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comfort-questing · 1 year

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25. assumed dead

FE:3H war phase again. why is it always the Blue Lions I visit disaster on? but they're just so made for hurt/comfort. sorry not sorry

"She has to be here somewhere. We might as well keep looking." Felix's voice cracked with exhaustion, muffled by the folds of his up-tugged cloak collar. The rain had long since soaked through his hood, dripping in his eyes and soaking the fringe of his hair.

"What if - what if she - " Ashe's voice was very small, his keen archer's gaze sweeping the dusk-dim woodlands as they walked. "She might not be - "

That wasn't a question Felix had let himself ask, or meant to answer out loud. He knew well enough what a fallen pegasus rider looked like. If Ingrid hadn't been dead already from the spell-blast before she hit the ground, the landing would have been enough to kill her. But here he was anyway, out with Ashe and a scrounged-up healing potion in hand, searching the woods of the day's battlefield in a vain approximation of hope.

He hadn't seen Ingrid fall, only heard of it from Annette who'd been led crying back to camp by Dedue. He didn't like to think of the sick dull look in Professor's eyes as they'd dispatched the two of them to search.

If he'd gotten to choose an associate to search the woods for a mangled corpse with, he wouldn't have picked Ashe anyway. But Sylvain needed to get his broken arm splinted and Professor was busy all but sitting on an angry Dimitri to get the Boar to accept they couldn't break camp and march southwards tonight. Which also ruled Dedue out. And Annette was no use at the moment, and Mercedes and Flayn more than busy at the field hospital. So Ashe it was, after the archer boy had volunteered.

He clenched his fists around the edges of his cloak, pulling the sodden cloth tighter around his body. Ashe was a dozen paces ahead of him now, half-invisible in the gathering dark, peering into the shadows and still calling Ingrid's name now and again.

They spotted the pegasus first - down in a hollow just beyond the feeble attempt at a path, standing sway-backed with wings trailing on either side of it, bloodied. Ashe's voice and his footsteps must have startled it, because it shied, shoulder dipping as it put weight on one foreleg.

Ashe ran forward anyway, haphazard, plunging ahead. Felix took the downward slope slowly, boots slipping in the mud beneath him, grasping at the thin leaning saplings for balance. He watched Ashe fling himself down by the crumple of cloth and pale hair barely visible in the dusk, hands hovering helpless above the motionless form there. He clenched his teeth, willing himself steady as he followed.

"Felix! She's - I don't know if she - "

There seemed no use in speaking. Ingrid's eyes were closed, her skin transparent and chilly in the downpour, blood clotting in her hair against the rain's attempts to wash it out. The gray tendril-bruises of the dark magic spell lay like a spiderweb across her face and disappearing down into the collar of her jacket. Both of her legs were badly broken, twisted and limp, the white of bone showing in the wound just above one skewed ankle. Felix couldn't see any motion of her breathing, but he reached out anyway, elbowing Ashe aside and tugging one glove off.

He'd expected nothing, told himself so all the way through the rainy half-light, known it was most likely far too late for their mission to make any difference. So the first moment of stillness under his two fingers as he felt for a pulse at Ingrid's throat didn't surprise him. But the faint, thready motion there a moment later did, and then another, and as he leaned close to his friend's face he felt the slightest whisper of her breath against his skin.

And then because there was still a chance, because it wasn't the end yet, he cursed the sudden rising hints of panic in his chest and grabbed for the healing potion in his pocket, uncorking the bottle and tipping it to the corner of Ingrid's mouth.

"She's not dead," he said, gruffly, and watched Ashe's eyes widen in a sudden weary relief. "Not yet. Go back and get help, and hurry."

It shouldn't have been long. It couldn't have been long, now that they knew where to go. But still it seemed dreadfully long that Felix sat there, in the slow endless dripping rain, with Ingrid lying next to him as he cautiously fed her the potion mouthful by mouthful and waited for help to come. He'd wrapped his cloak over her, though it was wet enough he didn't know if it was any benefit to either of them. Her hand was cold in his, but he'd felt her swallow the potion after coaxing, and watched the grimace of pain pass across her face briefly as she brushed against awareness.

"Stay still," he'd told her. "Don't try to move. I'm here and the others are coming soon."

And in the end there were lanterns in the woods, and voices, and Ashe with Mercedes at his side, and Professor done with or spelled out from Dimitri-management and sliding down the muddy bank in their desperation - "Felix! We're here - "

And he thought, he thought he saw Ingrid smile, just for a moment, though her eyes were still closed - and that broke something inside him so that he had to swallow hard despite himself, as he looked up into the lights and the faces of their friends.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday25 #fe3h whump #lady whump #whump #hurt comfort #might drop this on a03 who knows #it doesn't Have to be canon with my other war phase Blue Lions fic but it Could be #in which case Felix owes Ingrid one most definitely

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fromslumber · 1 year

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you, my greatest weakness (ao3) dorothea challenges her weakness in flying. written for the prompt: hold. happy femslash february ♡

Swallowing hard around the lump in her throat and smoothing down the legs of her borrowed breeches, Dorothea tries to will herself into a sense of comfort. The strength of Dorothea's will is not to be taken lightly, and she has donned far more difficult masks than this — but her nerves must be apparent nonetheless. Ingrid has twisted around to face her, concern clearly spelled across her always-honest face.

"You can hold onto me, if it helps," Ingrid says. Dorothea manages nothing more than a slight, strained giggle before Ingrid's hands find hers, pulling them to rest upon Ingrid's thin waist. "I swear I won't let you fall."

They haven't even left the ground. The pegasus shifts beneath them. Dorothea is acutely aware of its heavy exhale — both the sound, and the way its body heaves with the motion. Perhaps it is impatient to get a move on; she doubts Ingrid has ever taken so long to take off once mounted. Frankly, it makes Dorothea feel all the more pathetic.

Ingrid is still looking at her, though. Waiting for a response, Dorothea realizes, or some sort of assurance that she isn't going to pass out and go catapulting to the ground as soon as Ingrid leads the pegasus into flight. Belatedly, Dorothea also realizes her strained smile has slipped. She forces it back onto her face, hopes it seems more convincing than before.

"Of course you won't." Dorothea gives Ingrid's waist a small squeeze. Ingrid's eyes flick down to her hands, the cutest little blush blooming upon her pale cheeks, before lifting back to meet Dorothea's own. Swallowing again, Dorothea continues, "I'm simply..."

"We don't have to do this."

Dorothea quickly shakes her head. Sweet, sweet Ingrid, looking to give her a way out. But — "No, I still want to."

Her grip on Ingrid tightens, less teasing, more purposeful. She closes her eyes and thinks: of glancing skyward from the monastery gardens, taking in the glorious spread of a pegasus's wings against the sun; of a long, blonde braid whipping in the wind, so much like a knight's banner; of Ingrid when she returns from her assigned group tasks, hair windswept and eyes bright. She thinks, not for the first time, of what Ingrid must look like in flight, up close, and wants that image for herself. Desperately.

"I still want to," she says again.

She opens her eyes to find Ingrid's brow furrowed further still. Both concern and disbelief are spelled across her face in equal measure. Dorothea inches closer, slipping her hands from beneath Ingrid's to loop her arms around her waist proper, hooking her chin over Ingrid's shoulder. In most circumstances, Ingrid would go a little rigid in her grasp. Perhaps, through all the places they are touching, Dorothea would be able to feel the quickened pitter patter of Ingrid's heart.

Here, Ingrid just continues to look down at her from the corner of her eye. Perhaps she can feel Dorothea's own rabbit heartbeat. The pegasus heaves another giant sigh, and Ingrid brings her hands back to the reins rather than keeping them hovering uselessly about Dorothea's arms.

"I won't let you fall," she repeats, voice firm. "But if I think you can't take anymore, I'm bringing us right back down."

No matter what you say, goes unspoken. Dorothea makes a small, assenting hum.

Dorothea is no expert in horses or pegasi or flying, and her head is too clouded by her lingering anxiety to pay much attention to the details of their takeoff, besides. What she does notice is this: the great lurch of their movement (and with it, a lurch in her stomach), and the first, fierce beat of the pegasus's wings. Her arms lock tighter around Ingrid's waist. She likely shrieks, too, but it is drowned out by the rush of wind in her ears, cut off by wind in her mouth.

If either of these things trouble Ingrid, Dorothea has no way of knowing. She is steel in Dorothea's grasp, firm and steady, moving only to lean into the pegasus's own movement. No, not steel, Dorothea realizes a beat later, the ease of Ingrid's shift striking her; Ingrid is an extension of the pegasus itself. She belongs in the wind and sky as much as the beast they ride on.

This realization grows ever clearer as their steed banks, then smooths into a glide. Dorothea's stomach is still a roiling pit of nerves, the lack of ground beneath her feet still unsettling her, but — this is better than the adrenaline of soaring upwards.

Dorothea eases her eyes open. (She hardly even realized that she had snapped them closed.)

"Oh, Ingrid," she breathes.

She can't find the words to say anything else.

Beneath them is a beautiful, sprawling plethora of vivid greens. Unlike dear Hubie, it isn't a fear of heights Dorothea struggles with — so she drinks in the view, commits it to memory. The trees, the rivers. The birds, flitting by below. Dorothea is not sure she will ever see them this way again.

When her gaze lifts, though — no scenery can compare to Ingrid.

There is a glow about her. Bits of feathers are caught in her hair. The wind whips a ruddy flush upon her cheeks. She is... Oh, she is Ingrid.

Ingrid, the knight that hoisted Dorothea onto her steed. Ingrid, a part of the sky itself. Ingrid, Dorothea's friend. Gallant, adorable, and oh so so painfully charming Ingrid.

Ingrid's head turns, and for the first time since they've taken flight, Dorothea's gaze meets hers. Dorothea has straightened enough that this causes their noses to brush; the Ingrid she rides with does not jerk back at the contact the way the ordinary Ingrid might. Over the wind, Ingrid asks, "Are you doing alright?"

Better than alright. Dorothea can make out every darker fleck in Ingrid's bright eyes. Her tongue is too heavy to express the way her heart soars.

Instead, simply, she says, "Yes."

#fire emblem: three houses #dorogrid #dorothea arnault #ingrid brandl galatea

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hezulion · 2 years

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blue lions pegasisters, assemble!

With winter in full swing, every pegasus in Garreg Mach rejoices in the cold, crisp mountain air, playing and racing during their time outside. This is the season where pegasi perform at their peak, a perfect time for a racing tournament! The students have come together with the “White Heron Derby” to determine which pegasus is the fastest in the school. Grab your winged mount and get ready for a wild flight around campus. There’s a twist though: all riders are decked out in absurd hats and if you lose your hat, you lose the race! [Grants Flying +1]

Outside the ground is blanketed in a layer of thick snow. Ares wraps the saddle blanket he’d be given after the night at the ball around Ebony, making sure she’s snug and warm before they leave. Certain she’s relaxed and comfortable, he guides her gently out of the stables, coaxing her step by step with freshly sliced pieces of apple.

He puts off wearing that ridiculous hat as long as possible.

They take a serene stroll around the monastery, unhurried and peaceful. Both of them shy away from the crowds of students throwing snow at one another, sticking instead to the treescapes that lined the mountaintop. A short while later they reach the gathering of students and Ebony starts to lag behind, resisting and hiding behind him.

“It’s alright, Bonbon. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.” Ares keeps his voice low and steady, urging her forward one foot after the next. She’s obviously nervous so he takes things slowly, careful to reassure her and praise her bravery. “Good girl. I’m with you, there’s nothing to fear.”

Turning his attention back to the small crowd of students assembled for the White Heron Derby. He spots a now familiar pair of blondes and waves over to them.

“Dimitri, Ingrid! Good to see you both.” Bonbon shyly follows him, ducking her head as if to cower behind his shoulder. He sighs, not with exasperation but affection and turns to scratch her in her favourite spot, just behind her ears. “These are friends, I promise. The lady is Ingrid and Dimitri here is our house leader. Don’t be shy, they’re good people.”

@elegiac-boar or @damegalantea

#s:dimitri #s:ingid #sp:flying #m:prologue #elegiac-boar #damegalantea #t:blue lions pegasisters assemble!

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knightofgalatea · 8 months

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5. A memory of a pet

Ingrid first fell in love with riding horses and pegasi when she was young. She’d been reading fantastical tales of heroes, back when there had still been colourful pictures in her books. She remembered it clear as day, a beautiful, ivory pegasus taking flight in an azure sky.

She’d spoken of nothing but horses for weeks, months even. Every chance she got, when she met with her friends, when she met with Glenn. All she could speak of were horses and pegasi, how she’d dreamed of riding them, of soaring through the sky on their back, fluffy wings stretched wide around her.

It was nearly a year later that her father led her to the stables. Ingrid had begun learning to ride, a skill that all children of the nobility had to learn eventually. Ingrid had taken to it like a fish to water, even as she’d ridden her father’s aging mare.

She was a good horse, if a little old, and a little too slow for all the tricks and things Ingrid had been dreaming of doing.

She’d thought her father was going to take her for a ride, as he often did when the weather was fine.

But it was not because he was taking her for a ride through the Galatea lands. Instead, as the stable doors were thrown wide, Ingrid found herself staring into the sweet, warm brown eyes of a horse she had never seen before.

“For you, my dear,” her father had announced, looking proud of himself.

The joy in Ingrid’s heart was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was sunshine so warm it melted the snow. It was light and buoyant as the winds in the spring, warm and soft enough to make her forget for a little while the brutality of the winter that had blanketed her world for an eternity.

She’d danced around the horse, so excited she hadn’t been able to stop her hands from shaking, laughing and smiling so broadly that her face ached for days afterwards.

A horse, her very own horse. Ingrid had named her after a hero from her favourite book, and she had ridden her for the rest of the afternoon and the evening, until her parents had to drag her from the saddle kicking and screaming.

And when the morning came, before the sky was anything more than a watery grey as the sun began its slow ascent, her family would find her bedsheets had long since gone cold, and she was already out riding with her new, beloved horse.

#memories ask meme #I can't relax here!!!

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mercyburned-aa · 2 years

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@endlesscacophony: ❛ i’m not leaving you. ❜

Was it that obvious?

Gronder left her feeling like a husk of a person, empty inside as she remembered clashing blades with people she’d wanted to call her friend. At least the Deer had all pulled back alongside Claude. They’d never been the Kingdom’s enemies anyway. But that hadn’t happened before an arrow in her Pegasus’ wing had almost sent Ingrid to her death, or how a sphere of dark magic had almost taken out Dedue, or... she was tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t cure, even now, two weeks after the fact.

She recalled Sylvain coming to sit with her in the immediate aftermath, and it seemed he was intent on doing it again now, even if everyone was safe and sound back at the monastery. Byleth supposed the bags under her eyes hadn’t fully gone away. Tea didn’t relax her enough to help her fall asleep anymore; she just tossed and turned all night through, her body exhausted but her mind racing and unable to slow down. It was with those same bloodshot and tired eyes that she looked over and up at Sylvain now.

She didn’t have it in her to argue. “Fine,” she conceded, shoulders going slack. She kicked off her boots and brought feet up on her bed, turning on to her side. “but I’m just going to sleep.” Or try, anyway.

#endlesscacophany #endlesscacophany / sylvain jose gautier.#&. ‛ interactions.︐ › byleth eisner.#&. ‛ verse.︐ › azure moon.#&. ‛ i could write it better than you ever felt it.︐ › threads.#hint hint sylvain...cuddle her :(#she'll sleep better !!!

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

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The gender-locked class is shit. Imagine making the Faerghus Four a powerful squad of falcon knights. And Dark Flier Hubert?

You can have Hubert get over his fear of heights!! Let him take care of a pegasus and bond with it maybe? I'd be all down for that shit.

And damn the Faerghus Four as Falcon Knights... Felix maybe unknowingly following his ancestor's footsteps lol

#ask #anon #and like Dimitri taking lessons from Ingrid on how to take care of a pegasus' wings ;w;

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lumeha · 3 years

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my favourite lil' headcanon about Dimitri is that, after picking up mending with Mercedes, he picks up embroidery at some point, because it is a good thing to train his strength with more delicate works, but it is also quite relaxing

and then he proceeds to embroider little things that are a bit wonky and not quite beautifully intricate, but full of heart, on his friends' clothes

A little horse on Sylvain's waist-thingie, and it looks chubby and not quite right but *damnit* Sylvain is gonna wear it. A pegasus on a ribbon he gifted to Ingrid, the wings shaded with blues and greys. Little music notes on a capelet for Annette, and she tries to sing it but it makes no senses. Flowers on a veil for Mercedes, the hardest project for him because of the sheer, delicate fabric, and Mercedes is so proud of him. Ironically, a little boar on a cloak for Felix, and Felix pretends he hates it but they both know it's a lie. A scarf for Dedue, with flowers Dimitri has seen him grow in Fhirdiad and Garreg Mach. A little book and quill on a decoration to hold a quiver for Ashe.

It takes him hours, and he stabs his fingers so easily, and there is definitively some of it with little stains of bood because of that, that he tries to wash away, but it doesn't feel bad at all

(and he never embroiders anything for himself but Mercedes brings all of the rest of the Lions to help her work on a cloak for him)

#fire emblem #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fire emblem three houses #i have.. Embroidery headcanon #ngl the last one is 100% inspired by the fact that Orihime makes a lot of characters help her decorate a veil for Rukia in a Bleach novel #it was *so* adorable #and I died over #it it was so good T-T

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pokemoncoloursplash · 3 years

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You get both!

Pre and Post-timeskip Ingrid, and a pansexual Telodante. There isn’t a pegasus Pokemon, so I just slapped wings on Rapidash.

- Dragonis

#pokemon #pokemon edit #sprite squad #dragonis edit #groovy mini-batch #rapidash #telodante #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #ingrid brandl galatea #pansexual

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indigowallbreaker · 3 years

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prompt request: heartbreak prompt 99 with ingrid please?

(thank you moeblob for helping me brainstorm this one! TW mention of past animal death. held off on this until after Felix’s special day)

99. “Don’t make me fall in love again.”

The letter from Ferdinand came out of the blue. They had not spoken since the war ended three years ago and, if Ingrid was honest, they had never been close. Polite conversation, exchanging hellos in the stables, once or twice he had passed her a handkerchief; but Ingrid would never have labeled Ferdinand a good friend.

Nonetheless, Ferdinand’s greeting was warm when Ingrid arrived. “Thank you for coming so swiftly.”

“Not a problem,” Ingrid returned with a forced smile. She didn’t want to mention that things in her territory weren’t going well at all and she was grateful for a reason to take a small break. Instead she said, “Aegir looks wonderful.”

Ferdinand beamed. “I am delighted to hear you say so! It has taken a long time to get it back to this point. I am thankful for Queen Byleth and Garreg Mach’s assistance. Ah,” his smile faltered, “but that is not why we are here. Follow me.”

Soon they were outside the main estate. Ingrid had not been lying-- Aegir looked lovely. Perhaps she had simply been in the north too long but Aegir territory was flourishing as if war has never touched its boarders. The complete opposite of Galatea, still wrestling with old soil woes even as it tried to recover from fresher war pains.

“Here we are,” Ferdinand said, holding open the barn doors for her. “I found her a week or so ago.”

“Her” was a young Pegasi lying on her side atop a mound of hay. She had a white coat, with the lightest of blues on the insides of her wings, and pale peach hooves. Her mane was a similar peach color though it was matted partway down.

“She’s hurt,” Ingrid said, eyeing the mat.

“Indeed.” Ferdinand’s voice was sorrowful. “She looks to be in pain, yet will not let myself or any of my staff close. I wish to help her and I thought since you do not--” He cleared his throat. “Well, since you are an expert, perhaps you might have better luck.”

He had hid it well, but Ingrid knew what Ferdinand was really going to say.

During the battle in Shambhala, Ingrid had taken a heavy blow as the underground city collapsed. It was only thanks to Linhardt that she had survived. Her beloved Pegasus on the other hand-- her only close friend during those five years of war-- had been buried under the rubble. Ingrid had not ridden a Pegasus since.

But this Pegasus needed her help. Curled up on her throne of hay, she glowered at Ingrid and Ferdinand. Ingrid stepped forward, earning herself a warning snort. “Come now, you’re in pain,” Ingrid soothed. “Let me look at you. You’re mane is so pretty, it would be a shame to let it stay so dirty.”

The Pegasus snorted again. Then she lay her head down as if in agreement. Ingrid ventured closer, reaching out a hand for her mane. The Pegasus whinnied when Ingrid touched the blood but did not stir.

Ingrid began ordering Ferdinand to hand her things. A wet cloth. A bucket of clean water. Ingrid threaded her fingers through the thick hairs a few times to work out the major kinks before calling out for a mane and tail brush. All the while, the Pegasus lay still and let Ingrid work. She twitched occasionally if Ingrid pulled too hard and Ingrid was quick to pet the spot and shush her apologetically.

After almost half an hour of gentle work, the gash was clean and the mane properly seen to. Ingrid sat back to examine more of the Pegasus. “I’ve never seen hooves this lovely,” she cooed as she held out her hand for a pick. Ferdinand passed her one and Ingrid looked over the hooves closely. No sign of thrush, but one knee was bloodied.

They went on like this for an hour more. If Ferdinand got too close, the Pegasus gave a warning flap of her wings. This didn’t seem to offend him, and he always took a giant step back and waited a few minutes before handing something to Ingrid.

At last, Ingrid stood. “There. She should be much more comfortable.”

Ferdinand let out a sigh of relief. “I am in your debt. I was truly at a loss for how to--”

He was cut off by the Pegasus climbing to her feet and stretching out her wings. Ingrid got in front of Ferdinand, eyes locked on the Pegasus, ready to get them both to safety.

But that was, apparently, far from necessary. The Pegasus nosed close to Ingrid, sniffing her face and shoulder. Ingrid automatically lifted a hand to pet her. The Pegasus nibbled her growing hair.

With a chuckle, Ferdinand backed towards the stable doors. “It seems I am not the only one in your debt! Come find me once she is settled; I will not want to offend her.”

And Ferdinand left Ingrid alone with the Pegasus. The young animal rested her head on her shoulder. Without an audience, Ingrid allowed herself to bury her head in the Pegasus’ neck. “Don’t make me fall in love again,” Ingrid mumbled. “I can’t take you.”

The Pegasus didn’t move or acknowledge her plea. Ingrid sighed and closed her eyes, thinking of Linhardt’s face when he broke the news to her. “You think I’m ready, don’t you? I can tell you won’t leave me alone.”

Now the Pegasus snorted as if in agreement. Ingrid chuckled, tears sliding down her cheeks as joy dared break into her chest. “You make a good argument.”

(send me a heart-breaking dialogue prompt! mind the tags!)

#ingrid brandl galatea #ferdinand von aegir #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #its the church route which is always unhappy imho #horse girls gotta stick together #breaking prompts #moeblob had a happy idea bc theyre great and im the one that said 'i can make that sad'

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kumeko · 3 years

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Title: goodbye my hopeless dream

A/N: For the Sylvgrid BB, for watercolorvigilante’s heartbreaking work. I love the angst of separating the Faerghus Four.

Summary: Five years ago, Sylvain had thought they could fix it all. That they could bring Dimitri to the Alliance, that they could end the war and save everyone. Yet…Felix lay face down, Ingrid sobbing on her knees, and Dimitri frozen forever mid snarl. He wasn’t sure how he could pick the pieces up after this, but he had to try.

…

Something was burning. Sylvain stuck his lance in the dirt carelessly, ignoring every lesson he’d ever learned about proper weapon care, and closed his eyes. Something was burning. Possibly someone, the air was full of fat and smoke and his throat grew drier with every breath. There were dozens of small fires nearby, the only outcome in the middle of a battlefield, where mages scorched the earth and fiery arrows rained down on their ashes.

He opened his eyes. Before him spread a war-torn field, survivors picking dragging themselves off the fields and to their respective armies. Something bitter filled his mouth as he saw the bodies strewn across the field, blood pooling in the mud. Crows cawed as they perched on bare trees, their beady eyes taking in the field, and vultures circled above as they eyed their food.

Five years ago, the Battle of Lion and Eagle had been nothing like this. Five years ago, they had all been just kids fighting for bragging rights and victory letters to send home, for stories to seduce strangers and that shiny glory that had seemed all too important at the time.

Five years ago, he had been in with the Kingdom, not the Alliance. Now his Golden Deer family were scattered across the field, helping each other back. The Empire was long gone, Edelgard leaving behind the wounded and the dead alike. The Kingdom was torn apart, shredded into pieces. And Dimitri…

Sylvain shivered at the memory. The one-eyed, raging monster he’d seen hours ago hadn’t been any friend he’d known. The only thing that had motivated him was a long-nursed hatred, one that Sylvain hadn’t seen for all the years he’d known him.

Or maybe he had avoided seeing it, just like how he was now avoiding the dead spread around him, trying not to look at their faces. He didn’t want to see another classmate he used to sneak out with, another beauty he’d flirted with in the shadows.

He was certain Ingrid was doing the exact opposite. She’d always had a masochist streak and unlike him was probably all too intent on memorizing every person she’d killed.

Sylvain looked up. It had been hours since he’d seen her Pegasus. “Ingrid?”

Dread filled him and he yanked his lance out of the dirt. This was Ingrid he was thinking of. She was unkillable. Even Felix’s hardest glares and Sylvain’s worst lies hadn’t done the job.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. Whistling, he waited impatiently for his steed to gallop over. His horse’s silken mane was matted in blood and dirt. Grabbing the saddle, Sylvain slung himself over. “I bet I look just as bad,” he murmured, patting his horse’s neck once before squeezing his thighs. “When we find Ingrid, I’ll make sure she gives you her special mixture.”

His horse nickered and quickly trotted through the field. Sylvain scanned his surroundings as they moved, searching for the pure white Pegasus or even just Ingrid’s blonde hair. As he looked, he avoided checking the bodies, refused to check the bodies.

There was no need.

Ingrid wouldn’t be lying in the dirt like that. Not after all the times she’d yelled at him for his slovenly room.

Instead of blonde, he spotted pink. He turned his head.

Ingrid would have stopped.

Sylvain gritted his teeth and guided his horse across the field. A tired, limping Hilda looked up blearily. With her stockings torn, hair awry, and a nasty cut along her chest, she looked as bad as he felt. She even dragged her axe instead of carrying it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He slipped off his horse, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped her out of the ditch. “You’ve looked better.”

“I’d say you’ve looked worse, but that’s a lie.” Hilda grinned crookedly as she leaned on him. She felt impossibly small, nothing at all like the mischievous woman who was Claude’s right hand. “Glad you made it.”

“Me too.” Sylvain swallowed. “Did you see Ingrid?”

He held his breath as she frowned and shook her head. “No…not for a while.” Noticing his face, Hilda squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a strong bitch.”

Sylvain couldn’t laugh at the old joke. They’d exchanged it many times after Ingrid had scolded them or knocked them on their asses during practice. “She’s really strong.” His voice came out more of a whisper than he’d intended.

“The strongest,” she agreed, pulling away. Leaning on her axe, she patted his back. “You go find her.”

Sylvain hesitated. “Your chest—”

“Needs Marianne’s loving attention,” Hilda interrupted, winking. Though, with the dirt streaked on her cheeks and her pale skin, she didn’t look half as flirty as she acted. “I can make it back from here.” She forced herself to stand a little straighter but for all her acting, she couldn’t hide her wince. “Who knows, maybe Ingrid’s there already. She’ll be too busy nursing me to health to take care of you.”

Hilda waggled her brows. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Ingrid would have helped her regardless.

For all of her faith in him, he’d never been half as good as she’d hoped and not even a quarter as good as she was. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, letting his guilt and fear chase him as he vaulted onto his horse once more, spurring it through the field as though death itself were after them.

Hilda wasn’t critically injured, at least. She could stand and she could joke and one of the others would find her in no time. They’d laugh about it later and she’d tease that he had tunnel vision when it came to Ingrid. The dense idiot that she was, Ingrid wouldn’t understand until maybe years down the road, when he told her everything.

He clenched his fist. “Ingrid? INGRID!”

The only response were the grunts and moans as other survivors crawled, hoping someone, anyone could come to their rescue. He’d save them all after he found Ingrid. He’d personally pick them up, carry them to Flayn and Manuela. He’d even wrap their bandages himself.

He just had to find Ingrid first.

“Sylvain!”

A familiar gold caught his eye, and for a moment Sylvain thought Ingrid before realizing it was Claude’s torn cloak. He pulled his reins tight, heels digging into his horse as he came to a stop just beside the tired leader. Byleth wasn’t by his side for once. Maybe she was out there, picking up her former students.

Maybe she’d already found Hilda.

“Claude.” Sylvain tried to smile. It came out like a grimace. “Have you seen Ingrid?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Claude chuckled wryly, pulling his gloves off his fingers. His arms had small burns on them, the attacks of enemy mages, and Sylvain tried not to think how much that must have hurt as he loosed arrow after arrow. “No, not yet.”

“Hilda’s that way,” Sylvain blurted out, unable to stop himself. He jabbed over his shoulder. “She’ll need help.”

“Oh.” Claude blinked, resting his hand on the flank of Sylvain’s horse as he looked. His dragon wasn’t with him. Sylvain tried not to wonder why. “I’ll get her then. Thanks.”

They stood there a moment, neither of them moving. Sylvain’s horse panted, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath.

“I…I didn’t think it’d end like this,” Claude admitted quietly, barely audible over the wind. “Edelgard…I knew she wouldn’t listen, but Dimitri?”

It was like a gut punch, remembering Dimitri. When he and Ingrid had heard Dimitri had survived his execution, they’d sworn to bring him over to Claude’s side. Dimitri had been a reasonable person, after all. He should have been reasonable now.

Goddess, why hadn’t he been reasonable now? Sylvain thought, looking away. “I thought he’d come around.”

“Me too. We could have avoided so much…” Claude trailed off. It wasn’t like simple bloodshed could describe everything they’d experienced here today.

“Maybe next time,” Sylvain croaked, licking his chapped lips nervously. The air was still far too dry. It was hard to breathe. “We can talk to Dimitri again. Maybe after he’s had time to calm down.”

Claude snapped his head to him, his expression unreadable. After a few, heart-pounding seconds, he pointed to his left. “Is that a Pegasus?”

Immediately, Sylvain jerked his head up. Further up the hill, almost at the treeline, he could just make out a white horse. A pure white horse, sitting on the ground.

It had to be a Pegasus. It had to be Ingrid’s. He squeezed his thighs, urging his horse into a gallop as he hastily shouted, “Thanks!”

He really did have tunnel vision. Sylvain couldn’t tell anyone, even himself, how he got to Ingrid, what the route was like, anything really. He just kept his eyes fixed on the white horse, watched as its sides became wings and the saddle on its back took on the familiar markings of Ingrid’s. There was no blood on it, as far as he could tell, no injuries at all aside from a few ruffled feathers.

That was good, right? It must have been tired after the long fight. Maybe Ingrid was letting it rest before heading to camp. “Ingrid?” he called out as he reached, jumping off his horse without even waiting for a response.

The silence worried him. She wasn’t beside her steed and she’d never abandon her partner. “Where is she?” he murmured, patting her Pegasus’s nose. Her partner whickered, turning to his right and further up the hill. A bright green cloak stood out amongst the bushes, a familiar coil of blonde braided hair crowning it.

Ingrid.

She was kneeling next to someone. He could just make out their legs, still and unmoving. Of course, she was taking care of an injured solider, the bleeding heart she was. He’d bet the farm that she hadn’t even thought to look for him before doing that.

And if she was doing that, she couldn’t be that injured. Sighing with relief, he jogged to her. “There you are.”

Ingrid looked over her shoulder, cheeks stained with tears. “Sylvain,” she rasped, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for—” He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe after he saw Dimitri lying in front of her. His chest squeezed and he stumbled the final few steps to her side.

Unlike the raging man he’d seen hours ago, Dimitri was utterly still and calm as he lay there. His bright, blue eye stared unseeing at the sky, his mouth half-open as though mid-way through a roar. Ingrid whimpered and Sylvain stared at the lance stuck in Dimitri’s chest.

Luin.

Bile rose in his throat and Sylvain barely crawled forward more than a few steps before he vomited in the bushes. Oh no. Oh no no no. He could just picture it now. Dimitri and Ingrid. And Felix—Sylvain couldn’t stop himself before he looked for a familiar fur-lined jacket.

There was a sword in his hand. He’d died as he’d lived. Sylvain vomited again.

“It’s my fault,” Ingrid sobbed, curling into herself. “I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a second time at the sound. Wiping his mouth, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to her side. Sylvain forced back his uneasy stomach, forced back his growing numbness and pain, and gathered her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she repeated, apologizing over and over even as she pressed into him. “It is.”

And he couldn’t argue with that, not when her lance was in Dimitri’s chest. It wasn’t like five years ago, when she’d been crushed after they’d changed houses—no one could have predicted the looming war, the fact that they’d be disowned by their own families for something as simple as following their beliefs.

It wasn’t like years ago, after Glen’s death, when Dimitri had broken down, Felix had hardened, and Ingrid had holed herself in her room. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault then. They’d been just kids, taking on more than they should have.

Now, there was only Ingrid.

And Dimitri’s blood was on her hands.

Bile rose once more, pricking his tongue, but he forced it back down. She’d break if he said anything else. She’d break and then he’d break with her. Sylvain buried his face in her hair and shook his head. “Not true.”

“I…I did it,” she sobbed, her fingers digging into his sides.

“He would have killed you.” He realized the truth of his words as he said them. Dimitri would have killed her. The others from their house might not have. Annette and Mercedes and maybe even Dedue could have been talked down, but not Dimitri.

Dimitri hadn’t been himself for a long while.

Maybe he’d always been like that. Felix had been right, calling him a boar.

“He would have killed you,” he repeated, stronger now, hugging her tighter. Sylvain could hear her breath, hear her heart beat like a frightened rabbit. She was alive. She was in one piece. She’d made it through. “You had to protect yourself.”

“I could have injured him,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer as though to hide away from it all. “I could have knocked him out.”

“Anyone else, sure, but not Dimitri. Never Dimitri.” Sylvain closed his eyes. Even before it all, Dimitri would never let himself get captured. Killed, sure, but never captured. “He’s too strong. Was too strong.”

The was stung, burned on his tongue like an ember. Felix had been loyal. Dimitri had been a friend. They’d never be anything else anymore. They might never be anything but the two, angry bodies on the grass. It was hard to remember their smiles when all he could picture was their pale, frozen faces.

“I should have tried,” she insisted, shoulders shaking as she cried. “I should have…I…he’s dead, Sylvain. Dead. They both are and I…”

“I know, I know.” Sylvian stroked her hair, pulling back just enough to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Years ago, she’d done the same for him when he’d killed his brother; he wasn’t sure when he’d started looking at her differently, but he was certain the roots of it had been then. He hoped it brought her twice as much comfort as it had given him, this warmth, this forgiveness and love and gentle acceptance.

She wailed, a wordless cry that sounded more animal than human. He remembered the maids talking about banshees and their mournful screams, and it had to sound something like this. Still stroking her hair, he let her cry it all out, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Dimitri or Felix. There was probably a better way to help. Mercedes and Annette had been good at it. He should have learned from them when he had the chance.

He should have done so much more before this all happened, but he’d been barely able to help himself for years, let alone others.

And now it was just them.

No, not just them. Sylvain bit his cheek. That was what had caused this war in the first place, this stubborn belief that they had to stand alone. That was why he and Ingrid had left the Blue Lions in after all, for Claude’s vision of unity. There was Raphael and his hugs, Hilda and her jokes, even Marianne and her quiet companionship.

He could try again. Better this time, in fact. Ingrid hiccupped and he pulled away slightly, still keeping her in the circle of his arms. Now that he was looking at her properly, he could see the cuts on her arms, the gash on her side. Small injuries, for fighting Dimitri, but injuries nonetheless. Sylvain knew every trick in the book when it came to convincing Ingrid to do something that was good for her, even if it was something as unrelenting as guilt.

“Let’s go back to camp together,” he suggested gently, brushing her hair out of her face. Her puffy eyes, still red from her tears, started to slide away from his, to where Dimitri’s corpse grew colder with the passing minute. Before she could, he carefully cupped her cheek, forcing her to stay still. “We need to get patched up.”

“But…Di…Dimitri and Felix,” she mumbled, not fighting him for once.

“We can get them later.” Sylvain didn’t even have to try this time, he just smiled. She’d always been able to draw those out of him, even if she never realized it. “I’ll come back.”

“Me…Me too.” Ingrid shook her head. “I’ll help.”

He bit his lip before reluctantly nodding. There was time to argue about that later. “Okay. Can you stand?”

She nodded. Sylvain wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly hoisting her up as he stood. Keeping his grip firm, he called for his horse. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to fly, so let’s take my horse, okay?”

“Sure.” She sounded distracted, but he didn’t think much of it. With everything that happened, it was hard to focus. As his horse stopped beside him, he let go and quickly adjusted the saddle bags and straps. “You get on first.”

Ingrid didn’t reply and when he turned around, she was beside Dimitri once more. Silently, he cursed himself as he ran back to her side. “Ingrid!”

She didn’t respond, unbuckling her cloak instead. Gently, she spread it out over Dimitri’s body, covering him like she used to put blankets on them as kids, all tired out from practice. Leaning forward, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cold forehead. “Could you give me your cloak?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate before yanking what was left of his off and draping it gently on her shoulders. Ingrid shook her head, pulling it off. “It’s not for me.”

She moved a little further into the forest, to Felix this time, and tucked the cloak around him. Her fingers shook as she brushed his hair out of his face. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered something he couldn’t hear before getting up.

“Let’s go back.” Ingrid grabbed his hand now and this time he didn’t let go.

“Yeah.” He didn’t ask her what she said. Sylvain had his own, private words for them, things he’d never repeat to anyone. When they reached his horse, he still kept his grip tight as he hopped on first. She raised a brow, the closest to a positive expression he’d seen so far. Not bothering to explain, he helped pull her up, settling her on his lap in a side-saddle manner.

“I haven’t ridden like this since we were kids,” Ingrid commented, a little stiff as she looked at her dangling feet.

“Not since you realized knights had to ride on their own.” He waited a second before asking. “Just this once?”

“It’s silly.” Yet, she didn’t jump off, didn’t protest, just leaned against him.

He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around her, taking the reins and urging his horse into a gentle trot. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

#sylvgrid #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #claude von riegan #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #hilda valentine goneril #felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fanfic

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Hey Dorte, Why the Long Face?

There is a mysterious illness affecting the animals in the stables. Marianne is beside herself with worry.

No real animals were harmed in the writing of this story.

Marianne always has dark circles under her eyes, however when Claude notices that the circles are much darker than usual and she is missing class, there must be something seriously wrong. The house leader searches all over the monastery and finally finds her in the stables. The weather is cold and she is bundled up in Dorte’s stall.

“What’s wrong? Why is Dorte lying on the ground?” Claude immediately notices that her very best horse friend is not looking too well.

“I don’t know Claude. He has been like this for days. I’m so worried for him!” She bursts into tears giving the large animal a hug around its neck.

The brunette checks around the stables, a few of the other horses aren’t looking too much better. He knows a lot about wyverns, but horses are pretty foreign to him. He heads directly to Byleth’s room.

“Knock knock. You in there teach? We have a problem!” Claude announces as he hears the Professor give permission to enter.

Profesors Byleth and Manuela are in the stables, checking on all horses and Pegasus.

“We have used healing spells before on horses, especially when they are injured in battles, but this is something I am not comfortable with.” Manuela ponders, tapping a finger on her lips.

“I wonder if my dad can shed some light.” Byleth offers.

Marianne whimpers every time Dorte twitches uncomfortably. She refuses to leave his side, so her fellow deer help build a nest for her and bring her something to eat and drink.

Lorenz is attending Gallicas, named after his mother’s favorite roses. His steed is also showing signs of illness and stress, however has not been lying down, Gallicas is breathing heavily, pacing in his stall and touching his midsection with his head.

“I have sent word to my father, he is going to send a horse cleric to help us. I do hope they make it in time.” The noble laments.

“Agreed.” Is heard from the next stall over as Ferdinand is brushing Cinnamon reassuringly. “These are not creatures nor beasts. They are our best friends and have been at our side through thick and thin. Extremely intelligent animals. Nobody listens better than your horse.”

“The Pegasus don’t seem to be nearly as affected as the horses.” Ingrid chimes in as she checks on Astra.

A few hours pass before Jeralt and Leonie arrive at the stables. He looks over the horses as Leonie watches intently.

“I got nothing.” The Bladebreaker admits. “They look like they have stomachaches but being this listless and such is something I haven’t seen before.” Jeralt scratches his beard looking puzzled.

No amount of sweet treats such as apples or sugarcubes interest the huge equines. More and more of them begin to lay down and breathe heavily.

The next morning a hail from the gatekeeper alerts everyone’s attention to the front gate. A huge Pegasus with iridescent pearl hair and feathers lands just outside the stables. A tall redheaded woman with a large black satchel dismounts the beautiful winged creature as she goes and scratches her flying mount under it’s almost glowing chin.

“Fantastic work Sparkles. Perfect flying!” She says encouragingly as she pats the gorgeous animal on its long neck. “Stay here. There are some sick friends inside, k?”

The Pegasus nods, tapping the ground with it’s sparkling silver hoof, pulling its wings close to its body.

“What have we here?” Ruby announces her presence to the group of humans, horses and Pegasus.

“Thank the goddess!” Lorenz runs up to bow before her. “You are a vision in these dark times! Please help us. Our best friends are taken with a mysterious illness. We would be heartbroken should anything worse befall them.” Tears are falling from the man’s cheeks, just thinking of what could happen to his beloved Gallicas should this illness go on much longer.

Beautiful, empathetic Marianne bursts into tears, patting Dorte’s neck and clutching on to his mane as if she would fight off death trying to take her beloved best friend.

Ruby begins barking orders to anyone that is around. She requires four large buckets of water, two of them hot, but not boiling, every piece of hay and fodder removed from the stables and dumped into the courtyards.

The horse cleric kneels next to Dorte first, opening his mouth, feeling his teeth and gums, checking his tongue. Dorte quietly obeys. She quietly whispers to him the entire time. She checks his eyes, his ears, feeling his neck as she reaches down towards his belly. She places her ear on his chest, his stomach and his gut. Palpating his abdomen, pushing rather hard in some places, Dorte gives off a groan of sorts and she apologizes. Dorte patiently cooperates with her.

“I need a chart with the names of each patient, when did they eat last, urinate, defecate, how long they have been laying or showing any kinds of symptoms.” Ruby orders and the academy’s horsegirls scatter to get the information down.

Ruby exits the stables and literally bumps into Byleth. “You need to get me bottles of oil. Vegetable oil, any oils not made from meat that are liquid. I need a couple bowls and two large cookpots.” Byleth makes an about face and runs to the kitchens.

The redhead goes straight for the fodder. At first she kicks the pile left and right, spreading the feed thin on the ground. She gets on her hands and knees and picks at a few of the dried grasses and weeds, gathering some into a pocket. She returns to her satchel, taking out multiple bamboo pieces, a funnel, several potions, rectangular pieces wrapped in wax covered cloth, multiple cloth bags full of something and a long handled wooden spoon. Taking each item one at a time she opens her long coat and places them in a specific pocket until her hands are free again.

Stepping into the stables just inside the door is a table with the four buckets of water. “Worktable, great! Going to need towels eventually.” She takes the cloth from the rectangular pieces, placing the soap next to the two warm buckets of water.

“First of all, no cross contamination. The person with the animal stays with that animal. If I say move, get away from the animal. Do as I say. No hesitation.” Ruby orders. “Wash up when you come in, wash up when you leave. Don’t touch anyone else’s animals>”

Byleth returns with several students following with several different large containers full of oil and other requested items.

Ruby pours some leaves from each of three different bags into the cook pots. She instructs Byleth to fill them to a specific height with water, then heat them to as hot as her hand can stand in the water, not the cook’s hands. Bring them back with something clean to scoop out the liquid with, like a large bowl.

The horse cleric heads over to Dorte who is obviously the sickest patient. Pouring oil into a bowl she takes out two pieces of bamboo, twisting them together to make a large tube. She first casts a relaxing and numbing spell on the huge beast. Dorte’s movements slow down as he rests his head on the ground closing his eyes. She oils the tube from the outside, then with Marianne’s help, gets the tube through the nostril into the horse’s throat. Ruby’s hand is on his throat, moving slowly and carefully until she can feel the horse swallow as the tube is at the proper position and it is into the stomach. She pulls the funnel from her pocket, putting it into the tube and Marianne pours the oil into the tube as Ruby listens to the animal’s gut. Finally she removes the tube and they lay Dorte’s head down. She casts another spell in the area of his stomach, then brings Marianne over to massage his gut. The healer then goes to the other end of the animal, not to give an enema, but to have some oil at the exit to assist Dorte in passing what is in his stomach and intestines.

Ruby pours the bucket of cold water to rinse her arms, then washes her hands with the soap and warm water from the first bucket, rinsing them then washing again with the second bucket, rinsing them off again. She dries her arms and heads to the next animal. The standing animals are easier as they are not nearly as overcome with the sickness. Once the second animal is treated, she tells the owner to take them outside the gates for a long walk. Hopefully before they return the horse will hopefully have shaken things loose and let go of some manure and to inform her once they have returned.

Ruby turns back to Dorte. He has not passed anything. She needs to roll him over on his other side. She carefully guides Dimitri and Raphael to assist her with gently moving the huge horse. Marianne immediately starts her massaging on the other side of Dorte’s gut as Ruby listens to his internal organs. She reassuringly pats Marianne on the shoulder and smiles at the bluenette.

The horses having been treated, it is time to check on the Pegasus. The winged beasts are extremely calm around Ruby as she looks after them one by one. She constantly whispers to the animals as she works with each of them. Scrubbing herself clean between each beast.

Preparing the water troughs for all of the creatures in the stables, she adds the special tea cooked in the kitchens pots to each of the animals drinking water The leaves are left in the water, digesting them will help calm the stomachs of the huge beasts. All of the horses except Dorte have been walked and have done well moving things through their systems. They are in their stalls and have been taking drinks of the tea water.

Ruby lifts Marianne from the ground where she asleep, laying upon her best friend. She places the cleric on a soft bed of straw in an empty stall and covers her with one of several blankets brought for her.

The horse cleric then returns her concentration on Dorte. She listens to his heart, then his gut. Speaking softly and reassuringly to the handsome horse, she casts a spell on his stomach area. She puts his bridle on him and encourages him to stand. He appears to have weakened his legs lying on them for so long, still he struggles and with much effort and encouragement he stands. The effort itself has broken a dam within him and manure is pouring out his backside. She washes him off and places him in an empty stall. Grabbing a wheel barrow she mucks out the stall, taking the mess outside. She listens again to Dorte’s gut and things sound like they are moving well through the animal now. His heart rate has slowed and his breathing is not as distressed.

Professor Byleth wakes with the sunrise and is surprised to see Sparkles is standing outside her door. She reaches out to the pearl white animal, it allows her to stroke its long neck and mane as it leads her to the stables. There she finds Ruby and Marianne sleeping and all of the horses alive and doing much better. She clears the muck in the wheelbarrow and all of the empty buckets and pots. Finally Ruby awakens after enough noise and immediately goes to check on all of the animals.

“Dorte is looking much better today. The other horses and Pegasus can go out and should be taken for exercise for at least an hour each. Dorte is still too weak for that much, but should be walked and given lots of water. I don’t want him eating much today and I have to educate everyone regarding some disturbing items in the food. I would like to gather anyone that cares for the animals here after breakfast.”

“Absolutely. Thank you so much for all of your help. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” Byleth says thankfully.

Marianne suddenly awakens, realizing she is not with Dorte. She runs over to him and hugs him around his neck, crying happy tears. “Dorte! You made it. You are so strong, so beautiful!”

Ruby pulls aside each animal caregiver, providing instructions for care and feeding until the animal is back at 100%.

Every person in the monastery that has anything to do with the horses are called before Ruby. She shows them and passes around the items that were mixed in with the horses food.

She holds up a dried stem that looks like clover. “This is Alsike clover. The leaves and size of plant look very much like what we call red clover, which is sort of a reddish purple flower. White clover has white flowers and is much shorter growing. Red and White clover is fine for horses to eat with other food. The clover have a V like mark in their leaves of a lighter color. The Alsike clover has a pointed leaf like the red clover, the flower is more pink. But there is no lighter V on the leaf. Even when dry you can see the V on the leaf of the other two clover. There is enough of the Alsike clover in your feed to kill all of your animals. The Pegasus were affected to a lesser extent because they eat more grains.This feed is fine for cows, and sheep but horse feed cannot have this kind of clover. Whoever procures your animal feed must be aware of this. If you allow your horses to graze nearby, watch what they are eating. Horses don’t exactly know much difference about what is growing around them and will chomp on anything. Do not let them graze in buttercups, oleander and hemlock. The flowers should start blooming in the next month or so.

Clover is not the best feed for horses. Red clover tends to mold, it is the mold that will kill your friend. They can eat it as long as a lot of other grasses are in their food. My favorite grass is Timothy Hay.

Check your food storage frequently, turning over the looser fodder. Purification spells can be run by the clerics here to assist with keeping some molds in check.

Keep the stalls very clean. A concentration of most manure and it sitting for quite a while means maggots, flies and other nasty creatures to torment the horses, it also attracts mold.”

The students, knights, caretakers and Professors are all paying 100% attention to this lecture.

“I must be getting back to my practice. Send a messenger should you need anything or have questions.” Ruby instructs Byleth.

The Professor nods. “Thank you so much. We sincerely appreciate your fast arrival. We could have lost so many animals to our mistakes.”

Ruby agrees. “Please make sure this is taken seriously, reinspect what the students have done. I hate to see animals come to harm.”

Byleth hands the horse cleric payment for the services. She takes the money and puts it in another one of her pockets.

“Follow me.” The redhead instructs. She leads Byleth to a barrel that is off to the side. In the bottom of the barrel is a pile of her Pegasus droppings. “Pegasus blessings your gardener would call them. Fill the barrel full of water when you have it by your greenhouse. Then let it sit for at least 2 hours. Stir it for a minute, then water your plants. Wait 5 days, fill the barrel 2/3 full. Water plants then 1/3 full. Sprinkle what remains in the barrel on the plants after 5 more days.”

Byleth smiles at this and thanks the redhead profusely.

Ruby calls Sparkles to her side. She checks her bags and makes everything secure. Suddenly Marianne bursts from the door of the stables and grabs the cleric into a huge hug.

“Dorte and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” Marianne gasps as she squeezes the redhead.

“Dorte is a beautiful friend. Feed them good hay, carrots and pumpkins. For treats apples, pears, grapes and the occasional oatmeal raisin cookie. With you taking care of them, I am sure they will enjoy a long beautiful life.” The cleric gives the blunette a hearty squeeze back.

With that the horsecleric mounts her sparkling steed and heads off into the sky, the wings seem to shimmer with all of the colors of the rainbow as Byleth watches her fly off into the distance.

Bonus??? Bad horse jokes:

Why can’t horses dance? They have two left feet.

What’s the hardest thing about learning to ride a horse? The ground!

What did the horse say when it fell? I’ve fallen and I can’t giddyup!

What does it mean if you find a horseshoe? Some poor horse is walking around in his socks.

#fe3h #fire embelm three houses #feth #fe16 #marianne von edmund #Dorte the Horse #byleth eisner #lorenz hellman gloucester

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frozenartscapes · 4 years

Text

Monsters Don’t Save People - FE3H Fic

The battle was supposed to be easy. Everything had been planned out, all entry points chosen, squadrons laid out in the best formations.

They hadn’t expected them to have so many Crest Stones.

They weren’t supposed to. Thales must have diverted supplies...

But now there were monsters. So many monsters.

Everywhere one turned, there was a Beast ready to sink its teeth or claws into flesh. Winged devils tore through the skies - Thales evolved them, it seems. There was blood and carnage every which way and it soon became impossible to tell where anyone was or if they were even still alive.

Edelgard spotted Ingrid attempting to provide suppressing fire from above, only to have her pegasus be brought down by a well-aimed lance. She fell a ways away from the Emperor, into a horde of monsters.

Casualties were supposed to be normal. She’s watched so many die by this point. She’s killed so many, both directly and indirectly. She had hardened her heart to this ages ago, she thought but...

Ever since defeating Rhea, something’s changed.

She heard Bernadetta scream from somewhere in the distance. Lindhardt was busy healing Ferdinand, who had taken a clawed swipe to the chest. It was a miracle there was anything left of him to heal. Caspar was providing cover, but she watched as he was swatted out of the way by a rampaging Beast as if he were a mosquito.

Byleth was nowhere to be seen.

Her friends. Her family. She couldn’t lose them. Not now. Not like this. Not to these...these monsters. She had been angry in battle before, but something was different this time. Fury couldn’t begin to describe it. Purple flames from her unwanted Crest danced around her clenched fists.

She spotted a monster charging her in the corner of her eye. She turned to face it, holding her ground as it bore down on her. Her grip on Aymr tightened, and she lowered into an attack stance in preparation. When the Beast was practically on top of her she dove to the side, then swung with all her might - activating her Crest of Seiros for an added boost - striking the creature’s neck and hewing its head clean off.

She’d lost count of how many Beasts she had taken down on that day alone. Far too many. And as she rose from her stance, she felt the effects of all that fighting on her sore body. She was exhausted, and if it weren’t for her Crests she’d have collapsed already.

She pressed on, hoping to advance far enough to find some of the leaders of their enemy’s forces. She hoped they hadn’t turned themselves, yet.

Suddenly, a nearby house exploded as a Demonic Beast was sent flying through it. Stone and wooden beams shot out in all directions, and most of the walls collapsed and the roof caved in. The loss of the house revealed a relieving sight: Byleth.

Edelgard smiled, feeling her heart flutter knowing that her Love was alright.

But then another monster appeared through the dust, slamming into Byleth like a runaway carriage. “No!” Edelgard shouted, spurring herself forward to her teacher’s aid.

The Beast that had been thrown through the house pushed itself up, shaking away the rubble, and stood between her and Byleth. It lunged, and she only had time to hoist her shield up. It slammed against her, forcing her against one of the few remaining walls, massive claws scraping against her shield as it tried to maul her to death.

She had been forced into a corner. From where she was, she could just spot Byleth struggling against her own monster. Edelgard might be able to blast this one away from her but she wouldn’t be able to reach Byleth in time. Or she’d be too weak to do anything. She ran through her options in her head and none of them would work how she wanted.

Except one.

Her uncle hadn’t cared one bit about her ever since he brought her back from the Kingdom and threw her into a hole in the ground to die with her siblings. He showed some concern about her after the experiments proved successful, but it was never about her so much as what she had become. He had, however, offered her one piece of advice, one little shred of something she had no choice but to hope was care, and it was this: under only the direst of circumstances should she activate both of her Crests at once. He warned her to think of it no differently than holding a powerful Crest Stone in her bare hand, and to only do so if she was certain there was no other path to victory.

She couldn’t see any other path. So she called on both the Crest of Seiros and the Crest of Flames. The initial surge of power shot out in a shockwave from her body, blasting the Beast away from her.

Then came the pain.

Pain unlike anything she’d ever felt before tore through her body. It was as if she had been set on fire from the inside out, like her skin was melting off and every bone crushed at the same time. She let out an agonized scream as she fell to her knees, and then...

Nothing.

---

Byleth used her sword to push the monstrous creature back, but barely. It had her pinned, it’s giant maw filled with teeth mashing furiously. She called for a fireball but it did very little to the Beast’s thick hide.

Suddenly, it was gone. The creature was ripped off of her by...something. Whatever that something was, it was big, that was for sure. And powerful.

Byleth lay on the cold ground for a moment, struggling to figure out what the hell just happened. The sound of a tussle caused her to sit up, and she spotted whatever her saviour was and the Beast that almost killed her fighting it out like a pair of rabid dogs.

But then the Beast lost, badly, to one swipe of the newcomer’s long, sword-like claws. The head of the Beast landed next to Byleth, causing her to flinch, but she could not look away from this new creature in front of her.

She’d never seen a Demonic Beast that looked quite like that. This one was more humanoid in form, but barely. Spikes shot out from its shoulders and ran down the length of its back. Skeletal wings arched behind it. Long, spindly arms ended in deadly talons. Its skin reminded her of the charred remains of a body - black and coarse, exposing burnt muscle and bone.

But the face was by far the most terrifying thing about this creature. Because it was a face she knew.

“No.”

---

Lysithea was never one for monsters. They were like ghosts, but unlike ghosts, monsters could actually hurt you. There was no question about that.

Ashe didn’t like monsters, either. For much the same reason.

And yet here they were, stuck in the middle of a narrow street surrounded by monsters.

“I hadn’t planned on dying like this,” Lysithea grumbled as she blasted another creature away from them, “Ripped to shreds was probably the last way I thought I’d go.”

“Don’t think like that just yet,” Ashe told her as he took aim with his bow, “We’re not going down here.”

“Everyone says that right before they go down.”

“Still: gotta keep optimistic.”

A particularly large Beast rounded a corner onto their street. “I don’t think we can take that one by ourselves,” Lysithea commented, already taking a step back.

Ashe reached into his quiver, only to find about four arrows left. He gulped. “Yep, I think you’re right,” he agreed, following her lead.

They only got a few steps in before, on the other end of the street, they spotted a pair of menacing red eyes glowing through the dust and haze of battle. The silhouette revealed a monster neither of them had ever seen before, and the low rumble of a growl echoed through the street, sending chills down their spines.

The first large Beast roared behind them, and then surged forward in a charge. The second did the same, careening down the cobbled stones at tremendous speed.

The pair realized very quickly that they were stuck in the middle with nowhere else to go.

Lysithea aimed her magic at one, and Ashe targetted the other with his bow. But before either of them could fire, the second Beast launched itself into the air, leaping over them and tackling the first Beast away.

Ashe’s bow fell to his side as his mouth dropped open in shock. “What just...happened?”

“Who cares?” Lysithea scolded as she grabbed his hand and pulled, “Let’s get the heck out of here!”

---

“Bernie! Are you alright?”

Bernadetta struggled to push herself up from underneath the rubble pile on top of her. She remembered being on the roof of a house, taking aim at a group of mages, when suddenly the house was blown apart and collapsed.

Soft arms lifted her up gently. Healing magic began to spread through her body. She opened her eyes to see Dorothea’s wonderful smile. Petra was nearby, crouched into a defensive stance waiting to attack anything that got too close. Hubert was also around, keeping mages away from them with powerful magic of his own.

“We saw you fall. We were so worried, Bern!” Dorothea cried as she continued to administer healing spells, “No one’s allowed to die now, not after all we’ve been through.”

“Oh...s...sorry, then,” Bernadetta stammered sheepishly, “That was m...my bad!”

Dorothea sighed. She said not another word but instead pulled her friend into a tight hug, her actions speaking more comfortingly than words ever could.

“We have more enemies coming,” Petra warned urgently, breaking them up with reluctance, “Mages and soldiers, it seems.”

Hubert fell back to them, and raised his hands in preparation for more spells. The enemy surrounded them quickly, all readying their own attacks.

Suddenly, there was a loud whoosh overhead, and purple fire rained down from the sky. Giant fireballs exploded around the enemy, sending them scattering for cover. And then, with the enemy vanquished, it was calm.

“Wow, Hubert! When’d you learn how to do that?” Bernadetta asked in amazement.

“I...I didn’t do that...” Hubert said slowly, gazing down at his hand in confusion.

Suddenly, something clicked. A memory of a one-off conversation he had with Edelgard...

“Oh no.”

---

Linhardt never liked the sight of blood and even after all this time he still wasn’t a fan. But Ferdinand still needed healing, so he swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat and kept going. At least the gashes across Ferdinand’s chest were closing up.

“How you holding up, Lin?” Caspar shouted from his position nearby, throwing a punch at a charging soldier.

“Could be better!” Linhardt shouted back.

“How’s Ferdinand? Hubert’s gonna kill you if-”

“He’ll live, that’s all that matters!”

A piercing roar broke up their banter, and suddenly this creature was looming over them, perched on the remains of a house they were using for cover. Through the haze, it was hard to tell just what it was, but its glowing red eyes were clear, like fire in the dark of night. But it wasn’t focused on them - it narrowed its eyes at the band of soldiers who had been advancing on them.

Linhardt blinked and suddenly the enemy threat wasn’t there anymore. Not a single soldier, leaving Caspar standing there befuddled and his fists still raised for a fight.

The creature was gone.

---

This had to be a dream. Another nightmare.

Long, skeletal hands adorned with razor-sharp claws slashed through victims left and right. Her hands...

Skin like leather and scales, like a lizard’s or dragon’s combined with charred muscle with the skin peeled off. Nothing could penetrate it. Her skin...

A long tail like a whip, batting enemies away before they could get near. Her...tail?

She towered over everyone, as if she were riding on a pegasus or wyvern. But her feet were still on the ground. Or were they? She felt like she was floating, flying... There was something on her back, something that had sprouted out of her, tearing through skin. Wings?

Nothing felt real. Her voice wasn’t her own. Her actions were barbaric. Even her teeth were different - sharp, pointy, deadly.

A Demonic Beast roared at her and she roared right back.

But, somehow, through the mist she did realize one thing: her friends were safe. They had been in danger. But she killed the things about to hurt them. Demonic Beasts. Agarthans. Mages. Soldiers. She faced them all with brutal efficiency.

That was...good? Was it not?

But somewhere in her mind something was whispering that she had lost her humanity.

---

Ingrid groaned as she came-to. Suddenly, her memory returned and she shot up, only to be met with a pounding headache.

“Easy, now, try to keep still.” Mercedes’ gentle voice met her ears, but she was still frantic and full of too much adrenaline.

“Where is she?” she demanded, looking all around, “Is she-”

“She’ll be fine.” Marianne’s voice came from nearby, and Ingrid turned to see the soft mage carefully tending to her pegasus. “Her wing is broken, but she’ll recover,” Marianne told her, “You were both very lucky.”

Ingrid sighed heavily, finally relaxing a little and allowing Mercedes to continue to work on her. “Did we win?” she asked, exhaustion making her words heavy and breathless.

“The battle is almost over. There aren’t nearly as many monsters as there were earlier,” Mercedes informed her, “Sadly, there have been many casualties. Although the chaos made it difficult to see just how many.”

Ingrid cursed under her breath. She spotted Annette nearby, holding her axe up and ready in case anything should charge at them. At least some of her friends were safe...

A roar split the relative stillness of the courtyard they were in. A Beast rounded the corner, and its beady red eyes locked onto them in an instant. Marianne shot to her feet and rushed to join Annette’s side. Ingrid tried to get up but was gently held down by Mercedes. “You’re in no condition to fight,” she scolded in that soft, caring way she always had.

The Beast closed in, and was moments away from engaging in a battle when something slammed into it. Another Beast...did they start to turn on each other when they ran out of things to attack? But this Beast was different. It looked different, fought different, sounded different. It crouched down between the other Beast and the four women, growling furiously as if it was...protecting them?

Mercedes gasped in alarm, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. “Edelgard?” she uttered.

Ingrid frowned and looked again. Her heart stopped with her own shock. It was Edelgard - that hair and those golden horns were unmistakable. Her face, though distorted by blackened scales and fangs, was clear. Had they forced a Crest stone on her? Was it some kind of curse? Why did she still seem...conscious?

The Beast charged her, managing to sink its teeth into her shoulder and throwing her away. Edelgard recovered and struck with her claws - horrific, boney things - that sunk into the Beast’s flesh. Purple fire danced down her arm and engulfed the Beast in her clutches. It roared in agony as she released it, but it was silenced quickly and dissolved into black ash at her feet.

The creature that was Edelgard then took a step back. She seemed to be breathing heavily, and black blood flowed from several wounds on her back. She staggered back another step before collapsing to her knees.

But it was over, Ingrid realized, as she tore her eyes off her deformed Emperor and looked around the battlefield. There were no more monsters, no more enemies.

Somehow, they had won. And she was pretty sure she knew why.

---

“El...El! It’s me, El!”

The battle was over. The enemy defeated. Her friends safe.

The nightmare was not.

She still felt trapped in a body that was not her own. The outside world was hazy, distorted, too strange to be real. The smell of blood and death hung heavily in the air and it spoke to some feral part of her. More. She wanted more.

They would pay. They would all pay. They wanted a monster? Well now they’ve got-

“El. Easy. It’s me. I know you’re still in there.”

Somewhere in the fog came a voice she knew. A voice she loved. It was calm and reassuring and forgiving. She looked around frantically, trying to shake away the nightmare. Wake up! She’s trying to get you to wake up!

“Down here, El!”

She glanced down, discovering that she now was quite taller than the woman she loved. Even now, collapsed to her...knees?... she still had a good four feet over Byleth. Part of her almost laughed. If her body hadn’t been horrifically mutated, she might have.

The dream was starting to shift, starting to give. Reality was beginning to come back to her.

She lowered herself even more, leaning down so her eyes could meet Byleth’s. Byleth was alive. Her heart - she still had one, thank the goddess - fluttered in her hollow chest. Byleth reached for her cheek, ignoring the scales and leathery skin and teeth that could rip through flesh like a sword. Her touch was gentle, the way it always was.

So warm. So soft. So loving.

Red glowing eyes turned back to lilac.

“There you are,” Byleth said quietly, a small, relieved smile on her face.

Edelgard felt a similar shift as the one from earlier, but rather than fire that consumed her, this time it was ice. Like she had just been thrown into the frigid northern ocean. She struggled to breathe, tried to claw her way back up from the dark depths to the light of the surface. Her entire body shuddered, her muscles contracted, her bones broke again.

But the changes faded. She shrunk back to her old size. The wings and claws and tail all disintegrated. The scales and rough hide peeled off her skin like ash in the wind. She was left a mess - hair knotted, dress torn, armour mangled.

But human.

Byleth still held her cheek. She had lowered herself down to her knees, never letting go.

“B...Byleth,” Edelgard stammered. As she escaped from the dream, she realized what had happened. That...that thing she became... All those people and creatures that fell victim to her... The rage and the malice and the gore...

A monster. She had become a monster.

But it wasn’t like a curse or a Crest stone. That thing - it lives in her. It came from her, not an external force. They might have forced that second Crest on her, but it wasn’t like she could just avoid touching a glowing rock to hope to never transform again. What if she doesn’t have a choice in battle again? What if it comes easier now? What if...what if she gets stuck like that?

“Hey, hey, it’s ok, El.” She hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt Byleth thumb something away from her cheek. The more reality came crashing into her, the harder it was to breathe. No matter how much she gasped, air refused to fill her lungs and her heart felt like it was about to explode out of her chest. Tears streamed from her eyes and she clung to Byleth’s cloak with an iron grasp.

Byleth stayed gentle, patient, loving. She just continued to hold her beloved, keeping her grounded, whispering soft comforts until the Emperor’s breathing began to slow. She gently used her magic to heal some of the worst of Edelgard’s wounds.

“Are they...are they safe?” Edelgard stammered, almost whispered, so deathly afraid that she might have... “My Eagles. My friends. My...”

“Shhh, El, it’s ok. Everyone’s ok,” Byleth assured her softly, running a hand through tangled white hair, “A little worse for wear, but we’re all safe. Thanks to you.”

“But...” El choked on her words, her throat suddenly feeling very dry and torn. She coughed, and Byleth held her closer.

“From what I hear, most of them were saved by a magnificent creature, like something from a fairy tale.”

Edelgard scoffed. “You mean a monster?” she spat.

“No. Monsters don’t save people.”

“But I...” Edelgard swallowed hard, tasting blood and bile in her mouth.

“El... People are alive right now because of what you did. I’m alive because of you. I can’t say that I ever want you to do that again, but...” Byleth’s wonderful smile lit up her face, and the last of the darkness plaguing Edelgard’s mind was chased away. “You were the furthest thing from a monster, El.”

Edelgard sniffled as she pressed herself closer to Byleth, leaning her head on her Light’s chest so she could listen to that wonderful heartbeat. “I just... I’ve lost too much of my family, Byleth...” she breathed, glancing up to meet Byleth’s soft gaze, “I...I couldn’t...”

Byleth merely held her close. “You kept us all safe,” she murmured into silver hair, “You’re not going to lose anyone today.”

It was amazing - almost frightening, given what they did to her - how she had never known just how much she wished someone would say those words to her until they were said. How many nights had it been when she would lay awake or be ripped from her slumber by a nightmare fed by her guilt, by her haunted thoughts of her family, lying broken and bleeding before her? All that time she wished she could have saved even just one of them.

Would they be proud of her now?

Byleth seemed to be, anyway.

Feeling more than she had in ages, Edelgard latched onto Byleth and held her tight, tears once more flowing down her cheeks. And the love of her life merely held her close, giving her everything she ever wanted.

“Edie!”

Suddenly, a new pair of arms were wrapped around her, too, surprisingly tight and desperate. Edelgard heard Byleth huff in surprise, and surmised she had likely been caught up in the bone-crushing hug as well.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Dorothea scolded, “We were all so worried for you! You could have gotten yourself killed doing that!”

“I’ll say! I nearly blasted your head off!” Lysithea reprimanded, settling down beside them, “Next time you decide to turn into a monster to win a fight, tell us, for goddess’ sake!”

“How exactly did you do that, anyway?” Lindhardt asked, sounding the most enthusiastic he’d ever been in some time, “And would you consent to a few tests for me to find out more?”

“I’m curious too, just because it looked awesome!” Caspar pipped up, “Do ya think I could maybe...”

“Vultures, the lot of you!” Hubert grumbled, “You should all follow my example by giving her Majesty a chance to recover first before questioning her, frankly insane, decision.”

Edelgard shot her loyal friend a small smile. He might be mad, but it was because he cared.

They all cared.

A relieved laugh bubbled up from her throat, and she allowed herself this moment to relish the love she felt around her.

A wicked man once told her that love had no place in an Emperor’s heart. To be a truly powerful leader, emotions had no place within them. Never care for anyone, as they could be lost at any moment and there was no room for such weaknesses as mourning their loss. One must be cold, indifferent, willing to sacrifice anything or anyone.

She had believed him, once upon a time. He had been very effective in his teachings.

Thankfully, she had since found a far better teacher.

---

A few weeks had passed, and things had returned to normal. Edelgard no longer felt any residual pain from the transformation, and they had made significant strides against Those Who Slither in the Dark.

It was Caspar who approached her one day.

“So... You wouldn’t consider doing that again, would you? That Hegemon form of yours was awesome!”

She gulped, her throat suddenly feeling rather dry. “I’d...rather not, if I can avoid it,” she said carefully. Here it comes: the insisting that such a weapon should be at the forefront of every battle, that she was being selfish for keeping it to herself when so many suffer, that things would end quicker if she just-

“That’s ok! I understand,” Caspar replied, smiling comfortingly at her in earnest. There was no ulterior motive, no shadow in his expression, no disappointment to his voice.

If it hadn’t been confirmed to her already, it was at that moment: she was far better off with her friends than she ever was with those who only wanted to use her.

#fe three houses #fanfic #edelgard #byleth #black eagles #post-game #hegemon edelgard

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galattea · 4 years

Text

‘Til it Gets to Me

Ingrid Brandl Galatea; a character analysis or - the things to cross her mind as the world goes dark

Primary Pairing; Ingrid/Sylvain Words: 3,029 Ao3

I suppose "character analysis" is a bit of a loose term. I had initially intended to be much more direct about the deeper intricacies to Ingrid's personality and feelings, but it ended up becoming a lot more plot driven. I haven't written much (if anything at all) for FE3H and I haven't publicly posted a work in what is almost two years now, so forgive any formatting errors along the way.

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Broken voices compete with the sounds of metal tearing into metal. They harmonize in a way that makes Ingrid’s spine grow rigid. She’s high above it all, hot wind nipping at her knuckles as she loops her stallion’s reins over them once more. She raises her left arm and then levels it horizontally. A cacophony of battle cries and beating pegasus wings is the response as her fleet scatters to their assigned directions before she herself leans forward and feels the weight of her mount follow her. In one practiced movement, Ingrid draws Lúin from her back and shifts her grip.

They’re nearing the ground now — Ingrid can feel her hair slick itself back against the wind as she raises her lance toward the group of archers she’s taken to targeting. She catches one through the shoulder before her pegasus has even met the ground, and is directing her full momentum towards the smaller one a few feet away when she feels the air around her spark with electricity.

Fuck.

Of course she had expected defensive measures to be put in place the first time she’d lead her fleet to pick off the empire’s ranged soldiers while those on the true battlefield dealt with their familiar swords and spears. But they’d caught her off guard by waiting.

Ingrid tugs her reins sharply to the left and meets eyes with a mage twice her size. She knows better than to try and take him out alone with two bowmen still standing behind her, and before she can fling herself into more danger than necessary she presses her heel to the base of her mount’s wing and is airborne before the crack of lightning hits where she had just been. She prays to the goddess that she didn’t just kill off the rest of her air support by overusing a strategy and watches the ground beneath her grow smaller.

She scans the battlefield as quickly as she can before deciding her next move. Deciding it best to continue her attacks behind enemy lines, Ingrid targets her next dive toward a more isolated corner of the fight.

Her heart thrums in her chest, emerald eyes locked on the dark head of hair she is heading straight towards. She can feel the determination to right her errors by pulling as much weight as she possibly can bubble up in her throat as a battle cry.

But it fizzles out in the air as the wind is knocked directly from her.

The shrill cry of her pegasus brings her eyes to its neck. Three arrows are buried there, blood staining the silver coat in which they found their mark. Ingrid is acutely aware now that she is falling backwards, the beating of her mount’s wings stilled. She knows exactly what this means for her.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Ingrid had never been ashamed of her home in Galatea. It was a noble house, after all, and it had been maintained as well as possible since her county’s golden days. That didn’t change the fact that it was fairly small, or the way that its age was ever present in the now lackluster walls and furnishings.

That was, until she had begun spending time in the homes of her friends.

She knew she was a much lower name on the list of Faerghus’ nobles, but as a child what that really meant had never quite crossed her mind. It was on her first visit with her father to Fraldarius that she realized just how quaint her lifestyle truly was.

But it was in there that she felt the most comfortable - where most of her childhood leisure was spent. It was in Fraldarius that she fell face first in love for the first time.

(She would later realize that love wasn’t the word for what she had felt for Glenn, but rather a naive childhood admiration.)

The elder Fraldarius had made a brash first impression on Ingrid when she was freshly eight. She had seen him train many times from afar by then, but never had they spoken. It wasn’t until she all but slammed face first into him as she chased Felix through the long hallways that Ingrid heard his voice for the first time.

“A knight is worth nothing with his head in his arse.”

Ingrid knew not why he spoke such a phrase to her, but something about the annoyed look on his face made her recoil back in shame.

After that Ingrid found herself enraptured by Glenn. She spent the next year lingering longer than she ever had in front of the training area in which he spent his time. He was so young and so gifted -- his body flowing effortlessly with each swing of his sword and the concentration on his face never faltering. She was awestruck. She wanted to watch him forever.

Ingrid’s designation soon changed from her “Glenn’s betrothed” to “underpaid babysitter.” With her fiancé’s training becoming more and more serious, her ability to spectate became less and less frequent. Instead, she found herself chasing the bright red hair of Sylvain Gautier through the courtyard of Dimitri’s summer home in Fhirdiad, an enraged Felix at her side. Sylvain’s laughter had rang through the well manicured trees like a bell. -- And then Ingrid is thirteen and her whole world comes crashing down. The news of the tragedy reaches her bedroom in Galatea well into the night and she finds her mouth agape and heartbeat stopped. She feels a pang she had never known could exist in anything but books. It is in the same hour that she swears her life upon becoming a knight.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The monastery fills Ingrid with dread, but her attitude changes the moment her gaze passes the stables. It is there that her passion for riding is sparked. Of course she had spent years alongside noble horses, but never before a creature so magnificent as those that were housed at Garreg Mach. Her spare time is quickly invested in offering her aid in whatever way possible. Between her studies and time caring for the pegasi, Ingrid finds herself enjoying the company of new friends in a way she had not expected. Ashe is quick to grow on her; he is soft and kind and lingers around the stables some evenings to watch her work and discuss old stories of knights. Annette and Mercedes take much more time to acquire her fondness -- she never dislikes them, only struggles to warm up to their constant begging for her to indulge them and their games of dress up. It is through them that Ingrid realizes she has a much repressed fondness for skirts, and she finds herself looking forward to their interactions more and more. Her childhood friends, however, offer a much different company. She spends many lunches conversing with Felix and Dimitri over their studies and many more evenings sparring with Felix as he aids in her swordsmanship. It is Sylvain that she finds the most troublesome. Since they were little he had always been a man after any woman’s heart, but with the introduction of freedom he had become quite the serial flirt. She knows deep down that he is doing it to rebel against the version of himself that his father projects upon him, that he harbors no true malintent towards the hearts he breaks, and it is for that reason that she continues to clean up after him despite her complaints. She does not acknowledge the strange twist she feels in her gut every time he leaves the room early to go entertain some maiden. -- Luin’s arrival to the monastery is something Ingrid does not expect. Her father was never a fan of the way his daughter had turned from a princess with her hand belonging to a fine noble into a knight with no care for romance alongside his sons, and she takes the offering of House Galatea’s relic as acknowledgment and approval of her choices. She feels honored.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

A soft knock upon her door startles Ingrid awake and she hoists herself from her bed. It’s well after midnight, she notes, lighting the oil lamp beside her bed and opening the door. On the other side she sees the back of Sylvain’s head as he turns down the hall. She clears her throat and he halts, a sheepish look on his face as he turns back to face her. There’s a cut on his upper lip, and dried blood caked in his hair. She blanches. “Where in hell-” She is already scolding as she ushers the taller boy into her room, “How? Sylvain, what in the name of Seiros are you doing here instead of an infirmary.” “If you wanted me in an infirmary so bad you wouldn’t have just brought me into your room,” he points out. It takes everything in her not to slap him. He perches on the edge of her bed as Ingrid digs furiously through the drawers of her vanity meant to store powders and makeup. Instead, she withdraws a glass bottle and a cloth. Her footsteps are silent as she pads back towards her bed and seats herself on her knees beside him. There is something about seeing Sylvain hurt that twists her stomach. She watches her hand intently as she raises the now damp piece of fabric to the side of his head, pretending not to notice the way he leans into her touch. There is no grimace or complaint as she gently rubs the alcohol over what appears to be an impact wound, presumably from another man’s armor. “You’re not seeing double, are you?” “No ma’am,” Sylvain responds, and Ingrid is once again overcome with the urge to backhand him. The cut takes a good moment to clean, with delicate fingers struggling to part bloodied hair without causing any unnecessary pain. When it is nothing more than a bright pink and angry line in his scalp, Ingrid sits back on her haunches. She folds the cloth, spending far too much time finding a clean spot before gently raising it to the bottle of alcohol again. She sets the glass back upon her bedside table before placing her hand on Sylvain’s cheek. Butterflies erupt in her stomach as their eyes meet. She can’t fight the urges -- can’t stop herself from leaning forward. He watches her, confusion written in his expression. They flicker to her lips. She closes her eyes. His lips are soft, terribly so, she notes as they meld together. Ingrid swears they stay like that for hours, lips moving softly against one another, before she realizes what she’s doing and draws back. Sylvain’s eyes are wide, but he hadn’t stopped her. He had even returned the kiss. “Ing-” “Out of my room,” she feels the harshness in her voice and the blood rushing to her cheeks but she refuses to look at him. He stalls for a moment, gaze boring holes into every inch of her skin, and then retreats. Ingrid is left in candlelit silence. Tears stream down her face as the alcohol from the cloth soaks into her clenched fist. She doesn’t meet his gaze again for a week.

There is some sort of silent agreement in place as Ingrid sets her books down on the table and seats herself right beside Felix. Her head falls to his shoulder and he doesn’t flinch or tense or shove her away. Instead, he rests his cheek on her forehead. A vigil is held in the cathedral, in which candles are lit and silence hangs heavy over students who never knew the fallen. To Ingrid it feels wrong and disgusting to put her grief on display in front of her peers. She assumes Felix feels much the same. There are no words for how they feel. The past four years they had spent in a wordless pact to protect one another where they couldn’t protect Glenn. Ingrid laces her fingers through his and feels warmth trickle down her face. There is no ceremony that can aid the ache she feels. So they sit in their own silence, pressed against each other as though the world depends on it.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

In all of her years spent there, Ingrid had never recalled Galatea being so suffocating. She doesn’t know how to feel. In one beat she wishes to be fighting in defense of her prince like she had always sworn herself to, but in the next she feels herself seethe at the mere idea of enabling Dimitri’s rampage. It feels like she’s fighting an uphill battle with her own ideals. But it is her father that brings her to a decision. Count Galatea had never truly enjoyed his daughter’s sudden desire to fight on the frontlines. Ingrid knew this much, and saw it evidenced in the way she found herself followed by suitors at least once a week. She tries to remind herself that it is because he cares about her. “It’s nice to have you home,” he is seated behind his desk, arms folded on the heavy oak. “It is nice to be home,” Ingrid smiles. “I’m glad to finally have my daughter off the battlefield.” Ingrid’s smile falters. She says nothing as she leaves his office. Her fingers wind through her hair and suddenly it is far too long for her taste. Without a second thought, she pulls an old pair of scissors from her desk. That night, she leaves for Garreg Mach.

She doesn’t miss the expression on Felix’s face as her mount trots toward the courtyard. Sylvain is poised at his side, a grin plastered upon his face. They both look so much different, although she supposes the same could be said for herself. “You’re late,” Sylvain calls. Something in Ingrid’s chest reacts to his voice. “Goddess forbid,” she laughs, swinging off her stallion as she reaches the two of them. “Nice hair,” Felix’s expression doesn’t change as he speaks, but she supposes she’ll take it as a compliment. Her old dorm is exactly as it had been left. Ingrid doesn’t let her mind linger on that for too long as she unclasps her breastplate and places the heavy armor on her old bed. Sylvain clears his throat from the doorway and she jumps. “So what made Galatea change its mind?” She shrugs at him, not meeting his eyes as she works to take off the rest of her armor. She can feel him roll his eyes. “Did you finally get sick of your father?” “Possibly.” He laughs at this, closing the door behind him and seating himself in her old desk chair. He looks a mess now that she sees him up close; the circles under his eyes are deep and his voice is hoarse. “He's still trying to send you off?” “Trying to keep me off the battlefield, more like,” Ingrid smooths out her blouse. “Not many suitors to be called upon when the majority are out here.” “I suppose,” he agrees, and she hopes she isn’t imagining the relief that flickers across his face. “And yourself?” the question leaves her mouth before she can think twice about it. “No ma’am,” he chuckles, leaning against the back of his chair. She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Ingrid’s fingers search frantically for leverage in the thin linen of Sylvain’s shirt as he kisses her. It isn’t the same as it was when she had kissed him all those years ago. It’s hot and it’s fast and there’s the weight of their own lives on their shoulders that presses them closer together. The mat on the floor of the makeshift tent isn’t the most comfortable thing Ingrid has ever been kissed on, but she doesn’t object as calloused hands lay her down. The fire outside is dim now, but its light pokes through the fabric that covers them and bounces off of Sylvain’s features like artwork. His eyes are heavy and his breathing is ragged as he strains against the bandage wrapped taut around his shoulder to lean over her. In the middle of this war, Ingrid is in heaven. They fall into each other, desperate to communicate words they don’t have time for in heated touches until they’re holding each other as though they’ll never see each other again once they’ve let go. It is there that Ingrid decides it. She is in love with Sylvain. She has been, since they were teenagers. It feels like a shot to the chest as she acknowledges this -- allowing herself to admit love for someone who was not Glenn after so many years. She doesn’t say it, but Sylvain knows. There is no way he doesn’t. He doesn’t return it, though, that much she is aware of. He holds her to his chest and breathes in her hair, and Ingrid allows herself to believe that, just for that moment, he is hers. That night she falls asleep to the sound of his breathing. —

Someone is screaming her name from a distance but she doesn’t turn to investigate. Her right is crushed under the weight of her long dead pegasus and her head is swimming.

“Ingrid -” she can make out a dark head of hair approaching her, can feel arms pulling her from beneath the horse. The aching has long stopped alongside the thudding of hooves and cries of soldiers. The battle is over.

She’s slung over someone’s back and he smells so familiar.

“We did it,” he’s saying in a voice she recognizes but with a strain she doesn’t. “We won, Ing. You did it.”

She coughs, something wet dripping from her lips.

“Glenn,” her voice is hardly a whisper. The person holding her stills. “I did it, Glenn.”

“You did,” the voice breaks.

“Don’t cry,” she’s smiling but she doesn’t register it, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ing,” he replies, followed by a choked sob.

Her eyes are suddenly too heavy to bear. Her breathing stalls.

It is to the sound of Felix’s cries to a goddess that won’t answer that lull her to rest.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #sylvgrid #ingrid brandl galatea #fanfiction #im really sorry #she loves him and it sucks

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nicolewrites · 4 years

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this house is full of ghosts (and they all look like you)

just some thoughts from last night...

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst Characters: [Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Sylvain Jose Gautier], the Blue Lions Words: 2,532

Ingrid returns home after the war.

AO3

The ride from Enbarr back to Galatea territory is long and lonely. Ingrid doesn’t want to stretch it out any longer than it already is, so she pushes herself and her pegasus to the brink of exhaustion every day that she rides until the rich soil turns to rocky dust beneath her and she flies lower to the ground, breathing in the familiar, cold Faerghus air.

She touches down at the edge of the property that belongs to her family and she stares at the Galatea manor: big and empty at the top of the hill.

Ingrid pulls out the hunting dagger she was gifted when she was twelve and slashes the reins and bridle and tack on her pegasus until it falls free into strips of leather on the ground. The child in her is angry with both her treatment of expensive material and tack that carries so many memories for her. The Ingrid she is today wants to burn all of it.

She pushes away her pegasus by the nose and then the flank, urging him to fly away. He whinnies at her, but Ingrid doesn’t let up, shooing him away until he flaps his wings and jumps, moving away from her with a sad noise.

There is no more war so there is no more need for her to ride.

The manor is closed and locked up tightly and Ingrid doesn’t have a key. She smashes a window on the front door and picks her way through the broken glass she leaves in the entryway. She unlocks the door, to ease her comings and goings later, and then looks around her childhood home.

Dust clings to every surface and there are cobwebs strung between bannisters and rails on the chandelier above the front hall. The floors are scratched as they have always been and the rugs that cover them are matted and tattered. From the front entrance, she can just barely glimpse the portrait gallery at the top of the stairs of her entire family. She leans Luín against the wall by the door and moves closer to the stairs, staring up at the paintings.

Morbid curiosity drives her to climb the stairs slowly, her boots clicking on the wooded stairs as they creak beneath her. She stops in front of the first portrait: her father. He died defending Galatea from Empire excursions on the Alliance side four months ago. Her mother’s portrait, smiling and radiant, is gathering dust on her father’s right. Her mother has been gone for a long time.

On her father’s left is a patch of barren wall and Ingrid’s stomach twisted. Six years ago, there had been a portrait of her that had hung there. She’s not surprised that he took it down.

Her brothers are memorialized here as well, staring straight with small smiles or flat expressions. Their paintings are as lifeless as her brothers are now.

Ingrid walks back downstairs.

There are two broken windows in the parlour and half of the decorations in the room are knocked over and smashed or missing, leaving the empty shelves and tables to gather dust. There had never been much in the way of decoration anyway, thanks to the barren lands of Galatea, but they had still been nobles.

Ingrid approaches the mantle slowly, staring at the chipped and dusty bricks. Whatever was in the fireplace had long since burned to ashes, leaving a fine grey layer of soot along the base of the pit. She knows what used to sit on top of the mantle and she’s a little upset to see it gone.

The ceremonial sword had been a gift from House Fraldarius to House Galatea as a symbol of Glenn and Ingrid’s engagement. It had been the centrepiece on the mantle for as long as Ingrid can remember, but she also knows that the sword is worth a fair bit of money and that of all the things that have been stolen from her house in the last five years, the sword is something that she should have expected to be gone.

She traces the Crest of Fraldarius into the dust pattern atop the mantle and thinks of Felix.

She didn’t kill him herself, but she might as well have. She knows that he had been watching her when the Empire stormed Arianrhod. He had watched her to see if she would really cut down Kingdom soldiers, some of whom originated in Galatea.

Ingrid had made a request to Edelgard that Felix be buried with his father in the grounds outside the Silver Maiden. He had deserved an honourable burial for having died an honourable death in service to his King and country.

Nobody will be around to bury Ingrid. She doesn’t deserve their grief anyway. Maybe no one will even know when she dies. That seems like the easiest situation to pursue.

She writes Felix and Glenn’s names in the dust on either side of the Crest of Fraldarius. They can stay here with her, she supposes.

The kitchen is probably one of the dustier places in the manor. It’s too large for what was actually used by her family since it was built to accommodate a staff that her family had not been able to afford to employ.

There’s an abandoned rolling pin wedged halfway under the counter that’s filled with splinters. Ingrid picks it up and places it atop the counter, flicking it with her finger and watching it roll, lop-sided, across the top of the counter.

The Galatea manor kitchen had once been a beautiful kitchen, but the hardships of her house combined with the utter lack of care that has gone into this place since Ingrid left, have put it in quite the sorry state.

She pulls down the tattered, moth-eaten drapes and throws them in a pile. She wipes off the table and opens a window to let some air into the place. The next step would be to find a few simple wildflowers from her garden to set in the middle of the table and then she would feel almost like it was the kind of place she might have shared a meal with Dedue.

If he hadn’t been holding a grudge against her for both her treatment of him and then her siding with the Empire over her own King.

She hasn’t really been able to taste her food since the war began and she had raised arms against the Kingdom. She figures that’s only fair.

Mercedes is everywhere in her mother’s old study. She’s in the pianoforte at one end of the room and in the shattered china that litters the floor. Ingrid digs up a towel from the linen cabinet and wipes away the dust from the keys of the piano.

She sits on the rickety bench as it creaks beneath her weight and rests her fingers on yellowed keys. The piano doesn’t play properly since half the strings are broken or worn, but the D closest to the middle C makes a light chiming noise that reminds Ingrid of Mercedes’s laugh.

Mercedes had thought it funny that Ingrid could play the piano of all things, but Ingrid knows that she has never been any good at it. It had been purely for the noble appearance of it all.

She manages to find a broom back in the kitchen and she quickly sweeps up the remains of shattered china and trampled tea leaves. A few of the pieces of the tea set, ones that were in the cabinet for safekeeping, have survived over the years, but they just remind Ingrid of her mother as well so she leaves the study as abruptly as she had entered it.

Next to her mother’s study, is her father’s office. The room that, at times, doubled as a war room when Galatea still held an advantageous position in the war. Ingrid can only ever remember standing in the doorway of the room as a child, waiting to be granted permission to enter, despite never having received it.

Her father’s study is where she had been told that she would marry Glenn and it’s where she had been told that Glenn was dead. Her father’s study is where she had taken Luín and told her father that she would not serve the Kingdom, that she had made her choice.

She dusts the edges of the bookshelves in this room. It’s mostly battle tactics and farming techniques that have never born fruit, but there are the occasional magic tomes tucked in between as well. One of her brothers had had an aptitude for magic, even without a Crest, but Ingrid has never shared that blessing.

Annette had tried to teach her a simple Reason spell once, but Ingrid had only succeeded in giving herself frostbite on her fingertips before the spell fizzled and Annette had laughed, warming her hands up with a perfectly controlled fire spell.

Annette probably would have liked her father’s study with its leather armchair that is perfect for sitting with a good book and his sturdy oak desk that’s both a statement piece of furniture and also the perfect size and height for getting a lot of work done.

Ingrid writes Annette’s name in the dust atop her father’s desk before she searches the drawers. Surprisingly, she finds a spare key to the manor in the bottom right drawer hidden under a bunch of paper records and letters.

She hesitantly takes out one of the letters and stares at the familiar, curling script on the page. It’s Annette’s handwriting and it’s dated four years ago as her friend asks her father about Ingrid’s whereabouts and the situation in Galatea on behalf of House Dominic.

She leaves the letter on the top of the desk when she leaves the study.

Ingrid’s own bedroom is the next place she dares to venture. The stairs and floorboards creak under her feet and she feels weary from days of heavy travel and fighting and horrible sleep, but she can’t stop now.

At least the manor is empty.

Her room is exactly how she left it years ago: a bed tucked on the right side with sheets pulled up neatly, like a soldier. There’s a vanity across from the bed, next to a dresser, and then there are three bookshelves, all packed full of books that Ingrid had collected as a child.

The large window in her room isn’t broken, but the latch is stuck when she tries to open it, so she doesn’t force it.

Ingrid studies the titles on her bookshelves. Most of them are knight’s tales and fairytales with knightly and chivalrous characters who would die and lay down their lives for their loves and for their rulers. There are a few Faerghan history books as well.

Ingrid had always meant to bring Ashe home just to see her collection. She had wanted to share with him a new story that he hadn’t heard yet, since he managed to find her the Moon Knight, that wonderful story about the female knight.

She has a few books that she can pick out, even after all this time that she knows Ashe would have been incredibly interested in reading. She picks books off her shelves until her arms are so full that she can’t carry any more and she dumps them into her fireplace. She doesn’t have a match on her right now, but she’ll light them up later.

She’s got no use for books on knighthood and chivalry now.

She brushes her hands off and moves to sit on her bed. Like everything else, there is a fine coat of dust over her sheets, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, sitting on the mattress that was always just a little too firm for her taste as a child. It hasn’t aged well and it sags beneath her weight.

Ingrid leans back, falling onto her back on the bed, ignoring the puff of dust that flares in the air around her. She rolls onto her side, towards the far wall that her bed is pressed against and she presses her fingers into the wooden wall. She doesn’t have to search hard for what she’s looking for.

Her fingers clear the dust from the carved crevices and then she’s staring at the carved letters: D, A, and B.

It had been a silly childhood fantasy of hers to serve Dimitri as both a knight and also something more. Her crush had faded quickly once she had become engaged to Glenn.

For the first time since she had set foot in her old home, Ingrid’s eyes grow warm and wet.

Dimitri had fallen in the rain on the Tailtean Plains and Edelgard had taken his head clean off with one swipe of her axe and Ingrid remembers that she had screamed. She hadn’t cried on the battlefield when Felix had died, but she had fallen asleep clutching the old Fraldarius Crest ring that Glenn had given her, dreaming of his brother.

Felix’s death, at least, had been quick. Dimitri had watched his army crumble and his close ally, Dedue, mutate himself into one of the monstrous Crest-beasts.

And then he had lost his head.

Ingrid rolls onto her back and stares up blankly at the ceiling. The last time she had come to Galatea, before she had delivered her ultimatum, she hadn’t been alone in this room.

She had told him to leave, but the only person she had ever known who was stubborn enough to ignore her stayed instead. They had lain side-by-side on her too-small bed, Ingrid’s head resting against his shoulder while his arm wrapped around her. It had been nice.

She wishes that that had been her last memory of Sylvain.

She wishes she could just think of how warm he had been next to her on the bed and how it had felt when he had asked that night in the candlelight if he could kiss her. She wishes she could say that it had been enough for her to hold Sylvain for one night, that she returned to Fhirdiad or to Fraldarius or to Gautier with him to fight on behalf of the Kingdom.

Instead, she lives with the memory of driving Luín through the plates of his armour as she cried on the battlefield at the Tailtean Plains.

Do it yourself, he had said to her. Make it worth it.

She had grounded herself after that, keeping her feet anchored in the sucking mud of the field as she had screamed and cut down anyone, friend or foe, who had tried to get close to her.

Ingrid had buried Sylvain herself and stuck the Lance of Ruin into the earth like a cursed gravemarker.

Lying on her bed, alone, Ingrid imagines Sylvain’s lips on hers and how cold he had felt when she had kissed him then, rain and blood-soaked. Her tears roll down her cheeks and she closes her eyes, listening for the wind as it blows into her home through the windows she had opened on the main floor.

Galatea manor is full of ghosts. Ingrid feels like becoming one of them.

#the writing section #ingrid brandl galatea #fe3h #fe3h fic #g: angst #ship: sylvgrid #sylvgrid #sylgrid #ship: sylgrid #c: ingrid brandl galatea #words: 2.5k+#r: t+#fire emblem three houses #nicole writes

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fireemblemtcg · 4 years

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fecipher twitter, 24-6-2020:

The card list for the Series 21 booster pack, "Tempest of Apocalyptic Flame", has been published on the official site. #FEcipher https://fecipher.jp/cards_category/bt0021/

More Fire Emblem Cipher Series 21 translations!

[Click “Keep reading” for the translated card list]

B21-001SR(+) Dimitri: Awakened Savior King (Great Lord) B21-002N Dimitri: Blue Lion of Vengeance (High Lord) B21-003HN Dimitri: Heir of Blaiddyd (Noble) B21-004R Dedue: Guardian of the Lion (Fortress Knight) B21-005N Dedue: Taciturn Devotee (Fighter) B21-006HN Felix: Sword Brute of Faerghus (Mortal Savant) B21-007R Ashe: Arrow of Justice (Sniper) B21-008N Ashe: Lord Lonato's Adoptive Son (Commoner) B21-009HN Sylvain: Battle-Worn Armored Knight (Great Knight) B21-010N Sylvain: Philandering Lancer (Soldier) B21-011SR Mercedes: Benevolent Soul (Holy Knight) B21-012N Mercedes: Warmhearted Nun (Monk) B21-013HN Annette: Soul-Stirring Singing Voice (Dancer) B21-014R Ingrid: Stalwart Knight (Falcon Knight) B21-015N Ingrid: Upstanding Soldieress (Soldier) B21-016SR(+) Claude (Fódlan): Dawn-Heralding Wings (Barbarossa) B21-017N Claude (Fódlan): World-Uniting Golden Deer (Wyvern Master) B21-018HN Claude (Fódlan): Successor of Riegan (Noble) B21-019R Lorenz (Fódlan): Shoulderer of Fódlan's Future (Dark Knight) B21-020N Lorenz (Fódlan): Noble of the Red Rose (Monk) B21-021HN Raphael: Beast of Leicester (War Master) B21-022N Raphael: Diligently Training Youth (Fighter) B21-023HN Ignatz: Worldly Artist (Sniper) B21-024R Lysithea: Magewright Master of Light and Dark (Gremory) B21-025N Lysithea: Diligent Mage Prodigy (Monk) B21-026HN Marianne: Holy Maiden Bound for Tomorrow (Bishop) B21-027SR Hilda (Fódlan): Soaring Free Spirit (Wyvern Lord) B21-028N Hilda (Fódlan): Ladyling of House Goneril (Noble) B21-029R Leonie: The Blade Breaker II (Bow Knight) B21-030N Leonie: Bearing Memories of Her Master (Fighter) B21-031R Edelgard: Unwavering Imperial Princess (Fortress Knight) B21-032HN Petra: Brigid Ruler in the Making (Wyvern Rider) B21-033N Petra: Spirit Protection-Clad Princess (Fighter) B21-034SR Yuri: Underground Lord (Trickster) B21-035N Yuri: Beautiful Thief Boss (Thief) B21-036N Yuri: House Leader of the Ashen Wolves (Commoner) B21-037HN Balthus: King of Grappling (War Monk) B21-038N Balthus: Hoodlum of House Albrecht (Noble) B21-039HN Constance: Two-Faced Mage Flier (Dark Flier) B21-040N Constance: Lady of House Nuvelle (Noble) B21-041SR(+) Hapi: Karma-Burdened Valkyrie (Valkyrie) B21-042N Hapi: Demonic Beast-Summoning Girl (Commoner) B21-043R Shamir: Famed Archer of the Knights of Seiros (Sniper) B21-044N Shamir: Foreign Mercenary (Fighter) B21-045N Jeritza: Masked Swordsmanship Teacher (Myrmidon) B21-046HN Anna: Fighting Merchant (Trickster) B21-047HN Hegemon Edelgard: At the End of the Ideals She Served (Hegemon Husk) B21-048HN Nemesis: Resurrected King of Liberation (King of Liberation) B21-049HN Alice: Lady Saving a World at War (Wyvern Lord) B21-050N Valjean: Armored Fisherman Knight (Great Knight)

B21-051SR(+) Eliwood: Knightly Heritor of a Legend's Will (Knight Lord) B21-052N Eliwood: Firstborn Son of House Pherae (Lord) B21-053HN Eliwood: Noble of Heroic Blood (Lord) B21-054R Lyn: Plains-Loving Sword Princess (Sword Princess) B21-055N Lyn: Noble Lady of Caelin (Lord) B21-056R Florina: Aiming to be a Fine Flier (Falcoknight) B21-057N Florina: Ilian Pegasus Knight Apprentice (Pegasus Knight) B21-058HN Lucius: A Light Close to a Lone Sword (Bishop) B21-059N Lucius: Eliminean Monk (Monk) B21-060HN Wallace: Crag of Caelin (General) B21-061HN Bartre: Fervent Daughter-Loving Warrior (Warrior) B21-062N Bartre: Wild Axefighter (Fighter) B21-063R Hector: Marquess of Ostia (Great Lord) B21-064N Hector: Dauntless Brother of the Marquess (Lord) B21-065R Priscilla: Ever At My Lord Brother's Side... (Valkyrie) B21-066N Priscilla: Daughter of Count Caerleon (Troubadour) B21-067SR Raven: Unquenched Flame of Vengeance (Hero) B21-068N Raven: Nemesis-Targeting Swordsman (Mercenary) B21-069R Heath: Wandering Knight (Wyvern Lord) B21-070N Heath: Principled Wyvern Rider (Wyvern Rider) B21-071SR(+) Lilina: Leader of Flame and Thunder (Sage) B21-072N Lilina: Lady of the General's Lineage (Mage) B21-073SR Rutger: Blaze-Wreathed Evilcleaver (Swordmaster) B21-074N Rutger: Lone Mercenary (Myrmidon) B21-075SR Sue: Swift Wind-Wielding Plainscharger (Nomadic Trooper) B21-076N Sue: Granddaughter of the Kutolah Chieftain (Nomad) B21-077HN Jerrot: General of the Knights of Ilia (Paladin) B21-078HN Noah: Vagrant Mercenary Knight (Paladin) B21-079N Noah: Member of the Knights of Ilia (Cavalier) B21-080HN Astolfo: Ostian Shadow (Thief) B21-081R Fir: Devotee of the Endless Path of the Sword (Swordmaster) B21-082HN Fir: She Who Lives for the Sword (Swordmaster) B21-083N Fir: Myrmidon of the Sword Princess's Blood (Myrmidon) B21-084N Shin: Falcon of Sacae (Nomad) B21-085HN Dayan: The Silver Wolf (Nomadic Trooper) B21-086HN Juno: For a World Without War (Falcoknight) B21-087N Juno: Motherly Knight Sister (Pegasus Knight) B21-088HN Murdock: The Kingdom's Mightiest General (General) B21-089HN Poe: Judgement Rider (Valkyrie) B21-090N Poe: Love Evangelist (Troubadour)

B21-091SR(+) Peony: Sweet Dream-Bringing Lass (Elf) B21-092N Peony: Friend in a Dream (Elf) B21-093HN Peony: Elf from the Land of Dreams (Elf) B21-094R Sharena: Spear Princess in the Elf World (Princess) B21-095N Sharena: To the Sleeping World (Princess) B21-096R Triandra: Messenger of Nightmares (Elf) B21-097N Triandra: Elf from the Nightmare Realm (Elf) B21-098HN Plumeria: Desire-Gratifying Nightmare (Elf) B21-099N Plumeria: Elf of Lewd Dreams (Elf) B21-100HN Freyr: Dream-Governing God (Elf King)

B21-101HR Byleth (F): Hearer of the Goddess's Voice (Swordmaster) B21-102HR Roy: Darkness-Defying Fire (Great Lord) B21-103HR Anna: Veteran Commander (Agent)

#fire emblem #series: 21 #card list

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