Still frustrated over the body swap phone call tbh

If my dm gave one of the only opportunities for an emotional moment from my character to somebody else to play and then EVERYBODY PRAISED THAT AS SOMETHING I NEVER DID. WHEN I WAS NEVER GIVEN ANY PROMPTS THAT EMOTIONAL. I WOULD BE SO PISSED.

‘Til it Gets to Me

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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

--

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

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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

--

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

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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

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

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

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

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

She coughs, something wet dripping from her lips.

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

“You did,” the voice breaks.

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

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

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

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

OH YOU REBLOGGED THAT CHARACTER ASK MEME YASS!! CAN YOU DO MARCA AND/OR CHRADIA FOR 002 BC I'D LOVE IT AS U KNOW HEHE

OHOHOHOHO THANK YOU MY ANGEL!!!!! I KNOW THIS WILL GET LONG SO UNDER THE CUT THIS GOES!!

~Marca~ (Marle + Lucca)

When I started shipping them: hmmm I think I was around 12/13, fun time

My thoughts: wow how great, like you think yeah they’d be so cute and awesome but then your imagination just goes wild and !!!!!!

What makes me happy about them: the fact that two very strong awesome sassy beautiful women is a possible ship is still mind blowing, LIKE IMAGINE ALL THE WILD STUFF THEYD GET UP TO!! JUST IN LUCCAS LAB EVEN!!

What makes me sad about them: I don’t think I’ve seen much good content for them probably cause theres a canon ship but just my angst addicted ass thinking about this esp in the ending without that babe of a boy… hollly fuck I should stop before I go too far ;)

Things done in fanfic that annoy me: TAKING AWAY ALL THE CHARACTER FROM ONE OF THEM TO HIGHLIGHT THE OTHER!! ITS NOT COOL 

Things I look for in fanfic: both of their fun characters, Marle is sassy and stubborn and a gorgeous girl in general and Lucca is this wild genius of a thing, and together they have a lot of chemisty thinking about the slideshow ending gives me life

My wishlist: can I get and animated short of the slideshow ending I’d like more fics of them tbh!! they’re so cute and good!!!!

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: the next ship is who I’m comfortable with Marle getting with lmao, but I fucking love that in the slideshow ending Marle thinks Cyrus is cute~ And when Lucca sees Glenn in his human form and says hes hanDSOME AND CALLS HIM A DISH!!!! If they’re not together and Chrono isn’t part of it they’re packing their bags and partying in the middle ages lmao

My happily ever after for them: They both have fun imagining wild ideas for inventions and Lucca teaches Marle everything and she even gets to make a few crazy things to surprise Lucca. They go hang out in Leene Square where the telepods were sometimes just to remember, then they go have fun with Gato becuase Gato is a fan favourite and has to stay all year round. During dinners at the castle Lucca tries to be on her best behaviour and asks her beautiful gf to help her prepare and is amazed at how well she can explain all the social intricacies she’ll need to remember while she helps dress her up formally, and Lucca gets better and better at helping Marle do her hair for her and she loves them even though they’re simple, the King sucks up whatever pride or prejudice he’d have, especially after the two of them came over with an invention they made just for him that he enjoys even if it’s not quite right, because he’ll fall in love with Lucca too and enjoy calling her over to fix the accumulating gadgets somehow finding their way into his castle. Sometimes they’ll go for walks around Guardia and end up in Porre or Medina and just stay the night and have fun playing with the children of the towns, they know they have other duties and responsibilities, but they both think that if they can’t have a good connection with their people then those othe duties would be meaningless

~Chradia~ (Chrono + Marle[Nadia])

When I started shipping them: WHEN I WAS LIKE 8/9 OR HOWEVER OLD ON MY FIRST PLAYTHROUGH AND SEEING THE WAY THEY IMMEDIATELY BECAME FRIENDS LIKE HOLY SHIIIIIT

My thoughts: C̡̘͔̳͇̙̗̱̗̯͡ͅH̷̨̡̻͔̬͍̗̺̹͉͍͚͖͟͝R̢̧̜͎̱̻̻̬̫̠̹̲̖͇͓̝͓̘̺A̛͔͎͎̣̣̹͈̲͔̟͇̥͕̺̞̟͘͝D̴̫̻̼͎̞̠̗̗̕͝I͖͎̘͕̯̬̯̮̻͕͢A͏͝͏̢͙̦͍̞͙͓͕̳̫̟̜̦ ̛̞̱̪̲͔̻͍͓͓͖͉̼̳̝̤̀̀͡Ç̴̶̫̘̣̭̺̯̕Á̡̳͍̳̭̭̳̘̥̫͖͎̘̝͕͙̖̕͟͠ͅͅN̼̫͈̼̩̜̻͘͟͟͡ͅŅ̶̸̙̮͕̪̘͔̺̗̻͔̺̘͉̩̩̥͕̕͞O͏̢̤͓͍̣͖̣̮͕̭̭̙̝ͅT̵̻̣̩̣̘͖̜̙̗̳̖̗̞͍͎ ͏̵̱̪̪̘͉͕̺̘̝̫̱̱̯͓̝͢B͞҉̡̤͇̹̟̫͔̤͓̺̟̤͉̞͞͞ͅÈ̷̗̮͖̼͙̮͉̤̜̱̙̘̟̝̹̖͜ ̸̧͍̫̜͓̞̬̻͔̲̳̘͉̮͖̜̭́͘F̢̯͙͉̯̙̻͕̭̝̳̙̬̳͔̭̞͞Ų̸͇̪̗͕͔̱̥̻̝̹͉́Ļ̸̗̠̖͉͉̖̲͚̞̹̪̳͝L̵͢͞͏̷͉̳͚̪̻̻̻̻̪Y̧̛̟̰̻̟̮̫̪̺̬͟͡͡ ̷̩̞̝̯̹̠̻͘͜͠͡Ę̢̼̯͓͈̰̻̟̣̣̞́͘͞X̶͓͔̤͉̭͕́͝P҉̪̮̩̪̺͕͇̘̥͕͠͡R͡͏̷͇͉̠̠E̵̛͇̪̗̟̺͙̘͞͞S̶͏̴͈̫̘̩͎͎͢ͅS̡̧̰̮͎͙̙̬̖̜̘͉̱̕͞͝ͅÈ̛̗̝̲̫͓̙̖̠̼̺̝̣̦̀͞ͅḐ͈͎̱͕̗̟͖̦̯͎̯̖͔̮͈̯ ̴̡͕̻̜̻̯̹͢ͅẂ̵̴͈̦̱̖̞̼̙̙͇̣͖̮͙̪͎̲͝I̶̢̝͓̙̳͕̲̯͎͚̬͈̦̼̩̝̖̳̞͘Ţ̶̸̷̶͉̹̗̞̦͍̻͎̞͙̼̪͉̟̞̗̦ͅH̴̡̖̩͙͉͙̯͢͡ ̵̴͙͉̫̜̯̻̯̰̘̣͇̤̲̠̞̭̕͘T̨̡̡̯̗̯̟͍̙͓͚̰͎̱̼̘̝̪̮̟̘͡H̷̷̛̹̬͙̙̥̱́Ì̛̬̣͔̜̩͍̲̩̦̗ͅS̢̥͓̱̠̼̺̜̘̹̼̮͓̣̥͈̪͎͢ ̴̪͖̠̦̻͙̤̹̗̤̭̟̱̗̫̺̗̻́̀͝Ļ̰͚̦͙͇̰͍͓̪̲͇͍͓͖͚͚͚̳͎́͠͡A̧͏̯̦̼͙̖͇̟̫̗͍̺ͅN̸̴̡̨͇̰̟̜͓̘͚̖͙̻̹̬̼̩̹͔͔̳̮͝Ǵ̵̵̸̫̱̪̗͎̩͍̯̝̮̭͘U҉̶͠͞҉͙͚̥̻̫̝̭͉̪̠͍͓͖̳̭͖̠̣͇Ą̷̥͓̟̝̖̝̱̩͜͠G̡̢̛̖͙̯̠̥͇̠̀E̷̶̡̥̦͚̖͓͎̼̣͓͡

What makes me happy about them: That they’re literally so perfect? They’re wholesome and would do literally anything for each other, in fact they’ve boTH RISKED THEIR LIVES TO ENSURE THE OTHERS WILL CONTINUE LIKE FUCK YOU CANT BEAT THAT!!!!

What makes me sad about them: That there are certain endings where they can’t be together… it’s really fun shipping them with other people of course but as soon as they are forcibly torn right in front of me I cannot deal with it.. 

Things done in fanfic that annoy me: Making Chrono bland just because he’s silent, like DUUUUUUUUUUUUUDEEEE COME ONNN!!! I KNOW PEOPLE CAN WRITE SILENT PROTAGS REALLY WELL IVE SEEN IT IN ZELINK!! IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER IF YOU MAKE HIM TALK IN YOUR FIC IF YOU DO IT WELL!!! AND IF YOU STRIP MARLE DOWN TO STEREOTYPES AND ERASE HER AND REDUCE HER TO AN ANNOYING BITCH I WILL PERSONALLY MARCH OVER TO YOUR HOUSE AND MAKE YOU FIX IT

Things I look for in fanfic: the fun!! they have adventures and love their friends and ahhhhh, I wanna see them fall in love over the simplest things and talk about their fun adventures and the friends they miss and maybe they continue to travel if the epoch is still around and i wanna see them hang out with lucca and see chrono being the most polite CONSORT for the king and marle feeling happy and comfy around chronos mum and playing with the cats!!!!! EVERYTHING!!!

My wishlist: TBH THE GAME HAS ALREADY DONE A REALLY GOOD JOB SO IT’S JUST FAN CONTENT, I WANNA SEE ALL THE DIFFERENT WAYS TO REIMAGINE THEM GIMME NEW HC NEW AUS NEW STORYLINES AFTER THE GAME WHAT ARE THEY LIKE RULING GUARDIA WHAT DO MARLE AND CHRONOS MUM TALK ABOUT WHAT DO THEY DO WITH LUCCA HOW MANY ACCESSORIES DID THEY BUY FOR THEIR CATS GIMME CHRADIA CAT OWNERS AS A SEQUEL THANKS

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: tbh marle and lucca is still a nice couple ;) and marle x cyrus as stated earlier… and chrono… im not sure about him because the rest of the main party are so platonically close, like maybe lucca for him but they seem more like siblings to me…

My happily ever after for them: they both have the most beautiful wedding (well thats already canon lol) and they’ve built a beautiful house together filled with valued memories of them and their adventures, little knick-knacks from their travels all over the house, but not enough to give anything away, they’d have a secret room of very precious things that they want to keep private, and they do such an amazing job at ruling, they have such a good relationship with their people they listen and understand and they throw the best parties and the possibility of child for them because they’d be the best parents in the world and they have so many stories between them.. the go on dates everywhere, enjoying their land and especially Leene’s Square where they first met and owdifhgisi theres so much 

Glenn Close, Christian Slater and Bjorn Runge on the Intricacies of The Wife

Glenn Close plays “The Wife,” and notably the title is not her name but her role—helpmate to an acclaimed literary figure. Their names, Joan and Joe Castleman, suggest there may be some unexplored blending between their characters. As the movie begins, he receives the news that he has been awarded the Nobel Prize and they fly to Stockholm for the ceremony. A lifetime of standing patiently in the corner as her husband gets all the attention begins to weigh on her, and when a journalist played by Christian Slater suspects that she may have had more to do with her husband’s success than either of them has acknowledged, she thinks back over all that has brought her to this moment. 

Close, Slater, and director Bjorn Runge met with three critics in Washington DC to talk about the film, based on the novel by Meg Wolitzer. Close began by talking about the mixed feelings of anger, regret, and guilt Joan is exploring through the course of the film. [Quotes edited for continuity and clarity]. 

I think it’s a progression there. When you see her for the first time in the plane she knows her husband’s behavior and she's trying to make him not quite as rude to this guy [Slater’s character] who is so annoying. One of my favorite scenes was when we arrive in Stockholm and I'm just holding the coat in the background. I love that because that's what she did and she has to introduce herself. I've been around men who make women feel invisible and it's not a nice place to be in but it's something that Joan has accepted. 

I think in the film we see her growing awareness of how really far apart they are or have become as far as his belief, his almost belief, that he has done all this. She can deal with that. When she hears what they are saying about her work at the ceremony and then watching him—Jonathan Pryce is just brilliant in that scene—and watching him accept the award. That’s when it cracks … She’s been complicit. I think that’s what makes the story so complex.  

In the beginning it's because she loves him. She has a lot at stake and he accepts that at first. Then it eats him up and it eventually gets to her. She can’t deal with it anymore. We see the moment—and I love it because I think it's so real—where Joe, he realizes that he doesn't have talent and he's probably known that for a while and he says “I can't have a relationship with you because I'm not the talented one,” and she says, “No, no, no, I love you, I love you and I just, oh my God, I know how to fix it, do you want me to fix it?” That’s how they slip into it. He has to be worshipped by a woman, not superseded by a woman.

She accepts the situation. It lets her write as she’s been told a woman cannot do, and she is happiest when she's at that desk writing. But she also has great guilt about the son as you know, maybe even more [painful] than her feeling of not being seen. The scene where the little boy is taken away, that's been the pattern. She didn't get up and say, “I’ll spend a half an hour with you.” She stayed. So I think what’s so interesting is that she's not without blame but there is enough fulfillment from her writing.  

I still think women give up a lot for men. The thing is, there has to be some sort of a balance. This is about a relationship that has become terribly unbalanced yet somebody has been fulfilled. She's fulfilled as an artist, she's not fulfilled as far as getting the acclaim that she deserves but I think funnily enough in that scene in the ceremony where things just crack inside of her, when she hears them describe her work and then sees him accepting that, I don't think it's about the acclaim. Is recognition different than acclaim? I think it's more about the recognition that she realizes what she's done and her husband hasn’t ever acknowledged that.

Slater’s character has an extended scene with Close as he tries to get her to admit that she played a role in writing Joe’s books. He spoke about his view – and his character’s view – of their relationship.  

He sees the growth of Joe’s denial and delusion and then there’s also an interesting balance with her vulnerability. This is my personal outside observation but she doesn’t necessarily want the attention so she kind of makes her own personal choice to initially take the backseat and then it’s like, “Wow, wait a second, now we’re getting to a point where … ” That makes Joe a little bit more understandable and Joan a little bit more understandable.

And he described his character’s own mixed feelings when asked whether he wanted the truth for truth’s sake or to make a name for himself as a journalist and how that relates to the story of the Castlemans.

Like the other characters in the movie there are a lot of blurred lines. Everybody is kind of walking their own particular path but I think he wants a bit of both. He’s on this journalistic pursuit to get the truth. He thinks he's on to something. He’s found a kernel, some evidence, and he wants to pursue it to the end and also he wants to get his own prize at the end of the day. A lot of journalists and actors, too, we’re looking for that thing that will satisfy us and give us the attention and acclaim that somebody like Joseph Castleman is getting in this movie. That's the big prize. The Nobel is huge. And it creates the culmination of their relationship and creates that explosive moment.

Runge pointed out the subtle differences between parallel scenes of the couple celebrating good news by jumping on the bed together in the flashbacks and the present. 

The first is “We got published, we got published!” and the second is “I got the Nobel! I got the Nobel!” From “we” to an “I”—that’s interesting.

And he talked about the importance of staging the very formal Stockholm Nobel ceremony accurately.

The Nobel Prize and the Stockholm city are very close to each other. The aerial shots were so beautiful because three hours before we shot that shot it was snowing and then we’re filming and the next day the snow was gone. It was the only day there was snow that winter. That was very important because people have an exotic view of Stockholm and it’s there in the beautiful overhead shots but for me the Nobel Prize world is deeply connected to the Royal Stockholm and I think we catch it pretty well. So the award ceremony when he received the award is one hundred percent what's happening in the real award ceremony.

One change from the book was including the Castleman’s son David, played by Max Irons, on the trip to Stockholm. He is bitter, resentful and insecure because his father will not give him the support he needs. Runge explained what that character personifies.

He’s the one that paid the price for the secret. I think if Joseph didn’t receive the Nobel Prize maybe the secret would continue much longer. If they didn't bring David with them maybe the secret could survive the Nobel Prize award ceremony also, so David is very essential there.

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