just really hungry, and the cakes looked really good, the delicate smell of the pastry curling around her like wisps of magic in the air.
So instead she took a bite of her own cake, practically falling apart from the weight of all her toppings, giving Marianne her best smile. “It’s good, right? What do you think of yours?”
And she probably would have happily talked about their food until they were done and had moved onto the next stall and whatever other delicacies awaited in the festival. Only, from the corner of her eye she caught movement. Fast movement. Then sound, shouts in the wake of it, like thunder chasing after lightning.
“What was that?” Ingrid asked, already on her feet. She saw someone running, their arms loaded down with things she couldn’t quite place, while one of the stall-owners shouted in fury and onlookers gaped.
The door to the room shut with a resounding bang, plunging the two students into darkness.
It seemed a little dramatic, if you asked Ingrid, but she supposed that was part of the game. To lock them up in a scary room, to simulate a tense, eerie atmosphere, and then put their skills to the test.
Still, they could have at least left them with some lights.
Sighing, she stuck out her arms, fumbling around trying to find the wall. She remembered seeing little unlit sconces along the walls, and while she was no gifted magic user, she did know how to start a fire.
“Geez, how far away is the wall?” She groused, stumbling forward. She wondered if any of the heroes in her books ever had to wander blindly through the dark like this.
They probably did it more heroically than she was, but she still had time to master the art of wandering aimlessly in the dark to turn on the lights.
Finally her palm brushed against the roughness of a wall, and she allowed herself a quiet victory whoop before she continued. They were going to escape this room in no time at all-
Until Ingrid’s hand brushed against something fuzzy and warm. She let out a shriek, jarred at the stark difference between the cool, roughened wall and whatever it was she’d just touched.
Reeling back, Ingrid pressed a hand to her heart. “Goddess.”
All too late she remembered she was not alone.
“I’m uh…” She gripped the fabric of her skirt, twisting it in her fists as she squinted, looking around for Mercedes. In this instant she was thankful for the darkness, so her friend could not see her flush. “I think I touched something weird.”
The finely dressed noblewoman had appeared in the main hall of the monastery in disarray.
Her sumptuous dress - brightly dyed silks shimmering in the light, heavy skirts stalwart against the light wind - looked like it had been hastily thrown on. Buttons were left undone, ribbons and tassels hanging at awkward angles.
Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days, and what ornamentation she did have to pull it back was quickly slipping out, a jewelled hairpin clattering to the monastery floor.
She had been ringing her hands when she’d entered the hall, and Ingrid had noticed her right away. Her distress was a physical thing, so palpable she felt like she could reach out and take it in both hands.
It only took a simple greeting for the woman to pour out her troubles. That she needed someone to save her wife, that she had found a monstrous portrait in the attic of their home. That it had once looked like her wife, but it had grown distorted with every passing day.
Now the woman sobbed, dabbing her tear-stained cheeks with a handkerchief. “I think it has her soul in it. Please. Please, you must help.”
The wheels in Ingrid’s mind turned. How could a woman’s soul become trapped in a painting? What spells could have been used? Was there absolutely anything else at play here?
Dark magic was not normally Ingrid’s purview, and she had a rudimentary understanding of it at best, although she had often found herself intrigued by it. She’d been planning to take a course in it the following semester, but that would be of no use to her now, with the sobbing noblewoman looking up at her with pleading eyes as if she were the only one who could save her wife.
Ingrid furrowed her brow, peering over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of red as the click of heels passed by.
“Oh, wait a moment!” She turned fully, spying Edelgard a few steps away.
The heir to the Adrestian empire was sharp, perhaps she would have some insight into this issue.
“Edelgard!” She called, waving a hand. “Do you have a moment to spare?”
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There were a lot of things Ingrid was good at. Battle planning and prepping. Sword fighting and sparring. Tending to the horses in the stable. Flying her pegasus Rhiannon.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that taking care of children was not one of them.
In theory it made perfect sense. You feed a child when they’re hungry. You soothe a child when they’re upset. You play with a child when they’re full of energy. You introduce a child to swordplay once they can stand without support.
In practice, however, it was a different matter entirely.
Ingrid had been handed the magical baby doll that she had been assigned to take, and had enough time to remark at how lifelike it was as it cooed and waved its tiny fat hands at her before it had begun to wail.
She’d tried rocking it, bouncing it, speaking softly to it. Everything the professors leading the class had gone over before distributing the dolls she’d tried to do. But to absolutely no avail.
It was like the baby was immune to comfort, like it yearned for violence only.
“You’ve uh-” She alternated between rocking and holding the baby by her shoulder, patting its back like that might solve things. “You’ve got some strong lungs on you.”
A fat little fist smacked her in the face for that. Which was fair; she probably deserved that.
Wincing as the baby grabbed hold of her braid, she readjusted her hold to cradle it in the crook of her arm, struggling to untangle her hair from its fist.
Her mind buzzed as she fought to free herself from the tiny demon. None of her books had ever said much about children at all. Heroes and knights and kings saved children, certainly, but she didn’t remember every reading about the details on how to actually take care of one.
She was beginning to regret agreeing to take part in this new program. What business did she have trying to learn to care for a child anyways.
The baby hiccuped, its round face red from screaming. She didn’t dare try to hope, but her heart began lifting all the same.
The wails turned to whimpers, which in turn became sniffling and hiccuping, which became quiet babbling as the baby finally began settling.
Holding her breath, Ingrid dared to pry her hair from the baby’s fist. Her very first victory.
Her legs were shaking as though she had been through battle, and it took many long, deep breaths to steady her body and her mind. She could not let her guard down yet.
There had been a reason she had agreed to this program. She had wanted to be here, as ludicrous as the idea of it now was.
The reason had been simple: Dimitri often worked with children, playing with them and teaching them the basics of sword fighting.
Although they had grown up together, the distance between them was wide as a chasm. She had thought that if she could learn how to care for children, perhaps she could offer to help Dimitri with the ones he tutored. Perhaps it could be a way to bridge that yawning canyon between them. To make it passable, something that could be crossed.
She sighed. She was determined to see this through, but that meant she was going to have to figure out how to handle the wailing demon she now held.
Ingrid looked up, now that she was no longer under attack, scanning the room. One of the professors assigned to the program was more family than educator, and she needed a familiar face if she was going to survive this exercise.
“Um.” She felt a little ridiculous, carefully lifting the now-calm baby by way of explanation. “Matthias? Do you have any suggestions on what to do?”
“ Heh. ” Seeing Ingrid grow flustered proves an unexpected sight but one that makes Lapis feel a bit more at ease around her. She respected the blonde's drive and stern nature, but seeing her in this new light filled out the Brodian's image of her, making her appear all the more human and relatable. As such, a light giggle escapes Lapis, though she tries to suppress it so as to not seem mocking.
“ It's OK. This is your first time making one, right? Getting the basics of assembling it together is what's important. And, hey, it can still be used! We can put it in a cluster of some of these guys, so it hides the finer detail work but makes an area look more intimidating. ”
That's at least one suggestion, but Lapis continues to speak.
“ And, well, I was using what people would just trash, so no waste! Though if you really don't want to use it, I've got plenty of other projects I could make from it too. Repurposing stuff people don't know what to do with is a bit of my specialty, y'could say!
“ So... no taking it too hard, OK? But if you ever do wanna get better at it, I'm always open to helping teach you anytime you feel like catching me. ”
Heat tinged Ingrid’s ears and she lowered her head, fixing her gaze on a scrap of metal that had fallen away from her first attempt at fabricating something of this caliber.
“You are right,” she said, picking at a blade of grass. “It is at the very least made up of items deemed trash, so it lowers the waste the knights create.”
She fiddled with one of the “arms,” humming as she considered the dummy. Yes, hers was not a particularly good decoy up close, but at least she had not wasted any materials. And perhaps it could still be used, if Lapis’ idea was approved to help with the potential conflicts at the border.
She could not let one failure mar her curiosity and her resolve. Knights did not get better by trying once and quitting. Nothing came easy; failure was a necessary step before true success and strength could be attained.
“And you’re right too, that I should not take this too hard.” She rolled her shoulders back, a dull ache beginning in them from where she had been hunched over as she worked.
“Do you think building these is something that could be learned relatively quickly, though?”
Already Ingrid was crunching the numbers in her mind. Would trying a second or third time be sufficient to be able to work with the materials and create a satisfactory dummy? And could the skills be easily passed on to other knights? Could this really be a viable option for protection?
“I suppose the pieces of any unsuccessful attempts could be reused for later dummies, or even something else entirely?”
