Chapter Text
Ingrid is nervous.
Her recent trip to House Galatea went well enough. Her father, always so kind and generous, had offered her a gift upon her arrival. Directly after that, she made the decision to purposely disobey that same father’s wishes for the first time in her life.
It wasn’t her fault, really.
Her sister, Hero, told her about her recent engagement while there, and extended an invitation to her wedding in a few moons. Her father then used this as a natural segue into giving Ingrid another list of suitors that were interested in her (or, more likely, her title).
Even so, she feels a sense of shame deep in her core for going against her family, against her duty. Her father has never been anything but as kind and accommodating as possible when it comes to selecting a suitor for her; however, time and time again, Ingrid does not, can not fall in love. In fact, she has never even felt a spark of attraction for any number of the men her father has presented her with. She is beginning to believe she never will. Had things not occurred the way they did on their journey home, she may have continued to try, anyway. Sometimes one has to lie to themselves for the good of their family. But Ingrid is tired of lying.
There’s only one person she wants -- she realized this during the battle against the merchants the day before. None of the uppity nobles with their stiff upper lips and proper way of speaking appeal to her as Dorothea does, with her wit and quick quips, with her gorgeous hair and captivating eyes. By the Goddess, she was lovely inside and out.
So bewitched is Ingrid, she can’t possibly be at fault for impulsively, recklessly taking her grandmother’s Goddess Ring from her nightstand and stashing it into a pocket on her armor before departing from her family home. Right?
All Ingrid knows about courting she has learned from her father, from the nobility she has surrounded herself with throughout her entire life. And thus, she knows that a courtship doesn't end with a proposal, rather, it starts with one. And she intends to court Dorothea, to maybe even spend her life with her.
The logical side of her argues that the repercussions for this far outweigh the possible benefits. There is no possible way her father will approve, that Dorothea will even agree. In fact, to even fathom this all going remotely well is laughable at best. But, when she pictures how Dorothea looked on the battlefield, tome in hand, casting a thunder spell at a wicked merchant with fire in her eyes, Ingrid’s heart can’t help but whisper, Dorothea, Dorothea, Dorothea.
And can’t she listen to her heart, just this once? She can still be a knight, will still be a knight, if they are wed. Her father is not too old to continue producing heirs in the hopes of another crest-bearer.
And so, her heart wins.
She clings to the thought of Dorothea on the battlefield as she pushes her way into the dining hall, Lúin in hand, for her post-trip debrief with Dorothea and the Professor. The two stand to greet her.
“Ingrid! Welcome back,” Dorothea smiles warmly, and Ingrid feels her heart flutter for a moment. “Did you speak with your father?”
“I did,” Ingrid says. “I just returned to the monastery.”
“What happened with the proposal?” Byleth asks, voice low.
“As soon as I informed him of the suitor’s unsavory tendencies, he rejected the proposal outright.”
Dorothea grins at that, and even Byleth presses their lips into a thin line and raises their eyebrows a bit, a pleased twinkle in their eye.
“Were we to form ties with such an individual, it would bode poorly for our family. And besides...” Ingrid trails off for a moment. “I didn’t much think I would like him anyway.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Dorothea claps her hands together. “I was so worried for you, dear Ingrid.”
Ingrid's cheeks color at the word 'dear', but she’s saved from having to reply by Byleth’s silent gesture towards the lance in her hand.
“Oh, yes,” Ingrid says, hefting the weapon up so Byleth and Dorothea can take a better look. “My father insisted I take Lúin. He said I ought to keep it so I may protect myself against any other disreputable parties."
"Your father is a good man," Byleth nods.
"A stubborn man," Dorothea corrects, eyes rolling as she crosses her arms. At Ingrid's glare, however, her gaze and posture soften.
"Even so," Dorothea winks. "I could never bear to hand over my lovely Ingrid."
"Oh? Am I 'yours' now? Do I belong to you?" Ingrid raises her eyebrows, noting the color that rises to Dorothea's cheeks as she laughs. She loves to see that blush. She will do anything to make Dorothea blush, again and again and again.
Steeling herself, Ingrid sets Lúin on the table beside her, fishing the ring from her coat.
"Oh, and this is a little awkward," Ingrid shifts uncomfortably. "I wanted to repay you, Dorothea, and to show you how much I care, so I want to offer you... this."
She holds out the ring, adding, "It was my grandmother's," hastily, as Dorothea looks down at the ring then back up at Ingrid, an unreadable expression on her face.
Ingrid senses Byleth shifting out of the corner of her eye, and just barely hears the word "... proposal?...," as Byleth mutters under their breath.
Her attention snaps back to Dorothea; however, when the other girl exclaims, "Oh Ingrid, for me?" She gasps, raising a hand to her chest as a smile lights up her face. "Of course I accept! We'll be together forever!"
Ingrid can't believe what she's hearing. Did Dorothea just- Did she accept? A shared glance with Byleth confirms that, yes, Dorothea did say yes, and, no, Ingrid is not dreaming.
Ingrid can't help but grin and pause for a moment, simply awestruck. She finds herself wanting to lean forward and do- something, even if she wasn't sure what. Kiss Dorothea, maybe? But she waves that thought away, plenty of time for that, later, when the Professor isn't looking on. So, instead, she reaches for the hand Dorothea has extended, slipping the ring on the other girl's fourth finger, trying not to shake.
"Oh, that thing is much too large for my ring finger. I'll wear it on my forefinger instead," Dorothea says, pulling her hand from Ingrid's and slipping the ring to her other finger.
Ingrid is hit with confusion, but, again, waves it away. Maybe commoners were more casual about where an engagement ring should be worn.
"It's a Goddess Ring, too," Ingrid says, scratching a spot behind her ear, unable to tear her gaze away from those porcelain hands and the silver ring that stands out against them.
"Oh, Ingrid, you are positively adorable." Ingrid glances up at those words, and the grin on Dorothea's face makes her heart lift.
"Yes, well, we've fought enough and I believe we deserve to have a bit of fun," Ingrid says, smiling. She knows her cheeks must be as rosy and pink as the skyline at dusk, but she doesn't care. She's reminded again of how desperately wants to kiss Dorothea, if not on the lips, on the cheek. Her heart pounds.
Ingrid's mustering up the courage to lean in when Byleth clears their throat. "I must be off. Private lessons with Edelgard. I'll inform Rhea of the debrief later today." The look on the Professor's face is unreadable, as is the slight shift in the way Dorothea is standing. With a nod towards them both, and a wink at Ingrid, the girls issue their goodbyes as Byleth leaves them, heading towards the classrooms.
Dorothea's smile drops for a moment, and she says, voice suddenly guarded, "Well, darling Ingrid, I must be off as well." She winks again. "I have my own private lessons to attend to."
Wait, what?
Now what was that supposed to imply? Ingrid thinks she knows, but then again, Dorothea had just accepted a proposal from her mere moments ago, so certainly...?
Before the silence can turn uncomfortable, Ingrid nods. "I should depart as well. I must turn Lúin in to the armory, and then I have a tea appointment with Mercedes."
"How exciting," Dorothea giggles. She raises her hand to her mouth, ring glinting in the light. “Well, darling, I won’t keep dear Mercie waiting.”
“Right, yes. Shall I... Shall I see you tomorrow for the joint Seminar?”
Dorothea doesn’t answer, just winks at Ingrid for a third time as she walks past her, towards the door. Ingrid watches her go, that stupid smile still plastered to her face.
Goddess, what a woman.
“I proposed to Dorothea,” Ingrid blurts out as soon as Mercedes takes her seat. “Tea?”
Mercedes presses a hand to her chest as Ingrid pours her a cup of Ginger Tea. “Oh, Ingrid! Really? Have you two been courting this entire time?”
“Well, no, but I just saw the ring, and I knew that after the battle with those awful merchants, it was a good a time as any-”
“I do know you’ve been sweet on her for months-”
“- and so, without thinking, I just did it, and she, well, she said yes.”
“I’m so happy for you!”
And Ingrid knows that she is. That’s one of Mercedes’ best traits - her ability to be genuinely happy for the people around her, despite her inability at times to remember exactly why she’s happy for them in the first place.
“What’s this I hear about you and Dorothea?” Ingrid startles at the exclamation coming from just behind her, and turns to look over her shoulder at the grinning face of Annette, who clamps her hands down on the back of Ingrid’s chair.
“Why, Annie, they’re engaged-”
“Mercedes-,” Ingrid interjects, but Mercedes presses on.
“-isn’t it just so exciting!”
Annette’s eyes light up. “Wow, Ingrid, congratulations!”
“Um. Thank you.”
“Can I compose a song for your wedding?”
Ingrid is about to protest, No, we’re not getting married any time soon, we’re just courting , but Annette just looks so damn hopeful and sweet that she finds herself saying, “Sure, Annette. That would be quite lovely.”
Annette lets out a loud squeal, wrapping her arms around Ingrid from behind. Ingrid awkwardly pats her hand, trying to breathe as Annette’s arms tighten around her neck. Goddess, when did she get so strong?
“That’s quite enough,” she chokes out after a moment, patting a little harder until Annette finally lets go, still giddy with excitement.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!,” Annette says. “I would totally join you guys for tea but I promised Felix I would help him with his reason training! Congratulations, Ingrid! And Mercie, I’ll see you in the greenhouse later, right?”
She's already bounding away before either of them can answer, singing softly under her breath. It sounds suspiciously like a more upbeat version of the Faerghan Wedding March with the lyrics, “Ingrid and Dorothea / Their love is a guarantee-uh.”
Mercedes turns in her chair, waving goodbye at her friend with a laugh. “See you, Annie!”
When she turns back to the table, Ingrid furrows her brow. “I thought Dedue and Ashe were on greenhouse duty this week.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mercedes waves it off, sighing as she smooths out the napkin on her lap.
“Also,” Ingrid continues, attempting to keep her voice level. “I wasn’t going to tell Annette about it all quite yet.”
Mercedes blinks. "Oh, Ingrid, really? I didn’t know! Can I ask why not?”
Ingrid bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “Annette isn’t very, well, discrete about these kinds of matters. “
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Do you remember that week when you told her you almost went to class in your underclothes because you forgot to put on your breeches?”
Mercedes' face flushes bright red.
“And that one time Sylvain told her he didn’t actually know the name of his current girlfriend? Or even when Ashe confessed to her that he hid library books in his room past the due date? Or-"
“Sure, sure, I see what you’re saying, Ingrid," Mercedes interjects. "I should have realized, I'm sorry. I just didn’t know that you didn’t want everyone to know yet.”
Ingrid purses her lips together. It's hard to stay angry at Mercedes, especially when she looks at her with those round, sad eyes.
Fuck.
“Oh, it’s all right, Mercedes. You didn’t know. I just wanted to let certain people know in person, is all.”
“That’s all understandable, Ingrid. If you like I can talk to Annie in the greenhouse later? About not telling anyone?”
“Sure, Mercedes, that would be great." A beat. "I do appreciate you, you know.”
Mercedes grins. “Oh, Ingrid, I appreciate you, too! I so enjoy these tea times we take every week! And don’t have an inch of worry, I’ll talk to Annie later this afternoon. I’m sure everything will be just fine!”
Everything is not just fine.
It starts early the next morning, as Ingrid enters the dining hall for breakfast, face newly washed, hair wet and braided back after her early morning ride. She takes her usual seat, sandwiched between Sylvain and Felix, with Dedue and Dimitri across from them. The four are talking excitedly about the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but talking ceases as Ingrid sits.
She looks around at her tablemates. "What?"
A pause.
“So, Ingrid, ” Sylvain coos, voice sing-song as he takes a bite of grits. “What’s this I hear about you and a certain opera singer?”
“What are you talking about?” Ingrid asks, voice too high-pitched for her to conceivably sound innocent. Damn.
“You’re engaged. Congratulations.” This comes from Felix, who gives her a nod. Wow. This was the Felix equivalent of hugging her tightly and jumping up and down. No wonder he actually came to the dining hall today.
“I don’t know what-”
“Well, Ingrid, I offer you and Dorothea my best wishes,” Dimitri says, smiling cordially.
Ingrid stares at him. She turns to look down the table, immediately making eye contact with Mercedes, who has clearly been trying to get her attention. Seated next to Annette, Mercedes makes a downright comically apologetic face, shaking her head and offering a shrug. Ingrid notes that Annette is chattering away to Ashe on her other side, completely oblivious to the silent communication between the other two girls.
Ingrid groans and puts her head in her hands.
Damnit, Annette.
“You know, Ingrid,” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “When people offer you their congratulations, the nice thing to do is accept them with a thanks, not growl like a wild animal about to attack.” He winks. Ingrid rolls her eyes.
“His Highness and I didn’t know whether to believe it or assume it was all hearsay,” Dedue says, quiet voice still easy to hear above the usual din of breakfast. “But, judging from your reaction, I can assume the rumors floating around true?”
Ingrid drags her hand down her face. It is much too early for this.
“Yes, it’s true,” she finally confesses, “But we’re merely courting.” Her friends all lean back in their seats. Felix offers her another small nod, Dimitri almost smiles, and Dedue’s eyes twinkle as he reaches out and pats her hand resting on top of the table gently.
Sylvain pumps his fist in the air. “Hey, Goneril,” he calls across the dining hall. “You owe me 30 gold!” Ingrid looks up in time to see Hilda flashing a rather inappropriate hand gesture over her shoulder at Sylvain.
Ingrid turns to face him, slugging him in the arm with considerably more force than necessary. “Hey!”
Sylvain just laughs. “Sorry, Ingrid, but aren’t I allowed to have a little fun with your love life, too?”
“You absolutely are not.”
“Well, I wish I'd have known that one yesterday. With your confirmation I do believe I’m making about 300 gold from various classmates? So thanks for that.”
“Goddess,” Ingrid groans again. “Does everybody know?”
“Well.” Felix nods his head in the general direction of the rest of the dining hall, raising his coffee cup to his mouth. Ingrid peeks between Dedue and Dimitri’s shoulders, only to see Bernadetta and Petra staring at her, Bernadetta with her mouth hanging open, Petra with a smile on her face as Leonie whispers something in her ear.
Ingrid swiftly turns around in her seat, just to see Manuela. Lorenz. Ignatz. Caspar, Linhardt, Lysithea, so many, too many faces looking back at her.
Then, she sees Dorothea, a bewildered look on her face.
When their eyes meet, Dorothea just furrows her brow as if to ask, What is going on?
Ingrid rolls her eyes slightly, waving her palms in front of her. Long story.
Dorothea lifts one hand to hide the other from Edelgard and Hubert on the other side of the table, pointing towards the door with a jerk of her head.
Ingrid nods frantically. Yes. Please. Let’s go now.
She watches as Dorothea excuses herself from her table, heading towards one of the side doors of the dining hall that opens into the courtyards beyond. Ingrid waits a moment, and then she, too, pushes back her seat, standing.
“Right. Well. I’m not hungry anymore,” she announces.
“Sure you are,” Sylvain teases. “Just a different kind of hungr-” he’s cut off by a loud scuffle, which Ingrid can only guess is Dimitri stepping on his foot.
“We’ll see you for class,” Dimitri says firmly. Ingrid nods at him, then at everyone else in their group except Sylvain, whom she glares at.
She turns, walking quickly and trying not to make eye contact with anyone as she picks her way to the other side of the room. Goddess, why did they always have to eat at the far table? Just as she pushes her way through the door, she hears a wolf whistle (Sylvain), and a chorus of giggles following it (oh, Goddess, everyone else).
She lets the door slam behind her with a resounding clang.
Dorothea is waiting for her beneath one of the gazebos, hands on her hips, looking ethereal as ever.
But before Ingrid can offer anything, an apology, an explanation, anything, Dorothea pulls up short.
“Just why does everyone in the dining hall think we’re engaged?”
Ingrid stops, one foot on the step that leads up to the gazebo, one hand on the railing. What’s Dorothea playing at? Even if they aren’t engaged per say, they are certainly courting.
Aren’t they?
Dorothea continues, obviously not waiting for an answer. “Was it because of that silly joke you made after the debriefing yesterday?”
Silly joke? Ingrid is trying to draw a connection between their conversation yesterday and the one they’re having today, and all she can say in her confused state is a very ignoble, “Huh?”
Dorothea rolls her eyes, scoffing playfully. “When you fake proposed to me, silly.”
“Um.”
“I’m trying to think of what happened. Maybe Professor Byleth thought it was real? And they told Edie, who told Hubie, who told Ferdie, who told everyone? He never can keep a secret, you know.” Dorothea flips her hair over one shoulder. “The only thing I can’t put together is why Ferdie didn’t come to me after finding out. You would think he’d be excited for me.”
And then, with a rush of understanding, the puzzle pieces fall into place in Ingrid’s mind. Dorothea thought it wasn’t real. Dorothea thought it was a joke. Dorothea wasn’t accepting her proposal - because there is no proposal, in Dorothea’s mind.
Dorothea thought it was a joke.
Ingrid swallows, trying to think, but her brain feels jammed, unmoving. She thinks she might cry, but that won’t do. A proper knight doesn’t cry, she scolds herself. A proper knight takes things in stride.
And in the next second, she makes a decision. She takes a step forward, onto the platform.
“Right,” she says. “A joke.” She forces out a laugh, but it sounds fake even to her. “Byleth must truly have thought I was- I was actually proposing to you.”
“Well, now everybody thinks that,” Dorothea points out. “Oh, I am going to kill Ferdie.”
I am going to kill Annette, Ingrid thinks.
“What can we do to quell these rumors?” Ingrid asks, swallowing hard to try and shrink the pit growing in her stomach. Dorothea thought it was a joke. “I imagine you have much more experience than I do on matters such as this.”
Dorothea lets out a contemplative hum, tapping one finger to her lips and turning to look out at the courtyard and hedge beyond.
“We could, I don’t know, talk to Byleth or something...” Ingrid says, before trailing off when it becomes obvious that Dorothea isn’t listening.
After a moment of silence, Dorothea turns back to Ingrid, skirt swishing and eyes light. “I have a marvelous idea. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now, hear me out, Ingrid,” Dorothea starts pacing back and forth across the small platform, and Ingrid can practically see the gears turning in her head. “Everybody already thinks we’re courting, and no matter how much damage control we do, we’ll never be able to convince everyone that it isn’t true.”
“Okay...”
“The only efficient way we can get these rumors to go away completely, to get people to stop looking at us as we walk down the hallway for the next month or more, trying to figure out if it's all true, delving into our personal lives at every turn-”
“Where are you going with this?”
“-is by confirming those rumors.”
“I- what?”
“Think about it for a moment, dear,” Dorothea stops pacing, turning to face Ingrid with a grin. “What if we simply let everyone believe we were courting? And maybe even confirmed a few of the tamer stories going around? Definitely not the one where your father is about to send a battalion to kidnap you and take you back to House Galatea for being engaged to a commoner-”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“-but maybe just a few about us being together, us having courted in secret for months, stuff like that.”
“What was that about my father?”
Dorothea ignores her. "So? What do you say?”
Ingrid takes a deep breath. “And why would I ever, ever, agree to something like this, Dorothea?”
“I’ll give you a few reasons, darling Ingrid. One, I reckon I know a lot more about the Garreg Mach Rumor Mill than you, no offense. This will work. Denying it will only make it worse. Two, we both have our actual crushes we would love to impress, and this is a good way to make them jealous. And three, you are a hot piece of ass and I would be absolutely honored to fake date you for a good cause.”
Ingrid has questions about one, no two, no, actually, all of these points, but the one that’s the easiest to tackle (no matter how much she wants to ask about point number three), is the second. “I’m sorry - who are you trying to make jealous?”
“Why, Edie, of course,” Dorothea blushes slightly. “She only ever has heart eyes for Bernie, and I’m willing to try drastic measures such as these in order to capture her attention. And don’t think I haven't noticed the way you and Sylvain look at each other- Shit, Ingrid, are you all right?”
No, Ingrid was not all right. At the mention of Sylvain, she chokes on nothing, and after making a very unattractive and impolite sound in the back of her throat, she keels over, coughing. Sylvain? She and Sylvain? Goddess, is that really what Dorothea thought? Sylvain has been unsuccessfully trying to catch Felix’s attention for months now, and Ingrid isn't even sure she’s attracted to men. Sylvain is one of the only ones that even knows that about her.
But, Dorothea only laughs. “Oh, Ingrid, did you really think it wasn’t obvious? Maybe to the unpracticed eye, but I'm good at these things, you know. The way you spend all your time together, the way he drapes himself over you so often in public-”
“Because we’ve been friends since childhood!,” Ingrid chokes out, forcing herself to breathe.
“Oh, darling, don’t protest. I see the way you look at him.”
Ingrid is ready to sink into the ground.
Dorothea pushes on. “So, silly, what do you say?” She takes a step closer, looking directly into her eyes. Oh, sweet Sothis.
And she wants to say yes, she wants to say yes more than anything. She wants a chance to be with Dorothea, even if it isn’t real, and yet she knows deep down that if she does go through with this, if she lets herself be caught up in this daydream, it can only bring her heart ruin.
But one look into those hopeful eyes, and Ingrid hesitates.
“Let me... Let me think about it.”
“All right,” Dorothea laughs. “Just don’t think too long, dear. You know I hate it when people keep me waiting.” She smiles, and, with a hand brushing against Ingrid’s arm, hops off the gazebo, setting off back towards the dining hall without another word.
Well, Ingrid supposes, guess that conversation is over.
“Talk to you tomorrow?” she calls to Dorothea’s retreating back.
“Count on it!” Dorothea trills over her shoulder.
Ingrid stands there, alone. What the hell just happened?
Ingrid’s Official List of Things to Do Because Oh Goddess What Have I Done, Did I Just Agree to Pretend to Date My Crush in Order to Impress Sylvain of All People, Now What? Or: a List of Tasks to Complete Before Talking to Dorothea Tomorrow.
- Have tea with Annette and Mercedes
- Confront Annette and Mercedes
- Ask Annette and Mercedes for help
if I don’t kill them first
- Confirm whether the rumors are really as widespread as they seem
- Talk to Sylvain (?)
- Die, preferably.
Ingrid slams her hand on Mercedes and Annette's classroom table. The two girls have their heads close together, whispering, but they startle and pull away from each other at the sound, looking up at Ingrid with surprise.
“Emergency tea time. After class. Courtyard,” Ingrid says. It’s not a question, and they know it. Mercedes, at least, looks sheepish, but Annette just looks confused at Ingrid’s attitude. Ingrid doesn’t much care. “Both of you,” she adds as an afterthought, before pushing past them and taking a seat in the back corner.
She keeps her head low as students start streaming in through the doors, only looking up when Sylvain slides into the seat next to her.
“Why, Ingrid, fancy seeing you here. Decided to join the degenerates in the back of the room, I see? Or are you here for something else? I must say, class is a strangely public place, especially for you, but-”
Ingrid cuts him off with a glare.
“Okay, okay, not funny. Seriously, Ingrid, I’ve never seen you sit more than three rows back. Are you ill? Are you dying?” He gasps. “What if you aren’t even Ingrid?” Sylvain reaches out a hand, as if to feel her face for a fever, but Ingrid impatiently swats it away.
“I swear to the Goddess if you say one more word to me, I will stab you through the hand with this quill.”
“All right, message received.” Sylvain hesitates. “Do you want to, you know, talk about it? I do know you pretty well, actually, and many ladies and gentlemen have told me I’m an excellent listener.”
And even though talking to Sylvain about what’s happening is a check on Ingrid’s list, she definitely doesn’t want to bring up the fact that Dorothea believes she fancies him, not until she talks to Mercedes and Annette first. She’d never be able to live that one down. Instead, she decides to fish for information pertaining to something else she needs to know.
“Sylvain,” she says as quietly as she can manage. “Just how many people know about me and Dorothea?”
Sylvain gives her a look.
“No," Ingrid says.
“Yes.”
“All the students?”
“More.”
“The faculty?”
“More.”
“Archbishop Rhea ?”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“I am going to kill Annette.”
“Yeah, babe, never trust that girl with sensitive information. Remember that one time when she walked in on me in the sauna with Claud- Anyway. You get the point.”
Ingrid resists the urge to hit her head against the table repeatedly.
Instead, she simply shakes her hands out, leaning her head against the wall beside her and pulling out parchment to get ready for class.
“Yeah. I’m truly sorry about it, Ingrid.” Sylvain offers her a genuine smile, then ruins it by continuing, “Say, can I borrow your notes after class?”
Ingrid doesn’t answer.
After class, Mercedes and Annette find Ingrid in the dining hall, doing what could only be described as angrily steeping a pot of tea.
“Oh, Ingrid, let me take care of that,” Mercedes offers, gently taking the pot from her hands and continuing to steep. “Sounds like you haven’t had that good of a day.”
“Oh, I can do it if you like, Mercie!” Annette offers, making a grab for the pot.
“Oh, no Annie, allow me, you always seem to burn yourself-” Mercedes protests, yanking the teapot back. A few droplets fly from the spout, landing on Ingrid’s face and arms. She winces, the boiling drops cooling quickly on her skin, and then gently but firmly takes the pot back from Mercedes.
“Allow me,” she insists, knowing that if she lets these two continue on, soon there will be a mess all over the kitchen floor, or, worse, the three of them. Mercedes relinquishes the pot, and Ingrid returns to her task.
The three sit in silence for a moment, and Ingrid can see Mercedes and Annette attempting to argue silently as she prepares the tea, but she pretends not to notice. She adds a drop of honey to her own tea, a splash of cream to Mercedes’, and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to Annette’s before arranging them all on a tray.
Ingrid turns back to the other two girls just in time to see Annette apparently win the unspoken fight, as Mercedes turns towards Ingrid, exclaiming, “Oh, Ingrid, I’m so sorry!” As Mercedes goes to clasp her hands together in front of her, one hand knocks into the tray, nearly sending it out of Ingrid’s arms and onto her uniform
“Woah,” Ingrid exclaims, steadying the tray before squeezing her eyes closed to ground herself. “Shall we retreat to the courtyard, perhaps? Before the tea is ruined in its entirety?”
She’s starting to remember why she never takes tea with both Annette and Mercedes at the same time.
She refuses to let Annette or Mercedes carry the tray for fear of another accident, and the three girls push their way into the early afternoon sunlight. Ingrid chooses a table slightly removed from the others to give them privacy and hands each girl their cup of tea, positioning the teapot, napkins (for Mercedes’ spills), sweets (for Annette), sugar, cream, and honey around the table.
After the three get settled, Mercedes once again proclaims, “I’m so, so sorry, Ingrid!” and Annette looks like she’s about to cry. Lovely.
Ingrid takes her time, stirring her tea, then sets her spoon down on her plate with a clink. “Mercedes. You told me you would stop Annette from telling other people.”
“And I did!” Mercedes protests. “I really did!”
“But it was too late,” Annette blurts. “I had already told Felix. And Caspar. And everyone else at the training grounds. And also the gatekeeper by the marketplace.”
Ingrid is seriously considering violence at this point, but, instead, takes a deep, steadying breath. Then, for the second time that day, she puts her head in her hands and groans.
She sits there, hands over her face, rubbing her temples with her thumbs, for a long while, before Mercedes finally says, “Oh, Ingrid, please say something!”
Ingrid holds up one finger in a give me a moment gesture. Then, she scrubs her hands through her hair, sets them politely back in her lap, and looks up at her two friends. “The engagement isn’t real.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, what-”
“But you said-”
Ingrid takes a sip of tea. “Dorothea thought it was a joke. She, ah, doesn’t feel the same way.”
“But how do you know that?” Annette protests.
“She told me.”
“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes cries. “That’s so heartbreaking!” She stands to scoot her chair around the table to give her comfort, knocking over her cup of tea as she does. “Oopsie!”
“I’ve got it!” Annette says, reaching for the pile of napkins. She unceremoniously begins to sop up the rapidly spreading puddle, but not before placing a protective layer of napkin around the plate of sweets.
Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose.
She startles as Mercedes wraps an arm around her shoulders, forcefully pulling her towards her and stroking her hair, whispering soothing condolences in her ear.
“Right, well,” Ingrid says after a moment, voice muffled, as her face is currently pressed against Mercedes’ chest with no room to move. “Mercedes? I can’t breathe.”
“Oopsie!,” Mercedes says again, relinquishing her hold. Ingrid sits back up in her chair, pulling it just a few inches away from her friend to put some distance between them.
She smooths her hair back, looking up in time to see Annette giving up on cleaning and leaving the soaking pile of napkins in the middle of the table. The girl falls back into her chair with a huff as tea continues to drip off the table into the grass below. “That’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
Ingrid pauses, then decides not to question it. “But anyway. There’s more,” she says. “She made me an offer of sorts.”
“Oooooooh.”
“Not that kind of offer.” Ingrid corrects, then hesitates, wondering how best to explain the situation. “She asked- well, she proposed that, instead of dispelling these rumors, we, ah, confirm them. Without them actually being real.”
They both stare back at her blankly.
“She asked if I wanted to pretend to court her so she could make Edelgard jealous. Of me,” Ingrid puts it bluntly, pointedly deciding to not mention the small fact that Dorothea thinks this would make Sylvain jealous as well.
Mercedes' mouth drops open. Annette has a bit of a crazed look in her eye that Ingrid does not trust.
“Wow, Ingrid, that’s... Wow.” Annette says. “Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know. No. I don’t know,” Ingrid sighs. “What do you think?”
“Well, no, I don’t think you should,” Mercedes says tentatively. “I don’t think that could end well for you.”
Ingrid nods. They both turn to Annette, who now has a dreamy, slightly vacant look in her eyes.
“Well,” Annette says, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Actually, that might not be such a bad idea.” She shares a significant look with Mercedes and then turns her gaze back to Ingrid.
“What. No. Mercedes is right, it’s a terrible idea. I just wanted to get confirmation.”
A beat.
“Mercedes, don’t look at me like that.”
“Look at it this way,” Annette continues. “This could be a really nice way to help a friend, and it could also help you move on, once you see firsthand how much Dorothea cares for Lady Edelgard.”
“Ooh, yeah, good point Annie.”
“No, not a good point, there’s-”
“Also,” Annette grins slyly, “We can totally help her fall in love with you if you want.”
Mercedes giggles.
“No,” Ingrid states forcefully. “Absolutely not. And Annette,” she looks her dead in the eye. “If I do decide to do this against all odds, and I find out that you have told a living soul about this, I will seriously make sure everyone in the Blue Lions knows to never let you have another sweet again.”
As Annette nods somberly back at her, Ingrid fully considers how this plan of Dorothea’s could go. Maybe Annette and Mercedes were right. Besides, Dorothea looked so lovely, so hopeful, so utterly Dorothea the other day when she proposed this plan. She really does have deep and real feelings for Edelgard. If it’ll help her out with wooing her love, who is Ingrid to say? It will be a great favor for a friend, won’t it?
Anyway, Dorothea doesn’t need to know Ingrid has actual feelings for her, right?
Right?
The next morning, Ingrid prepares to enter the dining hall for breakfast again. She’s pointedly avoided it for both lunch and dinner the past day, instead sneaking in during its off hours to get some snacks. But, she reasons, if she’s going to do this, she might as well start getting it over with.
So she gets her usual plate, and takes her usual seat, ignoring the curious stares of everyone around her. She ignores the conversation between Sylvain, Dedue, and Dimitri, concentrating on taking one bite after another. When she finishes, without speaking to anyone, she stands, takes her tray to the cleaning rack, and then takes a breath to steel herself.
She sets her sights on Dorothea, this time seated with Bernadetta on her left and Leonie and Petra across from her. She marches over, a Knight going into battle, and gently lays a hand on Dorothea’s back. Dorothea turns, and upon seeing Ingrid, a smile lights up her face. She doesn’t say anything, merely cocks one eyebrow at her, as if to say, So what will it be?
And Ingrid leans down, voice soft as she speaks directly into Dorothea’s ear.
“We need to talk.”
Coming up: A midnight rendezvous