I had the absolute pleasure of writing this hilarious Farming Comedy for Luin, an Ingrid zine!
At first glance, the place isn't impressive. Neither is it at the second and third, or even a tenth. The home's in decent enough shape if you ignore its slight lean to the left.
"It's falling apart," says Felix, arms crossed over his chest and signature scowl planted across his face.
"The roof's in one piece," says Ingrid, words a little bit clipped and defensive.
There's a dead field to the right with a lone cow that looks old enough to fall right over. Both look as though they haven't been cared for properly in nearly a decade. Paired with the house, the entire property is an absolute mess, something out of those old horror stories that Mercedes would share around the campfire.
Ingrid's always hated horror stories and she isn't sure that she's prepared to live one.
"It's something," she finally settles on, gesturing vaguely.
"Something," repeats Felix, sounding half caught between incredulous and annoyed. "Certainly is."
They survey the farm for a few more minutes in awkward silence, eyes roaming over hard-packed dirt and weeds, and the cow chewing its cud. Something indeed.
"Tell me, Ingrid," says Felix, "When you spent our entire savings on the land permit, what did the listing exactly say?" He's needling her, she knows it, but Ingrid has enough stubborn pride to not give in.
"A working farm; barn, home, field, and even a dairy cow included."
Felix rubs at his chin. "Some cow."
Ingrid shoves him. "She looks sweet!"
"Can she even give milk?" Judging by the thin, decrepit-looking thing, they both doubt it and collectively sigh.
Then, Ingrid looks to Felix and Felix looks to Ingrid. She's searching for something, anything in his gaze, and despite his annoyance, Ingrid finds his affection. Felix can be infuriating at times, and Goddess above, Ingrid knows that she is too, but they'll always have that kindling deep in their hearts.
This isn't the future that Ingrid or Felix ever imagined for themselves. They'd planned years of living by their weapons; a lance, and blade for hire. Highly respected and diligent mercenaries, hired for the right amount of coin. The entire falling in love bit had been unexpected.
But, things happen as they always do.
"Felix," says Ingrid with uncharacteristic quietness. She can't help it when her gloved hand slips to the gentle swell of her belly, taut underneath her skirts. "Have we made a mistake?"
Felix will tell you that he isn't good with feelings or expressing them, but it isn't true. Felix lets out a soft little sigh and opens an arm, pulling Ingrid close without a word, uncannily attuned to her. He covers the hand resting on her stomach with his own, squeezing it softly with wordless encouragement.
Then, Felix ruins the moment when he teases, "Well, it's too late now."
#
"Not now, Ingrid," says Felix when she steps out the front door to call him in for dinner. He's on his hands and knees, several nails between his teeth and a hammer in his hand. He surveys the broken porch step like it's an enemy and he's calculating the best way to approach for a kill.
But the porch isn't an enemy and he knows next to nothing about carpentry. Or fixing up a house. Several weeks into their new farm and fixing it up is going rather slowly. At least Felix has determination on his side. Ingrid isn't sure that it will do him much good.
"Staring at it won't fix it," she says lightheartedly.
"It won't fix itself," he bites back.
Ingrid's amused grin falls and she lets out a huff. "You could ask for help."
Felix looks at her and says around the nails in his mouth, "From who? You?"
Ingrid doesn't even warrant that with a response, she just stands there and crosses her arms over her chest before nodding to the west.
Felix immediately scowls. "No, no-"
"The neighbors are nice," says Ingrid indignantly.
"They're old and nosy."
"Old and kind, and they brought some freshly baked bread which we're going to eat with dinner tonight."
"The more you engage the more they'll insist on being friends."
"Is that a bad thing?" asks Ingrid. "Goddess knows we're stuck here for the rest of our lives, might as well make the most of it."
They stare each other down for a moment that lasts just a little bit too long. It's been a repeated theme over the last few weeks; they wonder if they've made a mistake coming here and buying this place. But, they both know that a mercenary's life is no way to raise a child, no matter what Byleth says.
Eventually, Felix shakes his head before taking a nail from his mouth and setting it into the broken step. Ingrid watches as he carefully poises the hammer right above it, hovering over his hand. Then he pulls back to strike it into the nail.
Ingrid cackles when he misses entirely and hits his thumb instead.
#
The cow is rather attached to Felix, much to his ire. To Ingrid, not so much, though the old lass allows pets to her snout once in a while. She persists in following Felix around instead like he hung both the moon and the sun in the sky.
"Ingrid," he says one late afternoon while they're out in the field. Ingrid's morning sickness has subsided and she's not too far along to be somewhat useful. She's having more fun watching their new pet try to chew at Felix's hair, though.
"Ingrid," says Felix, panic creeping into his voice. "She's- she's getting closer!"
Hilarious, Ingrid thinks because Felix isn't one to freak out. The tipping point seems to be an overly affectionate, elderly cow. Glenn would find this almost as funny as the idea of Ingrid and Felix settling down on a farm to raise a child together.
"Felix, you know that isn't how you hold a hoe," says Ingrid, cupping a hand around her eyes to block out the bright sun. She needs to invest in a hat. Felix too, judging by the pink tinge of his cheeks.
He holds the hoe aloft in front of him like it's a sword, fending off their as of yet, still nameless cow.
"I'm defending myself," says Felix tersely, jabbing the end of it in their cow's direction. Felix was defending himself long before their bovine friend began her pursuit. Ingrid saw him running sword drills with the hoe in between tilling the dirt, something about testing the weight of it. She doesn't blame him; Ingrid misses the heft of her lance in the palm of her hands as well.
"I'm thinking Moolissa," says Ingrid, completely ignoring his plight. They've been fighting on whether or not to name her since before they properly moved in.
"Moo-" Felix cuts himself off to give her an incredulous look. "Ingrid, this isn't the time to name her. Can't you see what she's doing?"
Ingrid pretends to consider his question and then says, "Yes dear, how utterly terrifying. An underweight, senior cow who wishes to impart affection upon you. The horror."
"There's definitely an evil glint in her eye-"
"What about Cowthleen?" Felix lets out an aggravated groan. "Sir Loin?" Ingrid continues.
Felix's stature relaxes as he makes a face at that. "She's female," he says, not remotely amused.
"It's called dramatic irony," says Ingrid. "Haven't you ever read a classic comedy?"
"When have I ever had time for a book? Other than that nonsense that Ashe loaned me." Probably never when you consider their upbringing. Dimitri, the war, and now all of this. Ingrid can't help her nervous tic of pressing her hand against her stomach when she's thinking too seriously.
Felix sees this and sighs, dropping the hoe. Then, their cow steps closer and licks up the entire side of his face, leaving Felix absolutely horrified and Ingrid in a fit of laughter.
"Cowlick," says Felix, annoyed. "It's her favorite thing to do, and-" He pauses, motioning to his hair and its terrible styling that's persisted over the years. Felix can't help the direction that it grows, leading to quite a horrendous combover.
Ingrid laughs even harder.
#
Ingrid isn't cut out for cooking it seems.
Shooing horses? Got it. Slicing through enemies on a battlefield? Nailed it. Taming wild men who'd prefer to live and die by the sword? She's still not sure how she managed that one but she isn't complaining.
But baking? Goddess above, Ingrid is utterly useless.
She looks at the heaping mound of dough balled up on her newly installed countertop. That's all that Felix has done in the kitchen so far; added the nice butcher-block counter that sits a slight lean.
Felix picks the worst time to walk in. "Mhm," he hums, "What's that?"
"Bread."
He leans around her shoulder, eyeballing the dough warily. "Is it supposed to be-"
"So flat? No, of course not. It didn't rise. Alva warned me about old yeast but-"
"How do you tell if yeast is old?"
Ingrid is quiet for a moment. "Well, she told me but I don't quite remember. I was too excited about the bread itself."
"Seems about right," says Felix with a laugh.
Ingrid pushes him out of the way before grabbing the rolling pin. "I know I'm bad at this," she says, trying to figure the dough out. "But I'm determined to get better."
"Either way, I'll still eat it," says Felix, earnestly. Ingrid's mouth tips into a soft, little smile at that. He always will, even if it's with a complaint, something that still manages to warm her heart. He rests his chin on her shoulder, hands circling to her round middle, caressing it softly.
Felix doesn't coddle, but he's certainly embraced domesticity. The farming bit is coming a little slower.
"Flatbread," says Ingrid finally, rolling out the dough into a sheet. When she sets the pin off to the side, it starts to roll the length of the crooked countertop.
Ingrid huffs, annoyed as she chases after it, and Felix frowns, saying, "Guess I should fix that."
One Year Later
Felix takes to fathering like a moth to a flame. He'd been concerned, considering his strained relationship with his father growing up, but the moment their daughter opened her green eyes, he'd fallen completely in love.
"Little Brenna," he'd said because of course, he'd gift their child a name that means sword.
Ingrid hisses as she sits down, back aching. She's been on her feet all day, hunching over and back while doing the laundry. But the sunset's nice as it stretches over the horizon. They do their best to still have moments like this.
"Long day?" asks Felix, eyes trained on his wood carving.
"Longer than yours, surely," she says, leaning against the porch banister. "Did Brenna go down well?"
"Out like a candle," says Felix, a tiny smile gracing his face. Always a sucker for their daughter.
"Goddess bless you," says Ingrid. "I swear, you're magic sometimes."
"No, just her father. Whom she clearly loves more." He's only teasing her and Ingrid reaches out to slap at him halfheartedly. Then she scoots closer, throwing her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.
Felix pauses in his work and looks at her, eyes soft. "It wasn't a mistake," he says.
Brenna, their green-eyed and absurdly curious wonder. Retiring and buying this dump of a farm. Felix is right, none of it was a mistake. Even with the long days and grueling work, it's become routine and relished. Felix has even warmed up to the neighbors.
Ingrid loves this, the life that they've been thrown into.
"Yeah," says Ingrid, and Felix leans over to press a sweet kiss to her brow. "What are you making this time?" she asks. The last time it was a crooked-looking crest beast, nearly as terrible as Ingrid's horrendously sewn teddy bear.
Her eyes narrow when he shows off the length of wood. "Is that a sword?"
Felix cracks a rare grin. "It's never too early to start."
"Felix!"