Chapter Six:

In Good Company

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The sky above her was slowly turning from light grey to a darker shade, and Harriet was starting to worry she would never reach the camp.

It was supposed to be a couple hours walk from the palace, but once the clouds had decided to release a pouring rain, Harriet began to doubt if she would be there before night fall. So much for making a good impression by being early or on time.

Now soaked through to the bone and her boots slicked with mud, Harriet trudged through the forest paths at as fast a pace as she could manage. Her newly shortened hair did nothing to protect her neck from the chill present in the air, and Harriet felt like kicking herself for deciding to wear her hoodless cloak. She was certain that she looked like a drowned cat, but at the moment she didn't care, she was a little busy focusing on sloshing through the mud.

She was just about to crest over a small hill within the wooded area when she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. Turning her head to glance over her shoulder she could just barely make out the sight of two horses galloping towards her through the rain.

She stepped to the side, waiting for them to slow down as was the custom of passing a walking person on such a narrow path, but instead the rider of the first horse seemed to order his steed to increase its speed. However, that wasn't all he did. Just left of Harriet's feet was a massive puddle which she had painstakingly walked around to try to keep her boots from being both flooded and muddy, but the rider had other ideas.

With a crash, the rider and his horse galloped through the puddle, showering Harriet with dirty water faster than she could put her arms up to shield herself. She had just wiped her eyes clean when the second rider rushed by, the echoes of his laughter reaching her ears as he passed her.

Harriet brought her hand to her eyes, attempting to wipe the mud from them away, but unable to do the same to the annoyance that was beginning to boil within her. She hoped to all goodness that they wouldn't be at the camp, or worse in the same company she was supposed to be in.

Finally turning to face the view that the top of the hill provided her with, she let out a sigh of relief. From where she stood she could see the tops of tents and a long line of men lined up in front of the largest tent. She would bet her lucky leather boots that it was Leopold's tent.

Harriet frowned as she noticed the steepness of the hill. It had been a gradual incline throughout the forest, but with the added mud and streams of water covering the well beaten path, Harriet was a little hesitant to go down.

Nonetheless, she began the descent down to the camp, her boots sliding in the mud, causing her to push her arms out from her sides to try and regain her balance. However, as the sound of another set of hoofbeats was heard behind her, the rider of that horse decided that they would help her trip to the ground along with a rough push, sending her careening towards the wet earth.

Muddy water churned around her as she heard the sounds of loud laughter coming from the men lined up, but instead of letting their laughter get to her, she surged to her feet, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing how much their laughter bothered her.

Harriet walked to the end of the line with as much dignity as she could muster, ignoring the loud chortles and snorts coming from the men she would working with. She fixed her posture to the rigid straightness that Sir Blackwell had trained into her since age thirteen and stared fixedly ahead, only moving when the line did.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the rider who pushed her down skipped ahead to join three other men five places in front of her, earning claps on the back and loud whistles. She did her best to ignore them but found she could still make out their words.

"Did you see the look on the twerp's face when he got up? I've never seen someone with a blank slate for a face," one of the men said, still chuckling.

"Heck, yes. Probably nothing between his ears to suggest a different reaction," another man agreed loudly, earning nods all around and the other men in line to turn around to look at her.

"Not to mention he's about as small as an eleven-year-old boy. When I pushed him over I was almost worried I had mistaken him for a child he was so light," the man who pushed her said none too quietly. The sides of Harriet's lips twitched downwards ever so slightly at his words, but otherwise she didn't remove her poker face.

"Quiet in the back," a voice shouted, and Harriet recognized it as Leopold's. The men in front of her instantly quietened but didn't stop talking, their voices just lowered. Harriet was finally able to ignore them, but she swore to herself that at the first opportunity she would get them back for their tormentation of her and the embarrassment they caused.

Soon she was able to actually see Leopold and the other two men sitting in the shelter of the tent with him. While one of the men was thin faced and had a nose that reminded her of a beak, the other had a pudgy face and beady eyes. Between them Leopold sat, his eyes staying on the man in front of him, his lips pressed firmly together as he listened to the man talk.

Harriet studied his face for a moment, noticing how much his face had changed since the last time she saw him face to face seven months ago when he'd visited Frederick. His eyes looked darker and they had bags under them, the lines of his face were harsher, and instead of his constant smile, his mouth was outlined with frown lines. He looked unhappy.

There was now only one man left between her and the three men sitting at the table and Harriet felt a little nervous. This would be her first conversation in her new identity. Finally, the man in front of her stepped away and Harriet walked forwards, doing her best to not appear anxious.

"Name and age, please," Leopold stated his eyes on the paper in front of him as he made to write her name with his quill. 

"Harold Greenfellow, twenty-one-years-old," Harriet replied, making sure her voice was deeper than it normally was, trying her best to sound like a male. However, as she mentioned her last name, Leopold's eyes snapped up to hers.

"Greenfellow? Are you in any way related to Marcus Greenfellow?" Leopold asked, calling Mark by his full name. Harriet nodded, her thoughts whirling. She had hoped that he wouldn't notice the familiar last name, but it seemed her hoping was for naught. Leopold had always had a great memory for facts, numbers, and names, and now was no different.

"He's my older brother," she answered, trying and failing to make her voice sound gruff.

"And he didn't want to come instead?" Leopold asked, his eyes sweeping over her rumpled form and slight stature.

"Forgive me sir, but not many want to go to war. However, with my mother's health being as it is, my brother was even less inclined to go. Our family needs him home in case of any complications," Harriet said much more smoothly than her other answers, watching as Leopold's eyes took on an altogether different look, one of understanding.

"And you did not want to be home as well?" Harriet paused, gulping as she remembered being told that Leopold's parents had died a little over a year ago. However, as she thought about it, she knew ideally she would want to be there should Rose pass away. She was a second mother to her, and Harriet did her best to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat.

"Of course I did sir, but the consequences of refusing the draft are not ones I, or my family, was willing to pay," Harriet said, and Leopold nodded, his eyes leaving hers to write her name and age down on the piece of paper.

"What are your strengths? Do you know how to handle a weapon?"

"Yes sir. My brother and his friend taught me everything they knew about handling a sword from a young age," she said, reciting the backstory that she and Mark had decided on before hand. "My strengths are long-distance running, hand to hand combat, and sword fighting."

Harriet was also good at archery but she left that out. Once upon a time, before she and Leopold were on bad terms, he had tried to teach her archery. She wasn't sure if she could lie about something that was directly related to him.

Harriet watched as Leopold's mouth quirked upwards in a sort of half smile, though it didn't reach his eyes in the same way his old one always had. "Good. I know of the accomplishments of both your brother and his friend, so I know they must've taught you well."

She tried to contain her shock from the indirect compliment of both her false identity and her actual one, but thankfully Leopold had looked away and was instead shuffling through his papers. She was glad his attention was averted because she couldn't imagine him ever actually complimenting her, and so getting over the shock was rather hard.

He had told her years ago that he didn't agree with her methods, whatever that meant, and now he was basically complimenting her on them. She really didn't understand the man.

"You will be sharing a tent with seven other men. You will train with them, eat with them, sleep with them, and so on," Leopold explained while Harriet thanked the heavens that she was covered in mud so he couldn't see her blush at his accidental innuendo. "The tent number is number five, and you'll find it to the left. Do you have armor with you or do you need armor fitted?"

"I have armor with me," Harriet answered, glad that she'd had the foresight to snitch some from the armory back at the palace. She would have to pay Blackwell back for it later.

"Then you are all set. Breakfast is at five, training begins at six and ends at six in the evening. Dinner will be served directly after around six-thirty."

Harriet nodded and moved from her place in line, starting towards the large tent with a number five on the side, as she pondered how she'd done. The conversation hadn't actually been that bad and she was relieved that he hadn't seemed to catch on to the similarity between the name of Harry and the name Harriet. She supposed she had Gardenia to thank for that.

She paused outside the tent flap, taking a large breath before going in, however, she couldn't contain her small gasp in horror as she realized who she was sharing a tent with. Standing there in a little huddle around one of the bedrolls was the three men who had initiated her fall down the hill as well as the laughter.

Shutting her open mouth with a snap, she made a beeline for the bed in the corner of the tent that was farthest from the three of them, but she had only gotten about halfway across when one of them grabbed her by the back of her collar, causing her to stumble backwards.

"Hey, look! It's the twerp! What's your name kid?" The one holding her said, making her feet dangle just above the ground as he raised his arm.

"Oy John, put him down a little! He can't talk with his windpipe closed off," the man who pushed her into the mud instructed and John, relented, letting her feet touch the ground again but still keeping a firm hold on her.

"Well?" The third one asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Harry Greenfellow," Harriet coughed out, rubbing the front of her throat. "And you?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

"I'm Garreth Macintosh, that one-" the third one said, pointing towards the man who had pushed her, "is Matthew Cole, and the man just behind you is John Boyden."

Harriet nodded as best as she could with John's hand still on the back of her collar, trying not to let them know how nervous they made her. They were all at least twice her size! Harriet glanced over to the four other men in the tent, but she was disappointed to see they weren't even paying attention. Was this sort of thing normal amongst men?

"It's nice to er- meet you," Harriet decided on saying, despite knowing it was a lie. She watched as Garreth's face twisted into a sneer.

"You as well, Greenfellow," he said, his voice sounding more like a growl than anything else. "I'm sure you can't wait for the proper army welcome." The last part was said with such a look that Harriet had to try and control her face to stop her from paling. What did that mean?

"A proper army welcome?" She asked her voice unsteady and shaky even to her own ears. Harriet watched as Garreth's face stretched into a menacing grin as John and Matthew laughed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the other soldiers in the tent send her a pitying look.

"Oh yes, we'll be sure to give you one of the best we've given in a long time," Garreth said, his words doing nothing to assure her that what he meant as "the best" and what she considered would be "the best" were the same thing. She wanted them to just leave her alone and mind their own business, but it didn't look like she would get her wish.

John finally dropped her to her feet and she scrambled away quickly, giving the three men a wide berth. This only caused them to laugh again, but for the rest of the night they ignored her, instead choosing to horse around at dinner, making crude jokes and hand gestures. The uncertainty over their words made her uneasy all throughout dinner, causing her to pick at her food and push it around her plate.

She had been under the assumption that her "proper army welcome" would come sooner rather than later and the anticipation of whatever those words meant was making her more nervous than talking to Leopold had made her. After Leopold had given all of the men a reminder of the schedule for tomorrow, they all shuffled off to bed, Harriet more reluctantly than most.

Only bothering to change her overshirt, as even though she was incredibly flat-chested she was uncomfortable at the prospect of changing in front of men whether the knew she was a female or not, she tumbled into bed physically and mentally fatigued.

However, moments later, she finally found out what, or rather when, whatever they had meant about the "proper army welcome" would take place when the small lantern they had been provided with was blown out. In the sudden dark, quietness of the tent she could hear Garreth whisper to her from his bed.

"Nighty, night, Greenfellow. The fun starts tomorrow so make sure to get some shut eye." His words were met with chuckles from his two companions and silence from the other men. Harriet felt a little sick.

Harriet had a feeling that the "fun" would be anything but that. She did not sleep a wink the whole night, instead choosing to lay on her back to stare at the ceiling of the tent, all the while wondering if she had made the right decision in joining and dreading the coming day.

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What do you think the proper army welcome is? Don't worry it's nothing too untoward. Was Leopold what you were expecting? What do you think of Garreth, John, and Matthew? Tell me in the comments! Also, keep in mind that the personality of Leopold when talking to Harriet is a different personality of Leopold from the one who is in charge of the army. You'll see what I mean next chapter.

Next update should be Friday!