Chapter Text
The month’s mission was supposed to be simple, a mere afterthought after the previous night’s ball. They were supposed to go to the ruins, inspect them, and return within an hour or two.
Even after they discovered the Demonic Beasts, it had still for the most part played out smoothly. The professor sent her, Sylvain, and Mercedes to take care of the Demonic Beast to the northeast. Compared to some of the other beasts they’d faced, it was smaller and less feral, but still no less dangerous.
There had been a student there, hiding in a thicket of trees. In a panic, she had tried to catch the beast’s attention by charging it head on, leaving her battalion in the dust. Sylvain and Mercedes had yelled for her to slow down, but she had already spurred her pegasus forward, driving her lance into the creature’s side.
It had worked, at least. The Demonic Beast completely abandoned the defenseless student and whipped around, roaring wildly and thrashing its tail.
“That’s it,” Ingrid called out encouragingly to her mount, yanking the reins up and managing to dodge a slow, heavy swipe of its claws. Her pegasus exhaled forcefully as they soared, the sound almost lost in the wind whipping around her face and the powerful beatings of her mount’s wings.
Ingrid pushed down against her stirrups, gripping the reins tightly as she prepared to dive back down. Below her, Sylvain was charging in with his battalion, yelling out orders atop his mount. Mercedes and her team of mages were following suit, though at a distance. Her battalion was still falling behind; some members were yelling at her, though it was hard to tell what.
“Attack head on,” she shouted, but her voice was all but swallowed by the wind. She began to dive back down, pointing the tip of her lance at the beast’s roaring maw.
Ingrid urged her pegasus back down, swooping over Sylvain as he slashed his lance across the beast’s leg.
He must’ve heard her or seen her shadow cast over him, because his head immediately snapped up. “Ingrid!” he yelled, his eyes wild with distress. “What is wrong with—?!”
“I’ll take the front, you charge from the side,” she cut him off, pushing her braid over her shoulder. “Don’t let the beast attack that student. I’ll keep its attention away.”
Sylvain steered his horse out of the way as the Demonic Beast stomped forward, its attention fixed on Ingrid’s battalion as it charged forward. He looked furious, which wasn’t an expression she’d seen on him often.
“Fine,” he shouted, gripping his lance and urging his horse forward. “Don’t get yourself killed!”
A laugh slipped out of her, fueled by the familiar high of battle. Before she could shout something snarky back, he was directing his troops to the monster’s flank, following her instructions.
Since when does he ever listen to me? She remembered thinking as she swooped around to rejoin her knights.
Mercedes and her mages were already hurling fireballs at the beast, judging from the amount of scorch marks on its neck. Ingrid dove, stabbing at the beast’s throat as it reared onto its hind legs. Its front claws looked just like human hands, but gnarled and wrapped in bandages. Revulsion swept through her and she tugged on her reins, wrenching her lance from the monster as it shrieked in pain.
“Ingrid!” Mercedes cried, a glowing magic sigil appearing in front of her hands as flames swirled around the beast’s feet. “Are you alright? Do you need a healer?”
“I’m fine,” Ingrid called back, urging her pegasus back towards her troops. “But there might be a student over there that could use assistance.”
The woman nodded, turning to converse with some of her mages. They nodded and moved forward, letting her fall back and focus on healing.
She could see Sylvain’s battalion rush the beast, attacking at its hind legs and forcing it to lose its balance and collapse forward. “Now!” Ingrid directed her battalion forward, a horde of pegasi surging past her with a cacophony of shouts and yells.
The beast fell not long after that, not without some of her soldiers being knocked from the sky or some of Sylvain’s thrown off their horses. Some of them got back up, and were rushed to get healing. Some of them stayed motionless on the ground.
One of the ones who got back up was the student who’d been turned into the beast in the first place. Mercedes and a small team of mages rushed over to them as soon as the fog around them dissipated.
Ingrid exhaled, lowering her pegasus to the ground, stroking her hands across its neck. Her heart was pounding in her ears, drowning out the shouting and stomping of troops and steeds.
Sylvain walked up to her, leading his horse by the reins. His expression was severe, but relieved. “It’s over,” he said. “The professor got the last one. They’re scouting the area for any other survivors.”
She nodded, dismounting her pegasus and ducking under its wing as she approached him. “Good,” she smiled, flicking her braid back over her shoulder. “Then that’s that. I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
His jaw clenched briefly, his face slightly red. Despite the beast being felled, his fingers were still wrapped tightly around his lance. He’s angry, she’d realized, the heat of battle dissipating from her mind. That’s strange. I’m usually the one mad at him.
“That was incredibly reckless,” he said slowly, his gaze unusually stern. “Since when do you rush off on your own like that?”
She bristled, keeping the eye contact unwavering. So what if she’d rushed ahead of the others? There was someone in danger, in need of immediate aid, and she was their fastest flier. Yeah, she’d acted on instinct, but it was based in reason. “Sylvain—” she started.
“No,” Sylvain held his hand up, cutting her off sharply. “I don’t wanna hear it. You need to be more careful, because one day you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” Usually, he was the one getting lectured. By her.
He scoffed incredulously, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s wrong with me… no, what’s wrong with you?” His voice was raising, bordering on a shout. “By the Goddess — Ingrid, you’re the most level-headed person I know! You should know better than to abandon all your troops and fly off on your own! Don’t ever do something like that again!”
“There was a girl in danger, Sylvain!” Ingrid yelled back, resisting the urge to whack him upside the head with the shaft of her lance. “That beast was ten seconds away from tearing her to shreds, and you know damn well I can handle myself, and I’m fine,” she spat. “I’m fast, and I’m strong, and I knew you’d have my back, so everything worked out, didn’t it?”
The skies had begun to cloud over, and rain was starting to fall. Hadn’t the skies been bright and clear for the most part only a few minutes ago?
“It’s not always gonna work out!” Sylvain shouted, an edge of urgency in his voice. “You of all people should know that it doesn’t work that way!”
His words cut through her like a killing edge. A hole caved in her gut, a pit of emptiness spreading through her body like an avalanche. She flinched backwards, tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill over.
“And what, exactly,” she whispered with a glare, “do you mean by that?”
Sylvain’s expression collapsed, his anger immediately being replaced by a regretful wince. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”
A piercing shriek cut them both off, and they tensed. Both of their mounts snorted restlessly, pawing at the ground.
“Whoa, watch out,” Sylvain put an arm in front of Ingrid as his horse reared, its eyes widening and nostrils flaring. “Easy, take it easy!”
She shoved his arm away angrily and turned in the direction of the noise. “That sounded like Annette,” she said uneasily, blinking the mist from her eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
Mercedes rushed towards them, her eyes wide with fear. “Was that Annie? I thought the battle was over!”
“I can go check,” Ingrid rushed back over to her pegasus, hoisting herself onto the saddle. “It’ll be faster if I do it.”
“I’m coming with you,” Sylvain said, trying frantically to calm his horse. “Shh, it’s okay—”
“Both of you should stay,” she said sharply, grasping the reins firmly in one hand. “The situation could be dire, and there’s no time to argue.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just grimaced and nodded. “Be careful.”
She gave him a stiff nod back, yanking her reins up and tapping her heel against her pegasus’ flank urgently. His words from before still stung, making it difficult to accept concern of any sort from him.
“Be careful,” Mercedes echoed distractedly, her hands fidgeting in front of her. “Annie…”
Ingrid took off, soaring off in the direction of the shriek. It seemed to come from an old chapel a fairly short distance away. From overhead, she could see several of her classmates near it, tending to the wounded or stopping to converse with one another. No one looked to be in immediate danger, or in any state of urgency. There were a couple people who were walking towards the chapel, though they appeared to be motivated more by curiosity than concern.
The roof of the chapel was missing, exposing nothing but an overgrown courtyard and some crumbling walls. Everything was still and calm, though it was difficult to tell with the rain now pouring down on her.
Scanning the people below, her gaze caught on a figure standing just inside the chapel, her hair a familiar shade of orange. Annette, she swooped lower, frowning and wiping water from her face. She doesn’t look to be in danger.
There was someone in the chapel, kneeled over what looked like a body. Is that the professor? Her heart twisted. We were too late. They must’ve gotten a student.
She landed in the nearest clear area she could find, dismounting and rushing over to Annette with her lance in hand. Felix was already there, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Both of them were looking in at the chapel, standing numbly, not seeming to hear her approach.
“What’s happening?” She asked hurriedly, quickly scanning Annette for injuries. “We heard a scream. Are you alright?”
It was as though they couldn’t hear her. Maybe the rain was drowning her out.
“Annette!” Ingrid poked her friend’s shoulder, both impatient and worried. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Annette finally turned, slowly, as if she was moving through honey. She was trembling from head to toe, a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears.
Ingrid’s breath hitched in her chest. Something was dreadfully wrong. She knew the look in Annette’s eyes too well. Fright, shock, pain… and grief.
She’d been right. Someone was dead.
“Who is that? Is the professor alright?” Ingrid rushed past her, starting for the inside of the chapel.
A hand stopped her, grabbing her forearm roughly. She whipped around to see Felix, whose face was heavy with bitterness rather than his usual irritation.
She frowned, trying to tug herself free, but his grip was vice-like. “Let go of me.”
“You don’t have to go in there,” he insisted. “There’s nothing you can do, anyway.”
“Felix, let go of me, now,” Ingrid snapped, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “Even if—even if someone is dead, that doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
“You can’t,” Felix said bluntly, though his gaze was cast to the ground. “You shouldn’t.”
He doesn’t think I can handle it, she thought. As if I don’t see soldiers fall during missions all the time.
Ingrid, squinting through the downpour, turned back towards the professor, who hadn’t moved from the center of the courtyard. She could see the body a bit more clearly now, and it wasn’t a student’s. A hand flew to her mouth when she realized, the reality of it dropping to the pit of her stomach like a stone in a lake.
Annette’s hand fell from her mouth, though the shock and sadness didn’t fade from her face. “Poor Jeralt,” she whispered, her voice almost drowned out completely by the rain. “Poor Professor.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the professor, usually so stoic and difficult to read, who was now hunched and shaking over the body of her father.
For a moment, she felt as though she was back on her pegasus. As though she was suspended in that single moment where her mount would swoop downwards, in that fleeting moment of sickening fear that her feet would slip from the stirrups and she would tumble out of the sky.
Unsteady and shivering from the cold, Ingrid felt herself fall—not out of the sky, but losing her footing and collapsing against a wall. Even as droplets of water trickled into her gasping mouth, her insides felt dry and shriveled. The back of her throat tasted like bile. Her head was spinning, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Byleth and her father.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard shouting and footsteps, the sounds of boots stomping through fresh mud. She saw Sylvain shove his way into her vision, pleading with her inaudibly and shaking her shoulders. It was funny, the way his scarlet hair was plastered across his forehead. She managed to crack a smile, and wanted to say something about how stupid he looked, shoved up in her face with that serious expression.
Before she could, she doubled over, vomited on his shoes, and collapsed into him as the world faded to black.
She didn’t remember how she’d gotten back to the monastery.
She woke up slowly, fading in and out of consciousness randomly. Sometimes, she saw people at her bedside, dimly recognizing Mercedes, Dimitri, and Sylvain whenever they showed up. Sometimes, she woke up to nothing but darkness.
When she woke up for good, no one was there. It was nighttime, and the infirmary was deserted. Without giving it much thought, Ingrid slipped out of bed and headed back to her room, her shoulders stooped with fatigue.
Her legs carried her through the halls and pathways almost instinctively, and she was opening the door to her room before she could even form a coherent thought. As soon as the door shut behind her, though, it all came crashing back. The battle, the rain, the body… the professor.
She slumped against the door, losing the strength to stand any longer. Everything felt all too familiar. It was as though she’d never left her home, and was receiving the news for the first time.
It was as though Glenn had died all over again.
Ingrid winced, sinking to the floor with her head in her hands. Strangely, she didn’t feel like breaking down and sobbing. She didn’t feel like doing much of anything at all.
It was almost pathetic of her to be reacting like this. She didn’t even know Jeralt, never spoke to him even once. In the aftermath of the battle, she could hardly even recognize that it was him who had fallen.
It sent her back to four years ago, when her father had given her the news of Glenn’s death, when she had been a wailing, haunted wisp of a thing, roaming the desolate wasteland of her home like a walking corpse.
She felt her shoulders hunch, her body collapsing and contorting into itself like a crumpled, withering flower. It sickened her, how awful, how terribly selfish she was. It ate at her insides worse than any lingering grief or bitterness did. Byleth’s father had passed away, and she was moping over her fiancé’s death from years before.
I don’t want to feel like this, Ingrid squeezed her eyes shut, raking her fingers through her loose hair. I don’t want to feel any of this.
It wasn’t as though she’d ever claimed to move on from Glenn, but sometimes, in her most deeply selfish moments, she wished that she could. Was that wrong to want, or would Glenn want the same thing?
Still, nothing about any of this was fair. She had been betrothed to Glenn since the moment her Crest was discovered, and had grown up with that truth ever-present. When he died, it shook her reality to its core. How was she supposed to confront a life without him after her entire life and the wellbeing of her kingdom was built on that simple truth?
It’s not always gonna work out. You of all people should know that it doesn’t work that way.
You’d think I would get it, huh? She gritted her teeth, remembering Sylvain’s words. I suppose that sometimes things just aren’t that simple.
She let her thoughts stew in her mind until she drifted back off into a dreamless sleep.
The very first knock came only hours later, when the moon still hung in the sky.
Ingrid jolted awake, lurching forward as sleep was ripped from her body, leaving nothing but a terrifying alertness. She felt like a skinned fawn, naked and trembling on knobbly legs.
The next few moments were silent, but weighted. Words weren’t spoken, but there was still a presence on the other side of her door. If she calmed the thumping of her own pulse, she could make out their faint, heavy breathing.
Another series of knocks came, slightly louder and a bit more frantic.
She heaved a sigh. “Go away, Sylvain.” Her throat felt like it had been sanded at.
“It’s Professor Manuela,” came a sharp voice that was decidedly not Sylvain.
Ingrid winced. Oh.
“I came to check on you and you were gone,” she said, her usually saccharine voice edged with worry. “Students are supposed to remain in the infirmary until I clear them. Is everything alright?”
“...Yes,” she swallowed. “I’m fine, Professor.”
Manuela clicked her tongue a couple times from behind the door, clearly doubtful. “Hm. Well, I won’t force you to come out, so… just make sure you get some more rest. But if you still show signs of sickness, do not be ashamed of coming back.”
Ingrid frowned. I don’t really feel sick at all. Why was I in the infirmary in the first place?
Well, I did throw up on his shoes and faint, didn’t I.
A grimace twisted her face, embarrassment flooding her as she curled herself back into a ball and let her head thud back against the door. Ingrid listened to the clacking of heels against stone fade into the distance, a disparaging groan spilling from her lips.
Way to go, Ingrid, she thought bitterly. Who’d want to visit you after that one?
Maybe it was for the best. She didn’t particularly feel like talking to anyone else, anyway, especially Sylvain. After all, she’d already heard all of their well-wishes and forced sympathies before; they would only feel worse the second time around.
She knew what they all really wanted to say: She needs to get over it already. She’s still a child. She’s not fit to be a wife. Not fit to be a knight.
And what was it Sylvain said? “You of all people know better?”
Her nails dug into her arms reflexively, viciously, forcing the chatter from her head. They shouldn’t waste their words on me. The only person who actually deserves sympathy is Professor Byleth.
A fresh wave of grief crashed over her, strangling her heart. I wonder if she’s awake right now, too. Is she reliving the whole day? Her last minutes with him, or her first? His last words, or hers?
Ingrid let her head limply fall forward onto her arms, tears pricking at her eyes. It was all unfathomable. Unimaginable. And the thought of losing her own father…
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears freely spilling from them. The thought was unbearable, and she couldn’t stomach it for another second.
Her worn, jagged frame would probably crumble with another sob, so she cried silently and lifelessly, like a fountain carved from stone.
She woke to an aching, gnawing hunger that bunched her stomach into knots. It was a hunger that was too familiar, to the twisted point of nearly being nostalgic.
Something else drew her irritation, though—the sun streaming cheerily through her windows. The mere notion of sunlight being present felt offensive, and seared her eyes. It took all of her strength to stumble to her feet and try to close them.
When did they get so high up? Ingrid thought irritably, leaning over the edge of the bench and swiping for the wooden shutters.
Eventually, she gave up after managing to close one, collapsing against the headboard of her bed where the sun wasn’t beating down on her. She sat listlessly, her legs splayed out in front of her like a doll’s.
A series of taps came from her door, soft and polite. She frowned, but made no effort to get up.
“Ingrid? Are you in here?”
It was Dimitri, his voice laced with that predictable sympathy. There was something else there, too—a certain darkness that seeped into his words.
None of us seem to be taking this well, she thought. Still, ever the dutiful friend and leader. His intentions were good-natured, no doubt, but still rung hollow in her own heart. Was that selfish of her to feel? Was this whole situation selfish of her, regardless?
Yes, she thought. It is.
“Professor Manuela informed me you were here last,” Dimitri said, speaking softly and carefully. “I just wanted to check to see if you were alright.”
I’m fine, she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the will to. Leave me alone.
More uncomfortable silence followed, Dimitri probably waiting patiently for a response. When she didn’t offer one, he let out a sigh. “If you need anything, I am just down the hall. Do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, though there was no way he could have heard.
She didn’t hear him leave, but he must’ve, because the next few hours were silent and still. At least, it felt like hours, as sitting through each second felt like wading through molasses.
Her stomach ached at the thought of food. The thought of getting up, heading downstairs, walking to the dining hall, and sitting around other people… it just wasn’t worth it.
Besides, if she waited long enough, the hunger and thirst would fade on their own.
Ingrid turned her face from the glare of the sun, squeezing her eyes shut. Her fingers twitched and tingled in her lap, the only physical indication that she was still alive. Without it, she wouldn’t have been surprised if her insides had been scooped out in her sleep and replaced with straw. The image was visceral and familiar, as though she’d thought it word for word before.
Years ago, after the deepest throes of her grief and she could barely stand to lock herself in her room any longer, she would go wandering through her home’s barren fields. The famine that had gripped their territory mirrored the anguish that gripped her heart, so they would mourn together—her, and the land at her feet. Wracked with hunger, a sack of skin and bones, as barren as the land around her. Alone, surrounded on all sides by desolation, she could find the closest thing to catharsis.
It never lasted too long, however. In time, no matter where she wandered, shame would always consume her and drop her to the ground, where the dusty earth would smear across the skin of her knees.
Ugly, pathetic thing, she had thought to herself. Crying alone in a field, where no one can find you. When you finally wither and die, the sight of you will be so frightening that they’ll string up your corpse to scare off the crows.
Ingrid would kneel there, for moments or minutes, wrapped in her own misery. Perhaps if she waited long enough, she could join Glenn by sheer force of will. Or maybe she would be able to forget the entire series of events if she closed her eyes. Yet, every time, she would always stand back up, brush the dirt off her knees, and walk back to her home, unable to think for a second longer. That had been the real solution; staying on her feet, keeping herself busy for as long as she could.
Yet now, she couldn’t stand to move at all. The very thought of it felt impossible, a task as beyond her reach as her window shutters.
Slow, heavy footsteps caught her attention, echoing from the stairwell just beyond her door. At this hour, most people would be eating or training, not heading back to their room. The footsteps stopped just in front of her door, as though someone was lingering behind it. She winced, bracing herself for another knock.
A few moments passed, and the footsteps resumed, heading away from her room.
She breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes flickering open. The sun instantly blinded her from its zenith, drawing a groan from her, as she covered her face with her hand and grimaced.
The footsteps stopped abruptly, then rushed back in her direction.
“Ingrid,” a familiar voice called out urgently. “I know you’re in there.”
Ingrid felt herself shrivel up even more, if that was possible. “Go away, Sylvain.”
A knock came, loud and dissonant. It hurt her ears.
“Ingrid, I know what you’re doing, and please don’t.”
She flinched, pulling her legs back into her chest and curling into a ball.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, the air thick with tension. When he did speak again, his voice was gentler.
“May I come in?”
She wanted to scoff. If she had the energy, she would’ve said something like “this surely can’t be how you get into other women’s rooms,” or “who exactly do you think you are” or “who do you think I am,” but her shoulders just sagged in defeat.
“The door’s unlocked.”
Another moment passed in silence. Perhaps they were both surprised at her words.
Her door clicked open and closed again, slowly and methodically. A strange scent filled the air, savory and enticing. Despite her irritation, she found herself sitting up and peeking through her fingers at him.
Sylvain met her gaze from across the room, his face betraying a hint of amusement. He carefully set a steaming bowl, a plate of bread slices, and a cup of water on her desk. “I had hoped that would rouse you,” he smiled. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it? Or one of them, at least.”
Ingrid smiled back, though she was still covering her face. The sun was still too bright.
She swallowed, her gaze dropping. “Would you mind… um…”
Her voice cracked and fell away from her. He tilted his head in the corner of her vision, waiting for her to finish. Feebly, she gestured at her open windows, hoping he’d catch on.
He seemed to understand, wordlessly rushing over and pulling the shutters closed. They were high up, even for him, and he had to lift onto his toes in order to reach. She almost smiled again.
The only sound was the quiet creaking of the shutters’ hinges. The room darkened little by little as Sylvain shut the windows, making it more bearable to see. To look at him. He looked exhausted; his uniform was wrinkled, his hair was messy, and his eyes were sleepless.
If only I could muster a lecturing, she thought, her hands falling back into her lap. It usually comes so naturally to me.
He shut the last one and turned back to her, dusting off his fingers. “Okay, that’s done. Is there anything else I can do?”
Ingrid shook her head, gazing up at him blankly. The anger she’d been harboring against him and his words seemed to melt away like an afterthought. The concern in his expression was softer, devoid of anger compared to how he’d acted on the mission. It was as rare as it was gentle, and she couldn’t help but drink it in selfishly.
Sylvain shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting in front of him. “Do you still want me to go away?”
She hesitated for a moment, remembering her previous desire to be alone. Again, she shook her head.
He seemed relieved, walking over and taking a seat against her bench, facing her. She shifted over, closer to the wall, but he left a respectful distance between him and her. For some reason, that observation gave her a slight twinge of disappointment.
“I’m really sorry,” he said after a second, running a hand through his hair. “For what I said. And how I acted. I can be a real idiot sometimes.”
Ingrid cracked a small smile. “Yeah, but not sometimes. More like always.”
Sylvain snorted quietly. “Sure, fair enough.” His gaze darted around her room, not lingering on anything in particular. “I still think what you did during that battle was rash and ill-advised, but I didn’t mean to… bring up bad memories. That was low of me.”
Despite his habit of acting out, Sylvain could be real and nuanced when he wanted to be. She nodded, the tension starting to drain from her body. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too.”
“For flying off on your own and risking your life?”
“No, for throwing up on your shoes.”
He laughed abruptly. “Well, I wasn’t gonna mention that part, ‘cause I didn’t think you’d remember.”
“That was the last thing I remember, unfortunately,” she said. Maybe unfortunately wasn’t the right word. “Is the professor… how is she?”
The easy smile faded from his face. “You know what they say about great minds,” he said dispiritedly. “She’s holed up in her room. No one’s seen or heard from her since we got back a few days ago.”
Ingrid nodded, feeling unsurprised for the most part. A few days. I was in the infirmary for that long. “It’ll take some time.”
He nodded back, averting his eyes again. “It always does.”
Silence descended upon them again and Ingrid allowed herself to study him while his eyes weren’t on her. His frame, though propped up against the bench, was stooped and tired, but she almost preferred it over his puffed chest and blustering ego. At least now, she wasn’t having to clean up after his mistakes or listen to him deflect her accusations.
If he was this open and gentle with every other girl, I wouldn’t have to clean up after all of his mistakes, she thought. In moments like these, I can understand what all those girls actually see in him.
“Your stew’s gonna get cold,” Sylvain said, interrupting her thoughts.
Ingrid blinked, meeting his eyes again. They were serious, but still soft. She couldn’t hold eye contact for long. “Yeah.”
He pushed himself to his feet with a small grunt, ambling over to her desk and coming back with the food and water. The stew was still steaming, the familiar aromas of onion and garlic a little more comforting than usual.
“Careful not to spill,” Sylvain teased, carefully lowering himself to the ground.
She rolled her eyes, taking the plate and bowl from him. “Thank you. How did you manage to smuggle this from the dining hall, anyway?”
“I can be pretty stealthy,” he set the cup of water on top of the bench, closer to the wall. “And you can practically hide a load-bearing wagon behind Raphael.”
She laughed, almost dropping a crust of bread. “You can actually be real chivalrous when you try.”
His face seemed to light up at that, sending a prickle down her skin. “Wow, and that’s high praise coming from you. I’m honored! Though, I didn’t realize sneaking around and stealing was included in your definition of chivalry.”
Ingrid responded by dipping her bread in the stew and crunching down on it, her stomach twisting in anticipation. It was rich and savory, the slight sweetness of the onions against the notes of salt and pepper in the minced chicken. It could have brought a tear to her eye.
Sylvain looked highly amused. “Though, I suppose the fastest way to a fair maiden’s heart is through her stomach.”
She swatted at one of his legs, drawing a faked yelp of pain from him. What an idiot.
Now that she had food right in front of her, the hunger in the pit of her gut had reared back up again. She scarfed down the bread and stew eagerly, despite feeling slightly embarrassed with Sylvain watching her. In a couple minutes, she had finished the last spoonful.
“Could you…?” She pointed at the water perched over his head.
“Yeah, of course.” He turned, awkwardly stretching his arm up and grabbing the cup. She took it from him and gulped it down with relish, closing her eyes. Some of her face framers got caught in the cup, but she didn’t mind.
Until she felt a couple fingers brush her cheek, pulling her hair out of the way.
Ingrid froze, her eyes flying open. Sylvain was leaning forward, just beginning to pull his hand away.
Her first instinct was to scold him, to tease him, but she couldn’t find the words. She pulled the cup from her lips, setting it on the ground next to her. Her gaze felt trapped in his, stunned by the sudden intensity in his eyes.
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen you wear your hair like this,” he said softly. “It looks good on you.”
Her hand went to her long mane of hair flowing unchecked over her back and shoulders, her pulse leaping into her throat.
And there he is again, she sighed internally. Couldn’t my sincere, messy Sylvain have stuck around a little longer?
“You aren’t seriously doing this right now, are you?” She said instead, feeling small droplets of water fall from her hair to the fabric of her skirt.
Sylvain said nothing for a little bit, emotions she couldn’t decipher flickering across his face before they were replaced with a rueful smile. “Sorry. You know me. I guess it just… slipped out.”
“I do know you,” she snorted lightly, her gaze falling again. “That’s the problem.”
His hand swatted her leg, but there was no heart in it.
He got to his feet again, somewhat reluctantly. “Well, I have to go. I’m supposed to train with Felix, and you know how he gets.”
That brought her a bit of dismay. “Oh. I see.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He leaned over her, scooping up her used dishes. “I’ll return these and try to bring you some dinner after. If that’s alright with you, of course?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, glancing up at him. “That’d be alright.”
Sylvain smiled. “Good. And if you need anything—”
“Your room is just down the hall,” she finished with a small smile. “So people keep telling me.”
He laughed, though it sounded a little more forced than before.
Her head drooped as he started towards the door, his footsteps slow and agonizing. Though he was out of her sight, he heard him pause as he opened her door.
“Thank you for letting me in,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
The door closed behind him, and silence returned to her room.
It felt almost heavier than before.