#ingrid “to honor glenn i will become him” galatea

[pirdmystery]

have not been able to think about anything but the glenn govan fraldarius art i rb'd earlier today

[butwhatifidothis]

Flayn and Seteth calling Woobiegard and her loyal slobbering pets the fuck out: "You go sweeties, beat their asses!!!" Man I think Captain's take on Ingrid is possibly THE most insufferable character in this whole fic second only to Woobiegard herself. Like every time Woobiegard or Ingrid start speaking in this fic I can feel my braincells withering away.

Honestly? I think it's been a long time since I've seen a character this badly misinterpreted in a fanfiction before. I'd argue Ingrid is actually more poorly represented that all of Dimitri, Claude, or even Rhea. Because, like, with them there are at least some times where something is adjacent to correct. Ingrid? After a certain point, she's just an OC.

Her live-long dream to become a knight, that she had before Glenn died? Well, actually, her life-long dream was to fix Galatea territory, and she only ever wanted to become a knight to 1) die, because she's totally suicidal, 2) because Glenn died, and she just wants to be a knight in his place, and 3) because Faerghus stinky doodoo culture says knighthood is tubular when it's in fact cringe.

Her conflict with her father, where it's about him pressuring her to marry in order to solve the financial crisis in Galatea that is further causing the family and the people in the family's care to literally starve? Well, actually, Count Galatea wants her to marry because of honor and loyalty and bravery, and so when Ingrid finds a letter that barely relates to her situation at all she can Hulk Out about how hypocritical her family is for caring about honor and loyalty and bravery! Because, uh, sins of the father really do pass down the line and if the family starts off bad then that means anyone born later on that cares about these things are inherently wrong, I guess??

Speaking of her father: him doing everything in his power to give Ingrid as much control of who she marries as possible, likely because he knows how much pressure he's already putting on her to marry in the first place? Well, actually, that's just because he saw her as nothing but a bag of money! He just wants to sell her off to the highest bidder like chattel! And he verbally abused Ingrid when she was under his care, and never showed her any true love ever, and Ingrid always felt insecure about herself because of it, and she lived in fear of her father! And her brother too, throw him in the Abusive Male Unit train too!

Her love for Glenn? Well, actually, she doesn't really know how she felt about him then; it could have been the case that she never really loved him at all and only felt that she had to love him!

Her deep friendships with Sylvain, Dimitri, and Felix? Well, actually, Dimitri had Glenn and Sylvain and Felix had each other as best friends, so she was all by herself actually, and actually she never really had any friends, and actually she was actually very Lonely and Sad and actually no one knew it actually because actually she actually never actually had any actual friends UNTIL WOOBIEGARD COMES IN.

Her initially thinking that knighthood is about following orders, and how she - independent of anyone else in her supports having her learn otherwise - comes to realize that it isn't, and with her never believing in upholding such a stance in knighthood herself regardless? Well, actually, if left to be in Faerghus Ingrid will definitely totally become a mindless soulless emotionless husk of a person only able to follow the orders of her king and absolutely nothing else, and not because she truly believes in Dimitri as a person or anything but because she feels she has to completely discard her personality to become a tool for Faerghus' king because that is what smelly poopoo Faerghus culture teaches all knights to believe.

Oh, and if someone - oh, well, let's be real here, a man - makes her upset? She'd totally just beat the shit out of them! Especially if they're specifically Seteth, who she would totally hate because he could have possibly potentially maybe put a letter completely unrelated to anything Ingrid went through outside of "oh look another woman went through some sort of marriage issue 300 years ago rip to her I guess." She'd also threaten to kill a (what we can only assume is a) commoner man with her Relic if he makes a statue she doesn't like after she was the one to commission a statue from him. And another instance that will come up later where she straight up assaults a (male) subordinate for making her upset. Because Ingrid will slap and punch around Sylvain and literally only Sylvain who she's known since they were both children and literally only if Sylvain does something stupid and no other reason, so that means that she's totally assault any man that dares upset her in any way!

And, oh, yeah, can't forget the cheating. Ingrid - honorable, truthful Ingrid - would totally keep the fact that she and Woobiegard romantically confessed their romantic feelings for each other behind Byleth's back away from Byleth for months. I'm sure Ingrid - who deeply values her friendships - would just let Byleth live in ignorance of the fact that her lover is romantically interested in someone else while still in a relationship with Byleth. Totally! Definitely!!

Like. Bro. I don't like Ingrid. I think she's judgmental and a know-it-all, which I find incredibly annoying. But FUCK MAN. You'd think I was her number one fan in comparison to Cap'n, who changes LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT HER so that she can "fit" on CF and be Woobiegard's attack dog and side-piece. He unironically gets nothing right about her character, which is fuckin' astonishing because her character IS NOT that hard to get a grasp on. And this is him after he pretty much erased her biggest character flaw - her hatred of Duscurians, you know, the thing about her character that is most impressive she manages to grow out of (however poorly one thinks it was written)? That thing that gives a view into how heavily the Tragedy affected the Kingdom? Washed away, said to be there but never written, because Pure Little Girls can't be racist (unless it's towards Nabateans... or mixed-race people... or Dagdans... or the people of Brigid... or Dedue specifically hello Chapter 36 we meet again). I'm convinced that, like a lot of things in this fic, you could remove Ingrid entirely and not only not lose anything, you would actively gain from it

[damegalantea]

Ingrid on marriage, romance, and self-worth

ooc; this is the meta ive been meaning to write re: ingrid and her thoughts on marriage as a crest bearing heir / how it affects her romantic inclinations and other relationships. it's a bit long but will tie into some of the hc asks! c: thanks for reading~

The first section of Ingrid's profile in Three Houses has the date 1162, marking two things: the day she was born (1 / 4) and her betrothal to Glenn Fraldarius. As we will go over later Glenn is most likely around five years older than Ingrid so while the specifics of this agreement are never mentioned it seems clear to be a gesture of good will from House Fraldarius to House Galatea.

(There was no way to know Ingrid would bear a crest, and we can assume Glenn, based on Felix, did not bear his family's crest so most likely it was along the lines of "my first born male heir will marry your first born female heir", something the poorer Galatea dukedom could sorely have used).

Whenever Ingrid speaks of Glenn there is admiration there but also a certain nostalgia. I am certain that since her birth he was always a central figure in Ingrid's life, and equally certain that presence was a comfort rather than a burden; while the way she talks about Glenn is indeed tinged with grief they obviously had a good back-and-forth, and often (understandably Considering how young they both were) Ingrid's mourning comes off not as one mourning a lover but a dear friend.

This is important because unlike many other women of noble houses Ingrid knew who her husband would be since she was a child, and she welcomed it.

I think it's also important to note both Glenn and Ingrid seem to have wanted to become knights of their own volition! Ingrid's admiration for the duty seems to stem from the chivalric tales of old Faerghus she would read as a child, at least according to her Ashe support. Every other time she's asked she simply says it was an early dream of hers. I think this was probably something she and Glenn talked of an encouraged each other about – the type of children idealistic enough to envision themselves married and fighting for their kingdom side by side.

We know from Rodrigue Glenn was knighted (presumably made a squire ala Felix during the Western rebellion) at 15, and doing some quick math leads us to the revelation that Ingrid had just turned fourteen the year the Tragedy took place and both Glenn and the king died. I am going to extrapolate then that Glenn was most likely in his early twenties, perhaps finally ending his time as a squire, when he was sent to Duscur.

Ingrid lost her fiance as a fourteen year old girl, and while I don't doubt she was given some time to grieve it seems her father went right about trying to find someone else to marry his crested daughter.

It isn't really a matter of if we can fault him for it, Ingrid herself hates the idea but understands. Three Hopes confirms that Ingrid has elder and younger brothers who could easily take over Galatea territory if she were to be shipped off somewhere. Of course, Ingrid's father does not seem to be a bad man but he is a desperate and a poor one (poorer now than at the start of the war) and Faarghus is a crest based society.

Ingrid B support:

She clearly understands where her father is coming from, but hates being treated as collateral. As an object. I think it should also be noted it isn't some all abiding love for Glenn that makes her unwilling to marry - she loved him, certainly - but it is her freedom and her future as a knight that Ingrid fears losing not some maidenly honor (laughs).

My noble family—House Galatea—branched off from House Daphnel in the Alliance.

Shortly after, we were lucky enough to receive the support of the royal family, allowing us to attain nobility...to some extent.

But the territory we watch over is poor, its harvests meager. And our noble blood, too, has grown thin. Neither my father nor my brothers bear a Crest.[...]

A Crest is highly prized among nobles. Were I to marry into a greater noble family, that financial support could soothe our woes...

Glenn was the ideal as her husband not just because she grew up and felt comfortable with him but because, as far as we know, he respected her wishes to become a knight and respected Ingrid as a person. Ingrid admits that unlike other noble girls who would dress up for potential spouses she never needed to go the trouble:

I haven't the time to bother with such frivolities. As long as basic hygiene is being met, then I'm happy. But my time is precious to me, and my focus is on knighthood. Taking time to paint my face simply isn't a top priority.

Ingrid and Annette support:

(on makeup)

Furthermore, in her support with Dorothea, she says with some judgment  "gussying myself up to attract someone has never played an important part in my pursuits as a knight" and acts indignant when Dorothea shrugs off the idea of dressing for herself and continues to flirt with her.

Ingrid does not want to be seen as an object. She has been sheltered, so to speak, from that aspect of misogynist noble society and you can bet that she will fight it tooth and claw even as she feels conflicted due to her lack of filial piety.

This is important in any marriage related political situation or romance in general for Ingrid, as if she feels she is being objectified she will back out. It is a great fear of hers, and furthermore in her eyes as moral, upright person a great injustice.

(This is why she does not take to flirting well, and probably never will. If Ingrid were to grow to love someone romantically it would have to stem from a profound friendship first.)

(Also I do headcanon her as bisexual but that's neither here nor there).

A theme across Ingrid's character arc is that she is still learning: still learning Duscur was not to blame for the Tragedy and its people deserve respect, still learning what it means to be a knight, and learning (but not necessarily accepting) what it means to be an unwed woman in Fodlan's Faerghan society.

[galattea]

‘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. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

[knightsdeath]

strength in honor, strength in death ——— the words of house fraldarius

THE ANCIENT HOUSE OF FRALDARIUS spans much of society as we know it today, deriving from Fraldarius, the brave and noble Griffon Knight who fought alongside Seiros and the Four Saints and became one of the Ten Elite. Through this line passes the Crest of Fraldarius which imbues its line with enhance strength, speed, and mastery with near every weapon known to man.

This lineage is expansive and sprawling and has its branches throughout all of Faerghus and beyond, but its roots are settled in the northern part of Faergus, in the frigid north along the coast of the country and beyond. The members of this family traditionally swear their fealty to the crown and its monarch, swearing to serve above all else, with honor and dignity to uphold chivalry. Most frequently the members of this family become knights, or otherwise advisers to the ruling monarch in their later years.

Tracking the line of this family through history proves quite simple, in fact, given that they’re recorded forevermore in history and the core family line in these modern days consists of ———— well, you know, don’t you? Shall we begin? No, don’t grab that book if The Ancient Lineages of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. What I will tell you goes beyond simply names and dates of birth and dates of death. Now, listen closely.

RODRIGUE ACHILLE OF HOUSE FRALDARIUS, minor crestbearer of Fraldarius, Shield of Faerghus, son of Raphael and Valentina of house Fraldarius, is the most recent head of the Fraldarius household. He was raised as all children of the Fraldarius line are : to swear his loyalty and fealty to the king and its sovereign. And that he did, and that he excelled at, becoming the Shield of Faerghus along the way. Stringent and stalwart and loyal to the last, Rodrigue is hardly the sort to win any great father of the year awards ——— no need for the surprise, I did tell you that this would be beyond what a book could tell you ——— as he’s far too devoted to the crown above all else and, as his forefathers before him, enforced his upbringing heavily upon his sons, but he is devout in the following of the rightful ruler of Faerghus and swears his shield to whomever is meant to sit on the throne and whomever sits on the throne, still. A close companion of the late King Lambert, it’s said that when he got news of the death of his closest friend, his eldest son, and his beloved wife his scream of grief echoed so loudly throughout the Fraldarius estate that it resonates, still. Following their deaths, it’s thought that he removed all paintings of his beautiful late wife out of grief, and that he kept only the one of his eldest son’s knighting ceremony hanging. A reminder, above all else. In the years which followed he became far more steadfast in his defense and service to the crown, something believed to be impossible by passersby, and his relationship with his youngest son is strained as a result of their losses. For as immovable and argumentative and temperamental as he can be, there still lies love for his youngest son, for all that he raised him, both consciously and subconsciously, to become the next Shield of Faerghus. In theory, of course, and in practice he simply wanted his youngest son to thrive in the society that they lived in.

GENEVA LUCIANA OF HOUSE FRALDARIUS, PREVIOUSLY HALLEWELL, non-crestbearer, Lorelei of Faerghus, daughter of Augustus and Serpahina of house Hallewell, is the late wife of Rodrigue of house Fraldarius. Legend has it that they fell in love with each other at first sight, when he attended one of the shows of the famed Lorelei of Faerghus and became enchanted with her singing, and she had seen him from where she stood on stage and began to sing for him and only him. The reality is hardly so glorious to consider, but it was a whirlwind and genuine romance that ended in them marrying hardly two months after they met. Hailed as a great opera singer, Geneva was born into nobility and married into nobility and was thought to be a true beauty, from her face to the dark fall of her thick straight hair to the clarity of her voice. A truly kind and genuine woman, it is thought that she softened the hard edges of the Shield of Faerghus and that they balanced each other beautifully. A wonderful mother, she brought her two sons into the world and loved them devotedly and deeply and, yet another result of being born and raised in such a society, showed great pride in their successes and endeavors and that they would one day serve the crown well. She is a woman loyal to her family above all else, and the crown second, yet the family that she married into held both so closely together that it seemed to be a fated match above all else. She spent far more time with her youngest as a matter of course, but loved them both boundlessly and absolutely. Alas, disaster struck and she perished in the Tragedy of Duscur when she had been requested, kindly and sweetly, by the late King Lambert to accompany them and offer them her bracing voice. It is not said, for all those but the Crown Prince died, but in her last moments she wept for her sons, for her eldest stood fighting still, and her youngest awaited her at home. Her final resting place is in her home, alongside her eldest son.

GLENN ALDEN OF HOUSE FRALDARIUS, minor crestbearer of Fraldarius, heir to house Fraldarius, son of Rodrigue and Geneva of house Fraldarius, is the late first son of Rodrigue of house Fraldarius. Born into this world the heir of his family above all else he was taught that in duty there laid chivalry and sacrifice and that he would give himself to the realm and its people and to the crown above all else, while remaining above all else the heir and head of the Fraldarius household. To this day the household speaks of the chivalrous and charming Glenn, who inspired loyalty and love in all those he spoke to, in spite of his sarcasm and wit and aggressive nature. Charming to the last, he was a good son and a good brother and a good knight, excelling during his time at Garreg Mach Monastery and becoming knighted at the tender age of 15. He loved the youngest son of his family deeply and extensively despite the small amount of jealousy that he felt towards the major crest that he bore, and loved his fiancé from birth, Ingrid Brandl Galatea, in no small measure. He hoped to marry her as soon as possible and to take his rightful place in this world and to provide great challenges for his brother, who he knew would surpass him one day. What a future he would have had, if it weren’t for his untimely and tragic demise at the Tragedy of Duscur where he, boy in man’s armor, fought valiantly against those who sought to destroy the crown. His final moments were witnessed by the surviving Crown Prince, where he yearned to see his brother and father once more. It’s thought that the final blow was dealt when he realized his mother’s death, and grieved her terribly. Yet, he died a knight’s death, didn’t he? Didn’t he? His surviving legacy is that he’s the image of a TRUE KNIGHT at his core, and his final resting place is in his home, alongside his mother.

FELIX HUGO OF HOUSE FRALDARIUS, major crestbearer of Fraldarius, heir to house Fraldarius, son of Rodrigue and Geneva of house Fraldarius ——— well. You know this story already, don’t you? I hardly need to bore you with the details. But don’t you think it strange, this break from the mold, this denial of their very name? How he, the youngest son, the prodigal son, all but forgot his mother in the time after her death, memories blocked in an attempt to protect himself? After all, her name was never spoken in those walls again. Until he remembers, of course. Until he remembers her and her beauty and his brother in truth and in light and his father, for who he truly is : loyal and steadfast to a fault. And yet he stands, in opposition to this servitude to the crown, but he, too, is loyal to the end. Strange, how that happens.

non-official members of house fraldarius : ingrid brandl galatea, dimitri alexandre blaiddyd.