Chapter Text
Ingrid was thinking. Seriously. Intensely.
She had to find a gift for Dorothea.
Time had flown by since their last late-night encounter, and Ingrid hadn’t had a single second to herself. Between classes, missions, training, sorting through letters from suitors, dealing with Sylvain’s nonsense, impromptu duels with Felix, tending the stables, and cleaning weapons with the knights… she was everywhere. Always helping. Always available. Always in motion.
And she didn’t complain. Not at all.
But as a result, the month had sped by, and here she was already on Sunday the 21st. The only real day off in her week—and there was just one left, the 28th, only a day before the birthday.
She couldn’t wait until the last minute. That would be ridiculous, shameful, and above all, unworthy of a knight.
But even with more time, she wouldn’t have known what to give. Finding a good present had never been her strong suit. Ingrid wasn’t… intuitive, let’s say, when it came to other people’s tastes.
And Dorothea… Dorothea talked a lot, yes, but she always implied she liked everything. Absolutely everything. Which, for Ingrid, made things even harder. She didn’t want to give just anything. It had to be something she would truly like. Something that mattered. Something that could… bring out that special smile Dorothea sometimes had.
But what?
Dorothea had invited everyone. Even the students from Abyss, from what Ingrid had heard. Hilda was already giggling about the fact they might come up to the surface for the occasion.
Even they probably had a gift.
Ingrid, for her part, had ended up asking Sylvain what he planned to give. He’d replied, grinning, that a bouquet of roses would be just perfect:
"Roses, because that’s what Dorothea makes me think of, and flowers always make women happy, right?"
She’d had to fight the urge to punch him in the face.
A bouquet. Honestly.
She wanted something more personal. More sincere. Not necessarily expensive—her father only sent her a modest sum each month, and there was no way she’d ask for more—but… a gift that had meaning. Something Dorothea would remember.
And besides, Dorothea had been a diva. A real one. Pampered, showered with luxurious presents by wealthy nobles… How was she supposed to compete with that?
No, no. There was no need to impress. Just… to make her happy. To make her smile for her.
That thought alone was enough to bring a little warmth to her cheeks.
Ingrid didn’t even feel the cool breeze or the shy autumn sun.
All she could see was that cursed date drawing closer—and that cursed gift idea she still hadn’t found.
She startled slightly when she sensed someone beside her.
“Hello, Ingrid.”
She turned her head. It was Mercedes, who had just sat down with a gentle smile.
“Oh—hello, Mercedes…” Ingrid replied, a little surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by and saw you sitting alone. You looked worried.”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow.
“Worried? But… how can you tell that just by looking at me?”
Mercedes tilted her head slightly to the side, still wearing that same soft smile.
“I’ve always had a little knack for noticing when someone isn’t doing well. It’s instinctive, I suppose.”
Ingrid sighed, gazing straight ahead.
“I wish I had that knack too…”
Mercedes looked momentarily surprised.
“But you already help everyone, Ingrid. You’re always there for us.”
Ingrid shook her head.
“No, it’s not the same. You can feel when someone isn’t okay. I just react when someone asks me for help. If they don’t say anything, I don’t notice.”
Mercedes lowered her eyes for a moment, then placed a light hand on the bench between them.
“What you do is already very precious, you know. You give your time, your strength…”
But Ingrid cut her off, her hands tightening on her knees.
“It’s not enough.”
Mercedes fell silent for a moment, a little surprised by Ingrid’s sharp tone. Then her smile returned, softer than before.
Ingrid sighed.
“Anyway… that’s not even what’s stressing me right now,” she went on. “It’s Dorothea’s gift. I still haven’t found anything. And her birthday’s coming up fast.”
She turned her eyes toward Mercedes.
“Do you already know what you’re going to give her?”
Mercedes nodded gently.
“I’m going to make sweets from Enbarr. They’re specialties from there, so I thought it might bring back good memories for her.”
Ingrid stared at her in silence. The idea struck her as both simple… and perfect. Well thought out, personal. Exactly the sort of thing she could never seem to come up with.
She sighed again.
“How do you always manage to have the best gift ideas?”
Mercedes shrugged slightly, looking a bit shy.
“Oh, I don’t know if they’re the best, but I just try to think about what would make the person happy. That’s all.”
Ingrid crossed her arms, looking a little sulky.
“Last time, for Sylvain’s birthday, you gave him an amazing cologne. And honestly, he didn’t deserve it…”
Mercedes let out a soft laugh, her hand covering her mouth.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Maybe. But still…” Ingrid muttered.
She looked straight ahead again, her face troubled.
Mercedes folded her hands on her knees and turned her head slightly toward Ingrid.
“You know… to understand how others feel, you have to start by observing.”
Ingrid frowned.
“Observing? I already do that. I’m always watching people—especially on the battlefield.”
Mercedes shook her head gently.
“It’s not the same thing. Watching to track movement and watching to understand emotion… are very different.”
Ingrid narrowed her eyes.
“But how am I supposed to know what someone’s feeling just by looking? I can’t read minds, Mercedes.”
Mercedes smiled, amused by the response.
“You don’t need to read minds. Look at their posture, their face, their gestures… For example, if someone keeps their shoulders low and avoids eye contact, they might be sad or embarrassed.”
Ingrid crossed her arms.
“Or maybe they’re just tired.”
Mercedes laughed softly.
“That’s true… but that’s why you also have to listen. Not just to what they say, but how they say it.”
Ingrid shrugged.
“I don’t see how that’s supposed to help me figure out what kind of gift to give…”
Mercedes calmly continued:
“Because if you know how someone is feeling or what they’re going through, you can guess what might bring them a little joy.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, your way of thinking sounds way too complicated for me.”
Mercedes tilted her head, still smiling.
“It’s not complicated, but it does take patience… and a bit of sensitivity.”
“Sensitivity…” Ingrid repeated, looking doubtful. “I’m not sure I have much of that.”
Mercedes shook her head softly.
“You have more than you think. You just need to stop focusing only on what people do, and start asking yourself why they do it.”
Ingrid stayed silent for a few seconds, then sighed.
“I’m not making any promises. But… I guess I can try.”
Mercedes smiled, though she knew Ingrid didn’t yet see exactly where she was going with this.
Ingrid lowered her head, looking a little hopeless, then finally turned her eyes toward Mercedes.
“And you… do you ever not say exactly what you’re thinking?”
Mercedes gave a small, amused smile.
“Of course. I think everyone does… and for lots of different reasons.” She tilted her head slightly. “And you, Ingrid… you don’t always say what you’re thinking, do you?”
Ingrid stayed silent for a moment. She felt her heart quicken. The answer was obvious. Ever since she was a child, she’d kept to herself anything she considered unworthy. Of course she didn’t say everything.
She simply nodded.
Mercedes smiled warmly.
“I thought so.”
Ingrid looked up, surprised.
“What do you mean, you thought so?”
“I’ve seen you do it before…” Mercedes replied gently. “And I’d bet it’s not just a few feelings you hide from others, but a whole inner world.”
Ingrid wanted to argue, but Mercedes went on in the same calm tone:
“You know, there are some secrets that are better left to come out on their own… when the person carrying them is ready. You have to give them time.”
Feeling a little awkward, Ingrid tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“And what about you, then? What are you hiding?”
Mercedes gave a slight start, surprised by the question.
“Oh… I think I hide far fewer things than you do. I always try to be honest with my friends. But… sometimes, when I’m not feeling very well, I’d rather lie so I don’t worry anyone.”
Seeing the concern on Ingrid’s face, she quickly added:
“It’s never anything serious, I promise.”
“Then why do you get sad sometimes?” Ingrid asked, still looking straight at her.
Mercedes gave a faint, melancholy smile.
“It’s often when I think about my little brother. Emile.”
Ingrid blinked.
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“He’s actually my half-brother… but to me, he’s like a real one.” Mercedes hesitated for a second before asking, “And you, do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Yes, two older brothers,” Ingrid replied. “There’s sixteen years between me and the oldest, and nine with the younger of the two. I get along well with the second one… but we’ve never been really close because of the age gap. And with the oldest, I think we’ve only had maybe five real conversations since I was born.”
She paused for a moment before asking:
“But… why does thinking about your little brother make you sad?”
Mercedes lowered her gaze a little.
“Because… it’s been more than twelve years since I last saw him. I don’t even know how he’s doing. I haven’t had a single bit of news…” Her voice grew softer. “Sometimes, I miss him terribly. And… I’m starting to lose hope of ever finding him again.”
Mercedes didn’t let Ingrid answer and, smiling, said:
“As for your gift for Dorothea, you should just trust your instincts. Knowing Dorothea, anything that comes from you will make her happy. And besides, despite her sophisticated diva air, she’s not the kind to be picky about presents.”
She added with a gentle smile:
“Give her something with real sentimental value. That will please her much more. There’s no need to make things complicated.”
Then she went on:
“You can also start from her tastes.”
Ingrid sighed, feeling a little ashamed.
“The problem is, I don’t actually know what she truly likes… It’s bad, I know, considering we’ve known each other for months, but I have no idea what she enjoys—other than flirting.”
Mercedes chuckled softly.
“Well, in that case, you can start from that. Give her something seductive. But most importantly”—she repeated—“it should have a real meaning for you.”
Suddenly, an idea struck Ingrid. She stood up abruptly to face Mercedes, who was still sitting on the bench.
“I know what I’m going to get her!”
She grabbed Mercedes’ hands, pulled her to her feet, a wide smile lighting her face.
“It’s thanks to you—thank you, Mercedes!”
Mercedes, startled by the sudden burst of energy, stammered:
“Oh, it’s nothing…”
But Ingrid frowned slightly, took on a serious look, and said:
“Once I graduate, I’m going to search for Émile. I’ll find him, I promise you.”
Mercedes, confused, asked:
“Why is that?”
Still holding her hands, Ingrid drew them closer to their faces, looking straight into her eyes.
“So that you’ll never have to lie about your smile again. Because if there’s anyone who deserves to be happy, it’s you.”
Then she gently released her hands, gave her a quick farewell, and walked away, thanking her one last time.
Mercedes remained alone on the bench, as the paleness of her cheeks slowly turned a soft shade of red. She watched Ingrid leave, and a sigh escaped her lips.
“Dorothea is really very lucky…” she murmured.
Mercedes startled at the sound of hurried footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Annette approaching, grumbling.
“Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?” Annette said with a frown. “I just asked you to check with Raphael if he’d swiped our sugar, not to go off on some philosophical stroll!”
Mercedes let out a soft laugh before replying with a calm smile:
“I just needed a quiet moment to think a little—have a small conversation with myself, you know.”
Annette gave her a look that was half amused, half exasperated, then sighed:
“You’re my best friend, that’s for sure, but sometimes, I’ve gotta admit, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Mercedes nodded gently.
Annette went on, a bit more seriously:
“So, did you at least ask Raphael about the sugar?”
Mercedes shrugged, realizing she’d been putting it off for a while.
“Not yet, I’ll admit…”
Annette let out an exaggerated sigh, but a mischievous smile brightened her face.
“Well, I’m coming with you. That way you’ll have no excuse to get out of it.”
Mercedes teased her back:
“I’m not a child, but still… it’s always nice to have your company.”
Annette burst out laughing.
“And besides, I have to tell you how things went with Felix and the invitation! You’re not going to believe your ears!”
Sylvain was tightening Ingrid’s corset firmly, and she didn’t hesitate to complain about the pressure and pain.
“You have to suffer to be beautiful—that’s the rule,” Sylvain declared.
Ingrid shot him an exasperated look.
“First, that’s a completely stupid and misogynistic idea. And second, why is it necessarily you, the biggest Don Juan I know, who has to help me get dressed?”
“Because I’m your best friend, the one and only!” he replied busily. “And since I’m used to taking off corsets, I manage to put them on too.”
Without warning, Ingrid elbowed him hard in the stomach, making him double over.
The 29th had finally arrived. With Edelgard’s approval, Dorothea had reserved the Hall of the Jet Eagles for her party.
Everyone was supposed to meet at 7 p.m.; it was already 6 p.m., and while Sylvain helped Ingrid slip into her dress, her apprehension grew. Ingrid wasn’t really used to this kind of event.
Her dress, simple but elegant, had belonged to her mother at her age. A bit too tight for her since her mother had a less athletic build. Deep turquoise in color, it had long sleeves and stopped just above the knees. Extremely sober, and thank the goddess, with no frills.
Once ready, she waited for Annette and Mercedes, who were supposed to take care of her makeup and hair. Apparently, they were early.
Sylvain, meanwhile, wore a flawless suit. Ingrid, though she would never admit it—knowing his personality—thought it suited him perfectly.
But as she could do nothing more, the stress crept in. What if her gift idea wasn’t right?
Seeing her agitation, Sylvain laughed softly.
“Don’t worry, Mercedes and Annette will be here soon. And you’re going to look stunning for Dorothea.”
Ingrid frowned.
“Shut up. By the way, are you bringing someone?”
Sylvain hesitated for a moment, then an ironic smile appeared on his lips.
“The person I invited is already taken. So I’m going solo. Ironic, coming from me, huh?”
“I’m sorry for you, but also relieved to learn I won’t have to apologize on your behalf to some poor girl whose heart you broke,” Ingrid replied with a smirk. Sylvain shuddered, but she chose not to press the point.
There was a knock at the door.
Sylvain opened it to let Mercedes and Annette in. In an instant, Ingrid’s room was filled with four people, and she wondered if, with the amount of accessories Annette was carrying, they weren’t going to end up cramped.
Seeing Sylvain, Annette raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing here? A boy has no business here!”
Sylvain immediately raised his hands in a peace gesture.
“Promise, I’ll behave.”
Mercedes smiled at Ingrid.
“That dress really suits you.”
Ingrid, not used to receiving compliments, felt her cheeks flush.
“Thank you... You look very beautiful too.”
Mercedes tilted her head slightly, still smiling. Ingrid studied her for a moment: her long blonde hair braided into a wide plait resting over her shoulder. Her white dress, trimmed with delicate red and gold stitching, left her shoulders bare. The makeup was subtle, just enough to highlight her natural beauty.
Ingrid then turned to Annette. She had tied her red hair into a bun, with a few strands escaping at the nape of her neck. Her dress, shorter than Mercedes’s, was pink with thin straps. She’s going to freeze like that... thought Ingrid, before noticing a white wool jacket in the pile Annette was carrying. Her makeup, a bit more pronounced, especially emphasized her big eyes.
They’re beautiful... Women really are beautiful... Ingrid thought, before giving herself a couple of light taps on the cheeks to shake off the thoughts.
Annette spoke again:
“Okay, I’ll do your makeup and Mercedes will take care of your hair, is that okay?”
Ingrid nodded.
She sat down on the chair in the center of the room, Annette took her place in front of her, preparing brushes and powders, while Mercedes positioned herself behind and gently placed her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders.
“Can I undo your hair?” Mercedes asked.
“Yes, go ahead.”
The braid quickly came undone, freeing Ingrid’s long hair. On the couch, Sylvain had settled, watching the scene.
Annette showed a small satisfied smile as she began her work.
She had dreamed for months of doing Ingrid’s makeup, but Ingrid had always refused, finding it unnecessary. This time, she had no choice.
Behind her, Mercedes brushed her hair with incredible gentleness.
“How do you brush without ever pulling?” Ingrid asked.
“By practicing on myself,” Mercedes replied with a small laugh. Then she sighed. “Even though I love my hair, sometimes I wish it were shorter. It would save me time.”
Ingrid nodded in agreement... and immediately received a reprimand.
“Don’t move!” protested Annette.
While Ingrid closed one eye at Annette’s request, Mercedes said:
“By the way, Annette, what time is Félix supposed to come pick you up?”
Ingrid frowned.
“Don’t move,” insisted Annette.
Mercedes laughed softly.
“Annette asked Félix to accompany her to the party. And, against all odds, he agreed.”
“I had to insist a lot, and promise... let’s say, several things in return,” added Annette, a bit embarrassed.
Ingrid blinked, surprised. The idea that Félix would simply show up at a party already shocked her, but that he would come with someone? Unthinkable. With her only free eye, she glanced at Sylvain.
“You knew about this?”
Sylvain, lost in thought, took a few seconds before answering.
“Yes...” he said finally, with an almost sad expression.
Ingrid was about to open her mouth to ask Sylvain what was bothering him, but Annette suddenly grabbed her face, forcing her to turn toward her.
“Ingrid, if you keep squirming like that, we’ll never finish!”
Slouched on the couch and refocused, Sylvain raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Yet Mercedes is doing just fine.”
Annette shot him a black look.
“That’s because she’s too nice to tell him to stay still.”
“Oh, so you’re not nice?” Sylvain replied with a smirk.
She just stuck out her tongue at him before returning to her brush.
“Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with him and Félix every day.”
“Me neither,” Ingrid answered in the most expressionless tone she could muster.
A soft chuckle came from behind her—Mercedes was still gently brushing her hair.
The session lasted about thirty minutes, punctuated by Sylvain’s nonstop chatter, until Annette finally stepped back, satisfied.
“And voilà!” she declared proudly.
Frozen in her chair, Ingrid didn’t even dare blink, afraid of ruining their work. Mercedes circled around the chair to join Annette.
“I’m proud of us,” Annette announced.
“And I think she’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” added Mercedes with a radiant smile.
Ingrid furrowed her brows slightly — Mercedes was exaggerating a bit, wasn’t she? But Sylvain’s eyes widened.
“But… where’s the Ingrid who rolled in the mud and competed in our burping contests?”
Blushing, Ingrid shot him a glare.
“Shut up.” Then, to Annette who looked at her oddly, she explained, “That was when we were kids.”
Mercedes placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You should look at yourself.”
Ingrid stood up hesitantly and leaned toward the vanity mirror. She hesitated for a moment, closed her eyes, then opened them again. No, it really was her… but different.
Her eyes seemed brighter thanks to a light dusting of powder that made their green stand out. Her lashes looked fuller, her dark circles gone, and her lips showed a natural rosy tint. Her hair, slightly wavy, was half-up, held back by a white ribbon that perfectly completed the look.
“I respected your style,” Annette explained, arms crossed, chin high. “No need for layers of makeup to highlight a pretty face.”
Mercedes gave her a kind look.
“So? Do you like it?”
Ingrid shrugged slightly.
“Yes… but I feel like it’s not really me.”
“Why’s that?” Mercedes asked.
“I’m not beautiful like this,” she whispered.
Sylvain, behind them, burst out laughing.
“Oh, so you can say nonsense too, apparently.”
Annette shook her head.
“Stop doubting yourself. We just emphasized what’s already there.”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow, not quite convinced.
Mercedes leaned in slightly, her face close to Ingrid’s.
“What Annie means is that if the result looks so good, it’s because you’re already beautiful to start with. It wouldn’t look the same on anyone else.”
Ingrid sighed, then finally said:
“Thanks… But this is a one-time thing, okay? No way these glam-ups become a habit.”
Annette rolled her eyes, and Mercedes let out a light, clear laugh.
There was another knock at the door. Sylvain got up to open it… and froze.
“…Félix?”
The newcomer stood there, wearing a simple shirt and a blue tie hanging crookedly. His gaze hardened slightly when he saw Sylvain, but he quickly got to the point:
“I came to pick up Annette.”
He explained that he had first knocked on her room door, but not finding her there, he had asked Bernadetta, her roommate, where she was. Upon hearing the name, his eyebrows briefly furrowed—a sign, according to Ingrid, that Bernadetta still had a… particular reaction to Félix’s personality.
“She told me you had gone to help Ingrid get ready,” he finished.
Annette, surprised to see him so early, stayed motionless for a moment. Félix then entered, slightly bumping into Sylvain, making Ingrid sigh — the room was seriously getting too crowded.
“It’s 6:50 PM,” he noted. “You told me to come fifteen minutes earlier, but I got delayed. Couldn’t find you.”
At those words, everyone except Félix widened their eyes. Ingrid would have sworn barely twenty minutes had passed since she last looked at the clock.
Félix sighed and turned to Annette:
“I’ll wait outside while you gather your things.”
He left again. Sylvain hesitated, as if wanting to say something, then finally followed him. Ingrid frowned — his behavior was definitely odd.
Annette then grabbed her bottles of nail polish… which slipped from her hands and rolled onto the floor.
“Oh, come on! At this rate, he’ll leave without me!” she exclaimed in panic.
“Breathe,” Mercedes said calmly. “Go join him, I’ll take care of tidying up.”
Annette looked up.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, you’re saving me!”
She grabbed her jacket and disappeared as well.
Mercedes crouched to pick up the scattered bottles. Ingrid joined her almost immediately.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to,” Mercedes said, seeing her move.
“You didn’t have to help Annette either,” Ingrid replied as she stacked some bottles in her hand. “But you did. So why wouldn’t I?”
Mercedes let out a small laugh. They had almost finished when she spoke again:
“By the way… did you find a gift for Dorothea?”
“Yes…” Ingrid hesitated. “Well… now I’m not so sure about my choice. But at least I have something. And that’s thanks to you.”
Mercedes’ smile softened.
“Then I’m glad I could help.”
“I admit I’m still a little nervous…” Ingrid murmured. “What if she doesn’t like it?”
Mercedes seemed to reflect for a moment. Her expression darkened, almost imperceptibly… then she pulled herself together and gave Ingrid a reassuring look.
“Dorothea is very lucky. I’m sure she’ll like it.”
“You don’t even know what it is, how can you be so sure?”
“Because I trust you. And personally, I would love to receive a gift you spent so much time thinking about.”
Ingrid sighed, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I hope you’re right… and that this evening goes well.”
Mercedes simply responded with a smile.