Chapter Text
Ingrid wiped at her cheeks but the tears kept coming. Her eyelids felt thick and her collar was itchy where it rubbed, increasingly damp, against her neck.
Mercedes traced gentle circles on Ingrid’s upper back. “You can cry all you want to.”
“But I don’t want to cry! I want him to realize how wrong he is!”
Mercedes was unfazed. “Then you can cry all you need to,” she said, a small grin in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ingrid had somehow become both a bottomless pit of sad and an infinite fountain of tears. Three days, and she was only feeling worse. Three days of support that she’d never be able to repay, and here was Mercedes, at 11:30 at night, still by her side.
She glanced at her desk and saw her father’s letter laying open there, wedged between her school books. Her father’s letter: a perfectly good engagement that was the promise of security for her, for her family, for their entire region.
The security her father had been pursuing for her – through her – since Glenn, and probably before.
Ingrid let that small, long-closed window in her mind open a crack. What would life have been like, married to Glenn, if he had lived? He was kind to her – there was no reason to imagine he wouldn’t have continued to be kind. No one would have expected them to have children while she herself was still a child; they would have had years to get to know each other slowly, to develop ease around each other. He would have spent much of his time in Fhirdiad, serving Dimitri, and Ingrid would have learned to run a household. After their first child was born, once she felt capable of it, she would have been given the responsibility of running the Fraldarius estate, which would eventually have absorbed the Galatea territory. Their fathers would have retired from politics when they were too old to travel, and Glenn would have been lord of the entire area. And Ingrid would have been its lady.
That life wasn’t what she now knew she wanted, but she had to admit that her father had made what would have been an excellent choice, if she hadn’t already given her heart to Felix.
So, what now? Could she marry her father’s new match for her and teach herself to love someone else? Could she transform her heart, or would she have to leave it behind? Could she move to the edge of the kingdom and consign herself to the life of a wife and mother? How could she manage to have children with him? How could she bring herself to tell her children the stories of bravery that always inspired her, that made her wish she could once again grip her lance, when her future was bereft of hope?
She couldn’t. And it all came down to one truth.
Her heart was Felix’s.
That one, incontrovertible truth stood in the way of any future without him. Her heart belonged to Felix’s heart, and Felix’s belonged to hers – she knew it. No matter what road spooled out before them – knighthood, parenthood, death in battle, or anything else – she only wanted to walk it beside Felix.
“I love Felix.” Ingrid had been silent a long time, but Mercedes was still right beside her.
Mercedes let out a deep sigh. “I know, Ingrid. It hurts right now --”
Ingrid stood up, turning with brightening eyes to face Mercedes. “He’s my future, and I’m his. There’s no other way. It’s just how it has to be.”
“There are five stages of grief,” Mercedes attempted, squeezing Ingrid’s forearm tenderly, “and this one is called ‘denial.’ Or it might be ‘anger,’ actually --”
“What’s he going to do, marry someone else? I don’t think so. Or be alone his entire life? What a ridiculous waste! And I’m certainly not marrying someone else. I’m just not.”
Mercedes nodded slowly. “Okay…”
“I’m saying no to my father. I’m going to write to him tonight.” Ingrid started pacing. “And tomorrow morning, I’m going to convince Felix that he’s wrong about us.”
Mercedes smoothed her skirt as she stood up. “You sound determined.”
“I am. Totally and completely.”
“Which is what makes you such a fierce warrior.”
“Yes, it is.”
Mercedes’ eyes went soft. “And – I’m here for you if things don’t go exactly as you intend them to. Okay?”
Ingrid grabbed Mercedes into a tight, quick hug. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
“If I wasn’t sure you’d wreck my face for it, I’d punch you.”
It was at least an hour past the official, although rarely enforced, lights out. Sylvain leaned against Felix’s door jamb, arms crossed, hair slightly greasy but still somehow perfect in the evening light.
“Really,” Felix intoned, pretending to read his battle tactics textbook.
“Mm-hmm. I would beat the living shit out of you.”
Felix supposed it was only fair, after all. “Any particular reason?”
“Yup. For breaking Ingrid’s heart.”
The one-date wonder was way out of his depth here.
“She’s not sick, you know. She’s avoiding you.”
Felix figured as much. He hadn’t seen her around for three days. He hoped she’d get over it soon; he was the last person who could help her now.
But Sylvain just wouldn’t drop it. “She told me what you said.”
“And?”
“And you’re being an idiot.”
Felix sighed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sylvain was suddenly inches from Felix, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him out of his chair. “Take this seriously or I swear you’ll need more than stitches when I’m done with you.”
Felix pushed himself free and unrumpled his collar. “Believe me, I am taking this seriously. More seriously than Ingrid is. I’m facing reality.”
Sylvain was menacing when he wanted to be, and apparently right now he really wanted to be. “Oh yeah? Then explain it to me. Explain to why you’re rejecting one of the best people either of us has ever known.”
Felix felt like he was eight years old again, with Sylvain towering over him like this. He forced himself to stand up to him. “You think you know everything, so you tell me.”
“Glenn’s memory? That’s a pathetic excuse.” Sylvain pursed his lips, disgusted. “You’re scared, and it’s making you stupid.”
Felix bristled; Sylvain was treading on damn thin ice. “You can leave right now.”
“But the thing is,” Sylvain continued, almost pleading, “you have nothing to be scared of! How long have we known each other? Ten years, at least. I knew Glenn, and I know you. Glenn would never have wanted you to reject the love of your life on his behalf! Think about it: how exactly does both of you being miserable honor his memory?”
Felix couldn’t argue this point – he just knew himself to be right. “She was supposed to be his wife, Sylvain.”
“Only because neither of you spoke up!”
“We were children!”
“Exactly! She was a child, Felix -- she was in no position to stand up to your father, or her own. All this time, did you honestly think she wanted to marry Glenn -- at thirteen years old?! Are you crazy?”
It was a gut punch, to hear it said so plainly.
“I bet that if either of you had spoken up at the time, your dads would have set Ingrid up with you instead of Glenn gladly.”
That hurt. To imagine he could have prevented all of this, if he’d been stronger – braver --
Sylvain had the adrenaline glow of someone who thought he was winning. He wouldn’t shut up. “I saw the way you two were together, and I’ve seen how you’ve been lately. You two were made for each other.”
“Maybe,” Felix muttered.
“How does rejecting Ingrid bring Glenn back? Does letting her marry someone else honor Glenn at all? Because we both know whoever her father wants her to marry now won’t appreciate her the way you would. You know he won’t respect her as a warrior, won’t begin to understand how smart and special she is --”
It was too much. Felix was nearly growling, simmering under lowered brows. “I knew you liked her --”
“Of fucking course I do, you moron!” Sylvain tried to grab Felix by the shoulders, but Felix violently shook him off. “But that doesn’t matter because she is – and let me make this perfectly clear – in love with you.”
Felix and Sylvain stood facing each other, angrily breathing harder than was strictly necessary.
After the ferocity of his heartbeat cooled a little, Felix let Sylvain’s argument filter through him. He couldn't deny that it made a cruel kind of sense. “About Glenn… maybe you’re right.”
“I’m definitely right,” Sylvain pounced.
“Then you’re right,” Felix conceded with a flare of eye contact. “What exactly do you imagine I can do about it now? By all rights, she should hate me.”
“And yet she doesn’t.” Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Miracles never cease.”
Felix sat down on his bed, deflated. “She holds grudges. She won’t forgive me.”
Sylvain let out a deep, exhausted breath. “Just tell her how you feel. Ask her how she feels. Take it from there.”
“But --”
Sylvain grunted. “Felix, what is wrong with you?” He turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. “You are on the cusp of having what most of us only dream of. Don’t fuck it up.”
The knock was quiet and tidy – two quick raps – but it sliced through Ingrid’s sleep like a polished sword. It was the dead of night; it had to be an emergency. Ingrid leapt from bed to open her door.
Felix stood in the moonlight just outside her room.
He looked terrible. Strands of his hair had made their way out of his bun with varying success and lay or stuck out at odd angles. He was gaunt and pale, except for his neck, which was an angry red from where he was rubbing his palm back and forth across it.
Ingrid’s voice rose with fear. “What’s wrong? Is everyone okay? Are we under attack?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, okay.” She stood back on her heels, confused, and tried to catch her breath. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I’m sorry.”
In that awful, familiar way that bad things do, the tragedy of their situation rushed to fill the wakeful silence: they weren’t on speaking terms. Felix refused her; he couldn’t bring himself to dishonor Glenn’s memory. And then, more: she was determined to convince him otherwise. “Do you need something?”
“I think I was wrong about Glenn. About… us.”
What? Ingrid sensed the rare fragility of his emotional state. She was nearly frozen. “You were?”
Felix glanced at her and their eye contact caught for a second before he wrenched it away. “Can I come in?”
Ingrid took a step to the side, and Felix made his way awkwardly to the center of her small room. She quietly shut the door, then turned to him. “You were saying?” she prompted, trying not to cry or fall over.
“Maybe it wouldn’t…” Felix trailed off. He took a deep breath, pressed his fists together at the knuckles, and brought his gaze up to her face. “Maybe we can honor Glenn’s memory some other way.”
“Some other way?” Ingrid was desperately trying not to let herself assume the best – things with Felix always proved to turn out for the worst.
“Some other way than… than staying apart.”
Ingrid could feel her throat tightening, her breath getting shallow – not from sadness, exactly, but from the potential bigness of the moment, if she understood him correctly. She had to be careful not to spook him, but she needed to be sure. “I don’t know if I know what you mean. Can you…? What do you mean?”
Felix took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. “I have to tell you how I feel.”
Ingrid’s lungs stopped working. She waited.
“I have loved you since I was a child and I still love you. You were my best friend. And you still are. But you’re more than that. You’re…” He opened his eyes and looked not at her but into her. “You’re everything to me.”
Ingrid was definitely crying now.
Felix’s expression softened. “How do you feel?”
Ingrid sniffled, wiping at her cheek. “I love you, too, you dumbass.”
And that softened Felix’s expression even more. He chuckled, his eyes rimmed with pink. “Okay then, good,” he responded, nodding.
“I wrote to my father that I don’t want him to fix me up anymore.”
“You did?” Was Felix smiling? Almost.
“Just before I went to bed. I’m going to send it in the morning.” She handed him the letter, proof of her commitment to him. “I don’t want anyone but you.”
Felix sighed. Actually sighed, and it was as if every weight he had ever carried was released, all at once. “Me neither.”
Felix’s face was brighter than she’d seen it in years, the light from the moon sparkling in his eyes, and it felt exactly right to step into his arms as he pulled her close. She breathed in the scent of him, both familiar and new, as they let their foreheads fall gently together.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, quieter than breath.
“Yes,” she answered him, pressing her smiling lips to his.