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Dimiclaude Week: Day 4 - Reminiscience
"I can only bring one thing with me to the diplomatic meeting down in Derdriu," Dimitri says, serious as the grave, "so please help me narrow down my choices, Ingrid, if it is not too much of a trouble for you."
Needless to say, this sort of thing was in none of the books about chivalry and knighthood that Ingrid ever read, and she has to pause, caught off-guard as she stands there at attention in Dimitri's bedroom. He's told her, and Sylvain, and Felix, and basically every single person who was ever in the Blue Lions class in school that they don't have to act this way around him, or in his spaces, but, well. Maybe once upon a time, when she was a little girl who liked shoving dirt and bugs into her dress pockets more than paying mind to the etiquette lessons an aunt tried to impart upon her, she would have had no trouble following such a request.
Probably that younger version of herself wouldn't have had a problem with this one, either.
However, that isn't the version of her that stands in Dimitri's room right now, with etiquette lessons from a stricter teacher and years of military experience demanding strict obedience - neither of which helped for this. "Oh," Ingrid says, and then follows it up with a very eloquent, "Um." Neither is really good enough of an answer, she knows that, and she tries to get her feet back under her. "Well, may I see what kind of items you are considering?"
Thank goodness that whatever is piloting her mouth has more common sense than her brain. Of course. She can't make a decision if she doesn't even know what she's deciding on!
As though she didn't just pull that straight from somewhere that was not her brain, Dimitri nods almost sheepishly. "Of course. I actually already have it spread along my bedsheets... I would like to bring something with me to Derdriu, as a token of Claude - to show that I am always thinking of him. I simply have far more choice than I thought I had." With that, he leads her around the folding screen which helps separate his small greeting area from the place where he actually sleeps, and gets dressed.
It is an impressive area, of course, she knew that to start with. What is equally impressive would be the pure variety of things that are indeed spread out all along his bed.
And it is by no means a small bed. Being something inherited from his parents, made specifically with the Blaiddyd crst in mind, it is very large, and very sturdy. It speaks to the pure amount of things on there that she wonders if even that is enough.
Dimitri is still looking at her. Ingrid snaps out off it, and coughs delicately into one fist as she steps closer to the bed. "Well..." She carefully guides her gaze over the entire bed, and nods in some approval. "It seems as though you have chosen only objects that would be small enough to fit into your usual luggage. That is a wise choice, Your Majesty."
"I did not wish to trouble the servants in lugging about something too large and cumbersome," Dimitri confesses, "nor the horses who would have to bear its weight. And Ingrid, I have said that you and all the others are allowed to address me more casually in private settings."
Already Ingrid is nodding. "I understand completely... Dimitri. It is just, you did ask me for help, so, well. It feels only right to act this way." Then again, maybe it's not right to feel this way? What knight gets invited into their king's bedroom to help choose a memento for them to have on hand that reminds them of their lover? She's overthinking this. Ingrid is almost positive she's overthinking this. She wishes she could have shoved this duty onto Sylvain. "But - you did ask me! So I'll do what I can, Dimitri." Yeah. She has this covered. Definitely.
Funny how telling herself that she has this covered doesn't make her feel the same. Still, Ingrid carefully looks over the various items that are there before her. It's interesting. For these being items one king sent to another, as presumably a show of his love, so many of them do not... seem anything like she thought they would be. Ingrid glances to Dimitri as she starts to reach down, just to make sure she's not overstepping some boundaries, before picking up a tiny little wooden statue. It's just a little lion, not particularly detailed, not particularly polished, but still lovingly made. Even she can tell that. "Did he send this from Almyra?" she asks, wracking her brain for what she can remember of the land. She's never been, not yet, and she can't recall if there's anything about trees there.
Dimitri's expression softens into a smile, gaze distant. "He said he made it on the ship to Almyra," he murmurs, coming to stand besides her. "Back when the war was still going. Apparently he was still thinking about how things would end in Fodlan, if everything would go as well as he hopes, and if I would be all right. Working on something like this helped keep his mind from darker thoughts, or so he said."
So even someone like Claude has to struggle against such ideas... It's a strange thing to think about, in her eyes, although she has to admit that's her own fault. Her and Claude never really did... mesh, if that's the word for it, mostly because she couldn't help but think of other things whenever she looked at him.
But he can actually be something of an artist. It's a surprise to learn about, only to merge into something almost expected when she actually thinks about it for more than a few seconds. "Well," she says at last, delicately placing the little lion statue down on the bed once more. "He always was good with his hands." And apparently has the patience for such little detailed work. That seems befitting of someone known as the Master Tactician of the war.
The next object she picks up are a pair of mittens, which she's at least fairly certain that Claude did not make himself, because that would be a little much for even her to believe. They're the kind of bright blue that Faerghus used to be so known for, when it was still an independent kingdom, and a pair of lions are roughly knit onto them in bold yellow outlines. "Has everything he's given you had to do with lions?" she asks, and tries to not sound as though she's too amused. Would that be disrespectful? She feels like that would be disrespectful.
Dimitri's laugh is quiet and sheepish. "One time, when we were in Garreg Mach, he asked me if I ever had a favorite animal, and laughed when I admitted that it was always a lion."
Unable to help herself, Ingrid finds a grin spreading across her face. "We're from Faerghus," she says, trying to keep her voice calm instead of on the verge of laughter. "Every child's favorite animal is a lion, at least once." How couldn't it be? The symbol of the Kingdom, the daring beast of so many fairy tales... It was hers too, although there was a point at which she struggled with her love of fairy tales and her love at riding. "Remember when I said that my favorite bird was the pegasus, and my favorite cat was the lion?"
Dimitri grins as well. "No one learns technicalities faster than children," he chuckles.
No one does indeed, and Ingrid is smiling harder than she has in a little while as she sets the mittens to the side. Dimitri will be heading down to Derdriu, which is always a little warmer than up north in Faerghus territories. While they do seem cute, and functional, they won't be of much use down south. "So he always remembered that, and that is why lions seem to be a regular theme here?"
"That's right. Those in particular he gave me when I said one autumn that the winter wasn't that bad, when one got used to it. He found someone in particular to make them, and gave them to me, saying that I didn't know what cold really was, and I'd lose my fingers with how little I cared about it. I think he was just teasing me, in the end."
That definitely sounds like Claude. A bit more certain now, Ingrid carefully begins moving the different items that are on the bed to that same little spot. They're all very much items similar to the mittens, in that they may be very nice and even functional, which are the best kinds of gifts in her eyes, but they just aren't that practical for going down to Derdriu. That narrows it all down a decent amount.
As an additional bonus, narrowing things down to such an extent really highlights what's been left behind. Things she never realized Dimitri ever had, or would ever have.
One of those in particular is a single earring, strung through three tinier little golden hoops, and Ingrid stares at it when she realizes that it's there. It's held preciously in a small jewelry box, with no other matching pair. "This... isn't this Claude's earring?" she asks, bringing the box up closer for a proper inspection. "Is it just meant as a memento, or...?"
"Oh, I wear it," Dimitri says, such a casual correction that Ingrid absolutely boggles.
Dimitri does not wear jewelry. Ingrid always just assumed such a thing was eternal and basic fact. Much like her, Dimitri was always too, well... They're too... Hm. She supposes it just never really fit either of them, to wear something as frivolous and shiny as jewelry. It was very much the same as makeup was for her, in that it just never seemed to fit so much about her. Sometimes it almost feels as though she can't explain it right.
What can she say here? As it turns out, the first thing that pops into her brain. "When did you get your ears pierced!?" she exclaims, before slapping a hand over her mouth. Shoot, shoot, she forgot - she's not supposed to raise her voice like this at a king!
It's just.. a different thing entirely when it's a friend instead of a king. Dimitri ducks his head, hand sliding around the back of his neck. "Well... Some time ago," he admits, which makes Ingrid stare all the more. How long has he had his ears pierced? How did none of them notice it? Did others notice it, and she's just the last one to find out? "When Claude first left this earring behind for me. He actually left it behind with Hilda... She came to deliver it to me on one of the first meetings with all of the lords and heads of villages, when the war had ended. Apparently, Claude had told her to specifically do such a thing. It seemed a waste to just leave it about, especially when it is so small... So I went to Mercedes, and she helped pierce my ears."
Mercedes is a perfectly sensible choice, when Ingrid thinks about it. Who wouldn't go to a healer, and someone so knowledgeable about such trends? Ingrid can remember when her family insisted she pierce her ears not that long before she went to go attend Garreg Mach. It was the right and sensible thing to do, for when she eventually wed. It's just... She ended up never wearing earrings anyway.
Wait. Ingrid lets something sink into her mind for a moment as she considers the rest of what Dimitri said. The implications of it. "Do... you wear the earring, Dimitri?" she asks. "I mean - often?"
It shouldn't be surprising that Dimitri nods his head. Somehow, Ingrid is still surprised. "If I use it regularly, then I can be more assured in where it is, or where I last put it," he explains. It makes sense, too, is the thing. So why is she having such trouble wrapping her head around this? "Besides... When I wear it, I feel as though the two of us are a little more connected." He smiles, hands clasped in front of himself. "Although perhaps that is somewhat... overly sentimental."
"No.... No, it is fine," Ingrid finally gets herself to say. Dimitri's sentimentality, the way he so often recalls various little details - that's one of his best qualities. It's something she's always liked about him, even when they were children romping about in the snow, and he never forgot to catch her hair ribbon whenever it inevitably went flying off because of her rough housing. It's a part of him that will undoubtedly make him an excellent king, known in the history books. Of that, she's positive. "It's just... I've never seen you wearing it. Do you only put it on when you're doing something in private?"
"Oh, no," Dimitri says, and holds one hand out. "People miss it often. If I may...?"
Well, it is one of his personal belongings. It's not as though Ingrid would ever hold it away from him. She hands it over, and watches as Dimitri gently, preciously, slides it down onto one of his palms.
Maybe this is another reason why it's such a surprise to her that Dimitri wears jewelry. His strength is well known to basically the entire continent at this point. He is a person who can bend steel with his bare hands, who has shattered many a lance or sword when practicing. A small earring is even more delicate than any of those - so much more small, so much thinner. How can he put it in his ear like this?
Ingrid gets to watch the answer to her question, right there in front of her. Delicately, Dimitri brushes back his long blond hair, ensuring it is tucked out of the way. The box is placed to the side, back there right on the bed, and Dimitri begins to fiddle about with the earring.
Well, maybe "fiddle" isn't the right word. Instead, he nudges it about carefully with one fingernail. It's almost like watching someone trying to put together one of those tiny model boats that are occasionally the rage with nobility. Ingrid once had a meeting with one of those people, in hopes from her father that he would be a suitable match for her. Neither of them had been particularly interested in each other in the end, and maybe that just wasn't surprising. Their personalities hadn't made a good match at all, at least not romantically.
And yet she had been completely fascinated when he had explained to her this hobby of his, and even demonstrated it. Somehow, it had been almost soothing, watching him navigate a pair of ultra thin tweezers though the opening of a glass bottle, putting together a boat tiny little wooden sliver by sliver. It had captured her attention somehow, much like Dimitri's own movements do here.
No tweezers. Just his fingernail, navigating the earring onto one finger, and then balancing it right there as he brings it up to his ear.
It's not easy. She can tell that even as an observer. The idea of doing that herself.... Ingrid can't imagine it. It seems like so much trouble, all for one little piece of shiny gold in her ear. And yet that's what Dimitri does as he finally slides it into what is indeed a very tiny hole in his ear, and somehow clicking it into place without making the gold crumple completely in his grasp.
All the tension leaves Ingrid, and she heaves out a breath at almost the same time that Dimitri does. "I see," she says, not knowing what else she could say. "Well, at least it's being put to good use... But the way you hide it... Oh."
The obvious answer hits her, right as Dimitri smiles, right before he reaches back to get his hair loose once again. Dimitri's hair is the perfect length for what is needed of it. When it is not styled in any particular manner, and allowed to simply hang loose around his face and brushing his shoulders, it acts as the perfect curtain. Who would spot a tiny little ring of gold in his ear when there's a much larger curtain of it falling there, obscuring everything from view?
At least... She thinks this gives them both the answer that they're looking for. "If I can offer my honest opinion, then..." She inclines her head towards Dimitri with a smile. "I think that may be the memento of Claude that you should bring with you down to Derdriu... Dimitri."
"You really think so?" Dimitri asks, reaching up to brush his fingers over the shape of his ear, just there past his hair. "It is not too small or bothersome to bring with me? It is enough to show Claude what I feel?"
"I do," Ingrid agrees with a nod. "All of the other things that you have displayed here are of course wonderful in their own right. It's obvious that everything was chosen out of absolute care for you, whether they were clothing that could help keep you warm, or something that he made while thinking of you. Small parts of yourself that he took care to remember completely. I can't say if any of them are better than the others. They're all important, in their own individual ways. But the earring... It is something that was a part of Claude, and which you've taken unto yourself as well. That you've gone as far as learning how to put it in your ear, that you've changed yourself in that small way just for him..." She smiles. "I think there is a lot in that particular meaning, and I am sure that Claude would be happy to see you wearing it even now."
This isn't the sort of thing that people often come to her for advice on... Ingrid has to admit that she's not particularly feminine in that respect. Maybe Annette or Mercedes would have been a better choice, or Dorothea, or Hilda. Would they have given different answers than the one she's giving now?
She has no idea. All Ingrid can say for certain... is that she's glad that, whatever she's done, it can make Dimitri smile at her like that, just like when they were children, and silly things like titles and roles were distant adult things that didn't matter much at all. "You know," Dimitri says, "when you say it that way, Ingrid, it's as though the answer was obvious all along."
That's the most she can ask for, isn't it? For him to tell her that she's helped. Still... A part of her can't help being disappointed. With the answer given, after all, that means her duty is done here, and there's no real point in hanging about. Surely Dimitri must be busy with so many other things that all read a lead up to his visit towards Derdriu. What else can she do here? Her gaze drifts away from Dimitri, goes back to the many things that still lay there on the bed.
A slight shuffle of movement, a footstep heavy enough that it's notable even as it goes against rug. She can see a hint of Dimitri's clothing even before she looks up to where he's come to stand by her side. "I know that your time is surely quite valuable, Ingrid," Dimitri tells her, somehow reminding her so much of the young prince she knew once upon a time despite how much deeper his voice has become. "But... Do you think I could use up some more of it, while having you help me put all of these things back in their proper place?"
Ingrid pauses, just a moment, before she smiles back at him. "I wouldn't mind that at all," she tells him. "And while we're putting everything away... Would you mind telling me more about the different things Claude has sent you, Dimitri?"
One of Dimitri's dreams is to change Fodlan so deeply that class means nothing. That he can still be spoken to as casually as any other person, and no one is ever under the boot of another. Maybe one day, hopefully one day, he'll accomplish that dream. It would surely be a beautiful world then. But for now, Ingrid knows that she is wrapped up in the chains of what is here in Fodlan in the present day, and the role she willingly took on as a knight to the king.
But at the same time... She knows that some of those chains are those that she wrapped around her own throat, and to which she attached the weights herself. Weights that none of her friends might have asked her to bear.
It's the sort of things which has her clash with Felix on occasion, what made her lash out at Claude occasionally back in their school days, what made her want to hold onto Sylvain so tightly so that he wouldn't end up vanishing from some terrible and stupid thing like used to terrify her back when she was a child and everyone still wore black for far too many funerals.
The kind of thing which has her fumble over saying Dimitri's name these days, even though she used to be able to say it so easily when her hair was long and he ran after her with a ribbon in his hand.
She's known that for a while now, and maybe that's too late to really pry out of herself. Some habits embed themselves quite deeply. Yet at the same time... She's come far enough as a person to know that there's still so much about herself that needs to change, that she needs to strive for. When she was younger, just a girl in a school uniform, she used to think that was all to do with her knighthood. She had to be a better rider, a better lancer, a better knight.
Has she reached any of those goals just yet? Even now, with a proper title under her belt, Ingrid isn't particularly certain. What she does know is that there's something else she wants to work on now. Something else to better herself in.
As she and Dimitri go through the different little wooden statues on his bed, the brightly patterned clothing that was passed along with diplomats.... Ingrid reflects, and she thinks...
She'd like to be a better friend as well, the kind who can say a name and not trip over it.
Phoi, Almyran royal treasurer and occasional diplomatic envoy, pauses from where they stand in the doorway to his king's room, before sighing and closing the door behind them. Very pointedly, they ignore the eternal mess that is present in the space, and instead focus on the man that is standing over at the foot of his bed. "King Khalid, I've brought you some of the information you requested on the responses from the different artisans you want to take with you on your trip to Fodlan," he says.
For a second, he almost thinks he won't get an answer. At least, they won't get one right away. It's not because King Khalid is oblivious to their presence, of course.
King Khalid isn't that kind of absentminded idiot. In this political climate? With how many people still wouldn't mind him dead, all of them in various positions of power or with something to gain from that kind of event? No, King Khalid knows he's there, because King Khalid knows of every single person who dares to step inside of his room.
He's just apparently quite caught up in inspecting the large fur rug that's stretched over his bed.
"That's good," he finally says, rubbing some of the fur inbetween his fingers. Finally, he flashes a smile over to Phoi. "Excellent job as always. You never fail to get results, huh, Phoi?"
Obviously that's a lie. Phoi has definitely failed on occasion to get the exact results he's wanted. One of those failures is how King Khalid learned about their nonsense in slipping a little more money into their wallet when he came to power. It's just, much like his father before him, he realized how to use that to his own advantage. It's a rare kind of person who looks at a thief in their own home and decides that's the exact kind of person they want to keep working under them.
Well, he's not going to complain about a perfectly serviceable working relationship, especially when they think of the alternatives that could happen with any one of the other princes on the throne.
"I am honored by your praise, Your Majesy," Phoi says, and flashes a perfectly identical smile to King Khalid's own at him.
At least that's another thing when it comes to working for King Khalid: both of them seem to amuse in this little bullshit game both of them like to play. King Khalid grins, a sparkle of genuine amusement in his eyes, before his lips curve into a slightly more honest and also more annoying little smirk. "Although with that said, I have to say that I'm almost disappointed that you haven't asked about the state of my room, Phoi."
"I see absolutely nothing about it that is so different it merits mentioning, Your Majesty," Phoi says, and, through the grace of some sort of god, doesn't come off as completely deadpan.
On one hand, he isn't completely wrong. In the other few times that they had glanced into King Khalid's room, it was always clear that it was some degree of mess. Most of it tended to be books - things from the depths of the royal library that he apparently devoured restlessly, others from far off lands like Dagda, and even those that he'd managed to get to himself from the old Leicester Alliance through what he'd idly dismissed as 'old connections from my mother' whenever questioned about it. With trade opening up bit by bit between them and Fodlan, the amount of books in both the library and King Khalid's room has only increased exponentially.
It's just, normally, that's what it is: books.
As of right this moment, there is significantly more than that in his room.
King Khalid snorts a little bit, resting one hand on his hip. "Are you trying to make a statement about the state of my room, Advisor Phoi?" he asks slyly, before laughing, other hand sweeping through the air dismissively. "Although if you're going to say that, I guess there's no point in asking you for advice on this particular matter."
There's no getting out of this, is there? Well, he'd have to say he's lying if he didn't say he wasn't a little bit curious to see just what all of this means. "If you explain further, Your Majesty, I could make a recommendation, at the very least."
"Oh, excellent. Well, you see, I'm trying to make a decision on what to bring with me that is a memento of my dear and very good friend King Dimitri of Fodlan."
Oh. Phoi's expression goes flat. So he just wants to boast about his very definitely not a lover over in the neighboring country. Or, if he doesn't want to boast, then he certainly wants to talk about. He really has too much work to do to bother about listening to this kind of thing... "From what I saw of the various things that the good King of Fodlan has sent to you," he says, eyes skimming around it all - a suit of armor, a finely crafted brave bow, the furred rug that won't do a bit of good here in the desert, books of overly romantic poetry that he highly suspects are handwritten, "then I was fairly certain that you planned on taking every single thing with you to Fodlan, Your Majesty."
King Khalid looks far too pleased about the statement, so Phoi knows he's right. "Maybe I just wanted to admire the coat of armor by dragging it out, did you ever think of that?" he asks coyly. It really is sometimes a pain to be one of the few people that the king seems to genuinely favor here. He gets like this.
Well... At least it makes one of Phoi's own lovers happy, and he sighs, trying not to smile. "If you need help making a decision, then, Your Majesty, I will send Chef Irbon here. He has a talent for such things."
And he adores such romantic tales, too.
Needless to say, this sort of thing was in none of the books about chivalry and knighthood that Ingrid ever read, and she has to pause, caught off-guard as she stands there at attention in Dimitri's bedroom. He's told her, and Sylvain, and Felix, and basically every single person who was ever in the Blue Lions class in school that they don't have to act this way around him, or in his spaces, but, well. Maybe once upon a time, when she was a little girl who liked shoving dirt and bugs into her dress pockets more than paying mind to the etiquette lessons an aunt tried to impart upon her, she would have had no trouble following such a request.
Probably that younger version of herself wouldn't have had a problem with this one, either.
However, that isn't the version of her that stands in Dimitri's room right now, with etiquette lessons from a stricter teacher and years of military experience demanding strict obedience - neither of which helped for this. "Oh," Ingrid says, and then follows it up with a very eloquent, "Um." Neither is really good enough of an answer, she knows that, and she tries to get her feet back under her. "Well, may I see what kind of items you are considering?"
Thank goodness that whatever is piloting her mouth has more common sense than her brain. Of course. She can't make a decision if she doesn't even know what she's deciding on!
As though she didn't just pull that straight from somewhere that was not her brain, Dimitri nods almost sheepishly. "Of course. I actually already have it spread along my bedsheets... I would like to bring something with me to Derdriu, as a token of Claude - to show that I am always thinking of him. I simply have far more choice than I thought I had." With that, he leads her around the folding screen which helps separate his small greeting area from the place where he actually sleeps, and gets dressed.
It is an impressive area, of course, she knew that to start with. What is equally impressive would be the pure variety of things that are indeed spread out all along his bed.
And it is by no means a small bed. Being something inherited from his parents, made specifically with the Blaiddyd crst in mind, it is very large, and very sturdy. It speaks to the pure amount of things on there that she wonders if even that is enough.
Dimitri is still looking at her. Ingrid snaps out off it, and coughs delicately into one fist as she steps closer to the bed. "Well..." She carefully guides her gaze over the entire bed, and nods in some approval. "It seems as though you have chosen only objects that would be small enough to fit into your usual luggage. That is a wise choice, Your Majesty."
"I did not wish to trouble the servants in lugging about something too large and cumbersome," Dimitri confesses, "nor the horses who would have to bear its weight. And Ingrid, I have said that you and all the others are allowed to address me more casually in private settings."
Already Ingrid is nodding. "I understand completely... Dimitri. It is just, you did ask me for help, so, well. It feels only right to act this way." Then again, maybe it's not right to feel this way? What knight gets invited into their king's bedroom to help choose a memento for them to have on hand that reminds them of their lover? She's overthinking this. Ingrid is almost positive she's overthinking this. She wishes she could have shoved this duty onto Sylvain. "But - you did ask me! So I'll do what I can, Dimitri." Yeah. She has this covered. Definitely.
Funny how telling herself that she has this covered doesn't make her feel the same. Still, Ingrid carefully looks over the various items that are there before her. It's interesting. For these being items one king sent to another, as presumably a show of his love, so many of them do not... seem anything like she thought they would be. Ingrid glances to Dimitri as she starts to reach down, just to make sure she's not overstepping some boundaries, before picking up a tiny little wooden statue. It's just a little lion, not particularly detailed, not particularly polished, but still lovingly made. Even she can tell that. "Did he send this from Almyra?" she asks, wracking her brain for what she can remember of the land. She's never been, not yet, and she can't recall if there's anything about trees there.
Dimitri's expression softens into a smile, gaze distant. "He said he made it on the ship to Almyra," he murmurs, coming to stand besides her. "Back when the war was still going. Apparently he was still thinking about how things would end in Fodlan, if everything would go as well as he hopes, and if I would be all right. Working on something like this helped keep his mind from darker thoughts, or so he said."
So even someone like Claude has to struggle against such ideas... It's a strange thing to think about, in her eyes, although she has to admit that's her own fault. Her and Claude never really did... mesh, if that's the word for it, mostly because she couldn't help but think of other things whenever she looked at him.
But he can actually be something of an artist. It's a surprise to learn about, only to merge into something almost expected when she actually thinks about it for more than a few seconds. "Well," she says at last, delicately placing the little lion statue down on the bed once more. "He always was good with his hands." And apparently has the patience for such little detailed work. That seems befitting of someone known as the Master Tactician of the war.
The next object she picks up are a pair of mittens, which she's at least fairly certain that Claude did not make himself, because that would be a little much for even her to believe. They're the kind of bright blue that Faerghus used to be so known for, when it was still an independent kingdom, and a pair of lions are roughly knit onto them in bold yellow outlines. "Has everything he's given you had to do with lions?" she asks, and tries to not sound as though she's too amused. Would that be disrespectful? She feels like that would be disrespectful.
Dimitri's laugh is quiet and sheepish. "One time, when we were in Garreg Mach, he asked me if I ever had a favorite animal, and laughed when I admitted that it was always a lion."
Unable to help herself, Ingrid finds a grin spreading across her face. "We're from Faerghus," she says, trying to keep her voice calm instead of on the verge of laughter. "Every child's favorite animal is a lion, at least once." How couldn't it be? The symbol of the Kingdom, the daring beast of so many fairy tales... It was hers too, although there was a point at which she struggled with her love of fairy tales and her love at riding. "Remember when I said that my favorite bird was the pegasus, and my favorite cat was the lion?"
Dimitri grins as well. "No one learns technicalities faster than children," he chuckles.
No one does indeed, and Ingrid is smiling harder than she has in a little while as she sets the mittens to the side. Dimitri will be heading down to Derdriu, which is always a little warmer than up north in Faerghus territories. While they do seem cute, and functional, they won't be of much use down south. "So he always remembered that, and that is why lions seem to be a regular theme here?"
"That's right. Those in particular he gave me when I said one autumn that the winter wasn't that bad, when one got used to it. He found someone in particular to make them, and gave them to me, saying that I didn't know what cold really was, and I'd lose my fingers with how little I cared about it. I think he was just teasing me, in the end."
That definitely sounds like Claude. A bit more certain now, Ingrid carefully begins moving the different items that are on the bed to that same little spot. They're all very much items similar to the mittens, in that they may be very nice and even functional, which are the best kinds of gifts in her eyes, but they just aren't that practical for going down to Derdriu. That narrows it all down a decent amount.
As an additional bonus, narrowing things down to such an extent really highlights what's been left behind. Things she never realized Dimitri ever had, or would ever have.
One of those in particular is a single earring, strung through three tinier little golden hoops, and Ingrid stares at it when she realizes that it's there. It's held preciously in a small jewelry box, with no other matching pair. "This... isn't this Claude's earring?" she asks, bringing the box up closer for a proper inspection. "Is it just meant as a memento, or...?"
"Oh, I wear it," Dimitri says, such a casual correction that Ingrid absolutely boggles.
Dimitri does not wear jewelry. Ingrid always just assumed such a thing was eternal and basic fact. Much like her, Dimitri was always too, well... They're too... Hm. She supposes it just never really fit either of them, to wear something as frivolous and shiny as jewelry. It was very much the same as makeup was for her, in that it just never seemed to fit so much about her. Sometimes it almost feels as though she can't explain it right.
What can she say here? As it turns out, the first thing that pops into her brain. "When did you get your ears pierced!?" she exclaims, before slapping a hand over her mouth. Shoot, shoot, she forgot - she's not supposed to raise her voice like this at a king!
It's just.. a different thing entirely when it's a friend instead of a king. Dimitri ducks his head, hand sliding around the back of his neck. "Well... Some time ago," he admits, which makes Ingrid stare all the more. How long has he had his ears pierced? How did none of them notice it? Did others notice it, and she's just the last one to find out? "When Claude first left this earring behind for me. He actually left it behind with Hilda... She came to deliver it to me on one of the first meetings with all of the lords and heads of villages, when the war had ended. Apparently, Claude had told her to specifically do such a thing. It seemed a waste to just leave it about, especially when it is so small... So I went to Mercedes, and she helped pierce my ears."
Mercedes is a perfectly sensible choice, when Ingrid thinks about it. Who wouldn't go to a healer, and someone so knowledgeable about such trends? Ingrid can remember when her family insisted she pierce her ears not that long before she went to go attend Garreg Mach. It was the right and sensible thing to do, for when she eventually wed. It's just... She ended up never wearing earrings anyway.
Wait. Ingrid lets something sink into her mind for a moment as she considers the rest of what Dimitri said. The implications of it. "Do... you wear the earring, Dimitri?" she asks. "I mean - often?"
It shouldn't be surprising that Dimitri nods his head. Somehow, Ingrid is still surprised. "If I use it regularly, then I can be more assured in where it is, or where I last put it," he explains. It makes sense, too, is the thing. So why is she having such trouble wrapping her head around this? "Besides... When I wear it, I feel as though the two of us are a little more connected." He smiles, hands clasped in front of himself. "Although perhaps that is somewhat... overly sentimental."
"No.... No, it is fine," Ingrid finally gets herself to say. Dimitri's sentimentality, the way he so often recalls various little details - that's one of his best qualities. It's something she's always liked about him, even when they were children romping about in the snow, and he never forgot to catch her hair ribbon whenever it inevitably went flying off because of her rough housing. It's a part of him that will undoubtedly make him an excellent king, known in the history books. Of that, she's positive. "It's just... I've never seen you wearing it. Do you only put it on when you're doing something in private?"
"Oh, no," Dimitri says, and holds one hand out. "People miss it often. If I may...?"
Well, it is one of his personal belongings. It's not as though Ingrid would ever hold it away from him. She hands it over, and watches as Dimitri gently, preciously, slides it down onto one of his palms.
Maybe this is another reason why it's such a surprise to her that Dimitri wears jewelry. His strength is well known to basically the entire continent at this point. He is a person who can bend steel with his bare hands, who has shattered many a lance or sword when practicing. A small earring is even more delicate than any of those - so much more small, so much thinner. How can he put it in his ear like this?
Ingrid gets to watch the answer to her question, right there in front of her. Delicately, Dimitri brushes back his long blond hair, ensuring it is tucked out of the way. The box is placed to the side, back there right on the bed, and Dimitri begins to fiddle about with the earring.
Well, maybe "fiddle" isn't the right word. Instead, he nudges it about carefully with one fingernail. It's almost like watching someone trying to put together one of those tiny model boats that are occasionally the rage with nobility. Ingrid once had a meeting with one of those people, in hopes from her father that he would be a suitable match for her. Neither of them had been particularly interested in each other in the end, and maybe that just wasn't surprising. Their personalities hadn't made a good match at all, at least not romantically.
And yet she had been completely fascinated when he had explained to her this hobby of his, and even demonstrated it. Somehow, it had been almost soothing, watching him navigate a pair of ultra thin tweezers though the opening of a glass bottle, putting together a boat tiny little wooden sliver by sliver. It had captured her attention somehow, much like Dimitri's own movements do here.
No tweezers. Just his fingernail, navigating the earring onto one finger, and then balancing it right there as he brings it up to his ear.
It's not easy. She can tell that even as an observer. The idea of doing that herself.... Ingrid can't imagine it. It seems like so much trouble, all for one little piece of shiny gold in her ear. And yet that's what Dimitri does as he finally slides it into what is indeed a very tiny hole in his ear, and somehow clicking it into place without making the gold crumple completely in his grasp.
All the tension leaves Ingrid, and she heaves out a breath at almost the same time that Dimitri does. "I see," she says, not knowing what else she could say. "Well, at least it's being put to good use... But the way you hide it... Oh."
The obvious answer hits her, right as Dimitri smiles, right before he reaches back to get his hair loose once again. Dimitri's hair is the perfect length for what is needed of it. When it is not styled in any particular manner, and allowed to simply hang loose around his face and brushing his shoulders, it acts as the perfect curtain. Who would spot a tiny little ring of gold in his ear when there's a much larger curtain of it falling there, obscuring everything from view?
At least... She thinks this gives them both the answer that they're looking for. "If I can offer my honest opinion, then..." She inclines her head towards Dimitri with a smile. "I think that may be the memento of Claude that you should bring with you down to Derdriu... Dimitri."
"You really think so?" Dimitri asks, reaching up to brush his fingers over the shape of his ear, just there past his hair. "It is not too small or bothersome to bring with me? It is enough to show Claude what I feel?"
"I do," Ingrid agrees with a nod. "All of the other things that you have displayed here are of course wonderful in their own right. It's obvious that everything was chosen out of absolute care for you, whether they were clothing that could help keep you warm, or something that he made while thinking of you. Small parts of yourself that he took care to remember completely. I can't say if any of them are better than the others. They're all important, in their own individual ways. But the earring... It is something that was a part of Claude, and which you've taken unto yourself as well. That you've gone as far as learning how to put it in your ear, that you've changed yourself in that small way just for him..." She smiles. "I think there is a lot in that particular meaning, and I am sure that Claude would be happy to see you wearing it even now."
This isn't the sort of thing that people often come to her for advice on... Ingrid has to admit that she's not particularly feminine in that respect. Maybe Annette or Mercedes would have been a better choice, or Dorothea, or Hilda. Would they have given different answers than the one she's giving now?
She has no idea. All Ingrid can say for certain... is that she's glad that, whatever she's done, it can make Dimitri smile at her like that, just like when they were children, and silly things like titles and roles were distant adult things that didn't matter much at all. "You know," Dimitri says, "when you say it that way, Ingrid, it's as though the answer was obvious all along."
That's the most she can ask for, isn't it? For him to tell her that she's helped. Still... A part of her can't help being disappointed. With the answer given, after all, that means her duty is done here, and there's no real point in hanging about. Surely Dimitri must be busy with so many other things that all read a lead up to his visit towards Derdriu. What else can she do here? Her gaze drifts away from Dimitri, goes back to the many things that still lay there on the bed.
A slight shuffle of movement, a footstep heavy enough that it's notable even as it goes against rug. She can see a hint of Dimitri's clothing even before she looks up to where he's come to stand by her side. "I know that your time is surely quite valuable, Ingrid," Dimitri tells her, somehow reminding her so much of the young prince she knew once upon a time despite how much deeper his voice has become. "But... Do you think I could use up some more of it, while having you help me put all of these things back in their proper place?"
Ingrid pauses, just a moment, before she smiles back at him. "I wouldn't mind that at all," she tells him. "And while we're putting everything away... Would you mind telling me more about the different things Claude has sent you, Dimitri?"
One of Dimitri's dreams is to change Fodlan so deeply that class means nothing. That he can still be spoken to as casually as any other person, and no one is ever under the boot of another. Maybe one day, hopefully one day, he'll accomplish that dream. It would surely be a beautiful world then. But for now, Ingrid knows that she is wrapped up in the chains of what is here in Fodlan in the present day, and the role she willingly took on as a knight to the king.
But at the same time... She knows that some of those chains are those that she wrapped around her own throat, and to which she attached the weights herself. Weights that none of her friends might have asked her to bear.
It's the sort of things which has her clash with Felix on occasion, what made her lash out at Claude occasionally back in their school days, what made her want to hold onto Sylvain so tightly so that he wouldn't end up vanishing from some terrible and stupid thing like used to terrify her back when she was a child and everyone still wore black for far too many funerals.
The kind of thing which has her fumble over saying Dimitri's name these days, even though she used to be able to say it so easily when her hair was long and he ran after her with a ribbon in his hand.
She's known that for a while now, and maybe that's too late to really pry out of herself. Some habits embed themselves quite deeply. Yet at the same time... She's come far enough as a person to know that there's still so much about herself that needs to change, that she needs to strive for. When she was younger, just a girl in a school uniform, she used to think that was all to do with her knighthood. She had to be a better rider, a better lancer, a better knight.
Has she reached any of those goals just yet? Even now, with a proper title under her belt, Ingrid isn't particularly certain. What she does know is that there's something else she wants to work on now. Something else to better herself in.
As she and Dimitri go through the different little wooden statues on his bed, the brightly patterned clothing that was passed along with diplomats.... Ingrid reflects, and she thinks...
She'd like to be a better friend as well, the kind who can say a name and not trip over it.
Phoi, Almyran royal treasurer and occasional diplomatic envoy, pauses from where they stand in the doorway to his king's room, before sighing and closing the door behind them. Very pointedly, they ignore the eternal mess that is present in the space, and instead focus on the man that is standing over at the foot of his bed. "King Khalid, I've brought you some of the information you requested on the responses from the different artisans you want to take with you on your trip to Fodlan," he says.
For a second, he almost thinks he won't get an answer. At least, they won't get one right away. It's not because King Khalid is oblivious to their presence, of course.
King Khalid isn't that kind of absentminded idiot. In this political climate? With how many people still wouldn't mind him dead, all of them in various positions of power or with something to gain from that kind of event? No, King Khalid knows he's there, because King Khalid knows of every single person who dares to step inside of his room.
He's just apparently quite caught up in inspecting the large fur rug that's stretched over his bed.
"That's good," he finally says, rubbing some of the fur inbetween his fingers. Finally, he flashes a smile over to Phoi. "Excellent job as always. You never fail to get results, huh, Phoi?"
Obviously that's a lie. Phoi has definitely failed on occasion to get the exact results he's wanted. One of those failures is how King Khalid learned about their nonsense in slipping a little more money into their wallet when he came to power. It's just, much like his father before him, he realized how to use that to his own advantage. It's a rare kind of person who looks at a thief in their own home and decides that's the exact kind of person they want to keep working under them.
Well, he's not going to complain about a perfectly serviceable working relationship, especially when they think of the alternatives that could happen with any one of the other princes on the throne.
"I am honored by your praise, Your Majesy," Phoi says, and flashes a perfectly identical smile to King Khalid's own at him.
At least that's another thing when it comes to working for King Khalid: both of them seem to amuse in this little bullshit game both of them like to play. King Khalid grins, a sparkle of genuine amusement in his eyes, before his lips curve into a slightly more honest and also more annoying little smirk. "Although with that said, I have to say that I'm almost disappointed that you haven't asked about the state of my room, Phoi."
"I see absolutely nothing about it that is so different it merits mentioning, Your Majesty," Phoi says, and, through the grace of some sort of god, doesn't come off as completely deadpan.
On one hand, he isn't completely wrong. In the other few times that they had glanced into King Khalid's room, it was always clear that it was some degree of mess. Most of it tended to be books - things from the depths of the royal library that he apparently devoured restlessly, others from far off lands like Dagda, and even those that he'd managed to get to himself from the old Leicester Alliance through what he'd idly dismissed as 'old connections from my mother' whenever questioned about it. With trade opening up bit by bit between them and Fodlan, the amount of books in both the library and King Khalid's room has only increased exponentially.
It's just, normally, that's what it is: books.
As of right this moment, there is significantly more than that in his room.
King Khalid snorts a little bit, resting one hand on his hip. "Are you trying to make a statement about the state of my room, Advisor Phoi?" he asks slyly, before laughing, other hand sweeping through the air dismissively. "Although if you're going to say that, I guess there's no point in asking you for advice on this particular matter."
There's no getting out of this, is there? Well, he'd have to say he's lying if he didn't say he wasn't a little bit curious to see just what all of this means. "If you explain further, Your Majesty, I could make a recommendation, at the very least."
"Oh, excellent. Well, you see, I'm trying to make a decision on what to bring with me that is a memento of my dear and very good friend King Dimitri of Fodlan."
Oh. Phoi's expression goes flat. So he just wants to boast about his very definitely not a lover over in the neighboring country. Or, if he doesn't want to boast, then he certainly wants to talk about. He really has too much work to do to bother about listening to this kind of thing... "From what I saw of the various things that the good King of Fodlan has sent to you," he says, eyes skimming around it all - a suit of armor, a finely crafted brave bow, the furred rug that won't do a bit of good here in the desert, books of overly romantic poetry that he highly suspects are handwritten, "then I was fairly certain that you planned on taking every single thing with you to Fodlan, Your Majesty."
King Khalid looks far too pleased about the statement, so Phoi knows he's right. "Maybe I just wanted to admire the coat of armor by dragging it out, did you ever think of that?" he asks coyly. It really is sometimes a pain to be one of the few people that the king seems to genuinely favor here. He gets like this.
Well... At least it makes one of Phoi's own lovers happy, and he sighs, trying not to smile. "If you need help making a decision, then, Your Majesty, I will send Chef Irbon here. He has a talent for such things."
And he adores such romantic tales, too.