FREYA HAD BEEN placed into a tent with a few female First Army soldiers. When she requested it, Leanne was brought to that tent as well. The military camp was gritty and morbid on the best day, and Leanne was already uncomfortable around all the new people. Freya was the only one she knew besides Harshaw, but the Inferni was bedridden, and Leanne wouldn't have been allowed to sleep in the medical tent anyway.

When Freya woke on the third day of their stay in the military camp, it was raining outside. The chill from the northern rain had seeped in through the tent canvas. It left Freya shivering even beneath the blankets she had. She quickly dressed in warmer clothes and through her kefta over her shoulder.

The other soldiers and Leanne were still sleeping. It must've been far earlier in the morning than Freya thought. Still, the camp was already alive when she left the tent. Military encampments never truly slept. Freya knew that as well as any other soldier. How many times had she not slept for days? Held the night's watch or returned from a mission so early that going to sleep was pointless? More times than she cared to recall.

Rain instantly matted Freya's hair to her head, turning the pale blonde to a dark grey. She inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air. Breakfast was first on her agenda. Her stomach was growling at her as if she hadn't eaten in three weeks.

The small run-down building where they served food used to be the town hall of whatever small town had stood here before the war razed it to the ground. Its bleak stone walls were crumbling, and the roof barely held together. But it was still the driest place in the entirety of the camp and the largest structure still standing. It made for the perfect place for the soldiers to convene for food. Or to receive orders, if need be.

There were plenty of soldiers already sitting around the makeshift tables. As always, they were laughing joyously, as if a war was not being fought just outside. It was good, Freya thought, that they could relax like this. At least a little bit.

She received her food quickly – a strange bland mesh of mashed potatoes and something she would rather not know about. There were no other Second Army soldiers at this camp. Freya felt out of place whenever she entered situations such as this. She stood in the centre of the room and. She did not know where to sit. She did not want to impose on the First Army soldiers. Many of them disliked Grisha at best and despised them at worst.

At times like this, she felt like a child again. Where will I sit? It was a question she had asked herself many times when she first arrived at the Little Palace. She didn't know anyone back then, just as she did not know anyone here now. Nikolai and a few of his friends from the Twenty-Second regiment were the only ones that had bothered to converse with her. But with the awkward situation with Nikolai in the medical tent three days back, Freya did not know if she wanted to talk to him.

It was embarrassing how flustered she got whenever her thoughts drifted to it. The memory of his hot breath on her face and his arms on the skin of her abdomen. His body pressed so close to hers that she felt every movement of his muscles. He had gotten stronger and taller since she had seen him last at the royal hunt she had known that. But she hadn't realised how much until he was there so close to her. Again, she could feel heat blooming across her cheeks and neck at the thought of his broad shoulders, his muscular chest and the tight and firm feel of his arms.

She definitely could not speak to Nikolai like this. But the world decided that she did not get to have that choice because a loud holler rang through the room.

"Helvar!" a man at one of the tables a bit further away from her shouted. "Get over here!" She could not help the small smile that tugged at her lips when she noticed who it was. Nevsky was one of Nikolai's friends from the Twenty-Second regiment and had accepted her quicker than most others. He was almost always serious, but there were times when his more carefree side shined through. Now was one of those times because he was grinning broadly at her as she approached his table.

Freya was relieved that Nikolai was not there, but at the same time, she felt her stomach sink in disappointment. She had not spoken to him since that day in the medical tent. Had only caught glimpses of him from across the camp. He was avoiding her just as much as she was avoiding him. Freya would admit that she was a little hurt by that. It had been he who had approached her in that tent. He had closed the gap between them and left her breathless. And now he wasn't even speaking to her.

"Looking as radiant as ever," one of the other soldiers – Smirnov – joked, bumping his shoulder to hers as she sat down. Freya rolled her eyes. She knew full well she did not look radiant. Probably a lot closer to an unhinged sea monster. Mornings had never been her favourite, and nothing could ever hide her distaste for them. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she had haphazardly pulled her hair into a quick and messy braid.

"I thought so too," she joked back, tossing the braid dramatically over her shoulder. Smirnov chuckled, leaning heavily on his elbow. He was so tall and lanky that he never quite knew what to do with his limbs. "Has there been any news?"

Nevsky shook his head. "The General sent a letter to Ulensk, but there has been nothing in return," he told her. Freya's face twisted in a poorly concealed grimace. As much as she enjoyed the few stolen moments she had with the Twenty-Second regiment, it was not enough to get her to want to stay at the First Army encampment forever. The letter was meant to garner a response straight away. Instead, there had been complete silence.

It has only been three days, she told herself. The letter probably hadn't even arrived at Ulensk yet. Yet still, she could not help the discomfort at not knowing.

"I see," she muttered. Nevsky gave her his attempt at a comforting smile while Smirnov squeezed her shoulder. The other men sitting around the table tried their best to comfort her in their own way. There was not much they could do.

"Cheer up, lass," Vasiliev said, though his deep voice made it sound much more like a grumble. "I'm sure Nikolai will do his best to get you home soon." Freya raised a brow. She doubted Nikolai could do much of anything. He might've been the Prince, but his title granted him no authority in the army.

"I haven't even seen Nikolai in three days." She dismissed his words with a quick wave of her hand. "Besides, I won't be going anywhere until Harshaw wakes." If she received an order, she wouldn't have any say in her departure. But if she would do her best to be there when Harshaw woke from. The medics claimed it would only be a matter of time, but without a Healer on hand, it was impossible to tell. At least the infection in his wound had dissipated.

"You haven't seen him in three days?" Smirnov cried, baffled. The other soldiers seemed just as surprised. "He wouldn't shut up about you in the entire two years I've known him!" Freya blinked wordlessly at him. Nikolai had been telling his friends about her? It was a strange notion, but it made her skin tingle pleasantly. Smirnov continued in an overly high-pitched voice, "Oh, I wonder when I'll see Freya again."

Vasiliev laughed and joined in on the teasing. "I wonder where Freya is now." They did a poor job of imitating the Nikolai that Freya knew, but she wondered if it was an accurate portrayal of the one they had grown to know. "It was rather ridiculous."

"You two are not funny." Nikolai's voice caused Freya to pivot in her seat. Djel, just the sight of him managed to make her feel warm. His blond hair was still damp from the rain outside, and his arms were crossed over his chest, straining the fabric of his uniform and accentuating the muscle beneath it. Freya did her best to not gawk at it.

"We are hilarious," Smirnov corrected, shifting to create room for Nikolai. He huffed dramatically and took the seat. He tried to play off his friends' words as nothing, but Freya could see the blush rising up his neck and the reddened tips of his ears. Giggling softly, Freya turned to her food.

Despite Nikolai sitting next to her, they did not exchange many words. It was beginning to be even more awkward than before. Not even Smirnov's teasing could help the situation. With every moment that passed, Freya fought harder not to reach over to Nikolai and throttle him. She knew she wasn't making the situation any easier, but what was she meant to do? He had been the one who abruptly left and then failed to speak to her afterwards. Sure, she hadn't sought him out either, but she had been a blushing mess and could barely keep her thoughts straight. It had been too strange and humiliating for her.

Just when Freya thought she would die from the tension, soft feet padding on the ground caught her attention. She turned just in time to see Leanne hurtling herself towards her. The girl had a bright smile on her face. It was a strange and unfamiliar sight. Freya was about to open her mouth to ask what had happened, but Leanne was already spewing words at her.

"Harshaw is awake!" she cried happily, bouncing on her feet. "He's awake and the medics say he will be fine!" Freya pushed herself from her seat before Leanne could say anything else. Her heart was beating rapidly. It thrummed in her ears as she all but ran from the building, ignoring the protests of some of the soldiers from the Twenty-Second.

Ignoring the rain was an easy feat when faced with the reality that Harshaw was awake. That he was alive and it wasn't just some sick part of her mind that was conjuring it up in a dream. He survived. He recovered.

Such a surge of relief was a strange feeling. A salty and wet pressure in the back of her throat, as though she might cry any moment. But she didn't, she only ran through the camp as quickly as she could, swallowing any unpleasant feelings that arose. There was no need for her to cry or be sad. Harshaw was alive! Just days ago, she hadn't thought such a thing possible. And now it had happened.

When she reached the medical tent, she pushed through the small enclosed space. Shoved past the medics and injured alike. Harshaw's cot had been placed at the far side of the tent, but she could already see him from the entrance.

By Djel, he actually was awake. His bright head of red hair shook as the medic beside him asked him something. And he was sitting up. With some difficulty, but he was sitting. He was awake and lucid. His pale skin had some of its healthy glow back. It wasn't the same pale-green sickly colouring he had before.

"Harshaw!" Freya cried when she was close enough, not wanting to disturb too many of the people. His head whipped around at the sound of her voice. His face slacked with relief. Freya released a breathless laugh. "You had me worried there for a moment, Red."

The corner of his mouth twitched up at the nickname. Some of the Second-Army soldiers he was closer to called him that back at Ulensk. Freya could understand why. His hair was such a shock of red that it practically begged for it. There was nothing more that brought soldiers closer together than shared hardships, and what else could she call what happened at Mosava? It had been such a traumatising event that had left them both injured and dying. Forced to take care of each other lest they both perish.

Freya had never been affected by death on the battlefield, but she would never quite forget what happened that day in Mosava. Or the things that followed.

"Well, I had to keep things interesting." Harshaw leaned back on his elbows, grimacing slightly as some weight was transferred to his injured shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to get bored." Freya grinned at him.

"No, we certainly wouldn't." Her smile dropped. "But seriously, are you alright?" She nudged her chin towards his shoulder. Harsaw looked down at the bandages wrapped around his upper arm and chest, frowning.

"It hurts like a bitch, but other than that, it's fine," he answered. "I don't remember much from when I was out." Good, Freya thought. It was not something she wanted anyone to remember. Those days where she was afraid every moment of every day would remain stamped inside of her mind forever. When Harshaw teetered on the line between life and death, she couldn't do anything to stop it. She was glad he did not recall most of it. "What about you?"

Freya shrugged. "It will scar badly, but at least I'm alive," she said with a sigh. Harshaw nodded, jerking his head a bit to move a lock of hair from his face. "General Raevksy has sent a missive to Ulensk. Hopefully, we'll receive orders soon and we can get back to the Second Army. I don't think I want to spend another moment in this place. Just wait until you notice the stares."

Harshaw let out a laugh. "What else was I expecting?" he asked rhetorically.

If Freya was being honest, she didn't know.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The missive from Ulensk came six days later. They set off on the road the day after that. Freya had expected a small escort, but the entire Twenty-Second was sent with them – much to her delight – along with a few other soldiers. It gave her more of a chance to talk to Nikolai. Or, at least, to try to get him to speak to her without shutting himself off.

For the first three days of the journey, no opportunity presented itself. She was left looking in Nikolai's direction every few minutes to see if he was alone. At some point, it became so obvious that even Harshaw had to comment on it.

"They call him the puppy prince, but you're the one who's looking at him like a lost puppy." The comment was said with a curl of his lips, and when Freya asked about his distaste, Harshaw shrugged and said, "I'm a cat person. Anyone who has a dog, I don't trust." It was just another strange quirk that she could add to the list.

Finally, on the fourth day and last night of the journey, she got the chance to speak to Nikolai alone. He was sitting by a large oak tree, leaning against the trunk. He was staring off into space. The expression on his face was slack and haunted. It was something she had never seen on Nikolai. It made her skin itch in worry.

When she approached him, the sound of her footsteps abruptly tore him from his state. He looked up at her with wide eyes but gave her a small smile. It was taut and forced, nothing like the true grins he always threw her way.

Freya lowered herself onto the ground. "Are you alright?" she asked carefully. It was not the topic of conversation she had planned. But from the way Nikolai's face twisted in something she could only call grief, she knew it was the right one. His shoulders shuddered and he looked away from her again. The muscles in his jaw fluttered as he clenched it hard.

"I don't want to trouble you with it," he breathed out raggedly with a shake of his head. Freya was not sure what to do but reached out her hand and squeezed his forearm in comfort. She bit the inside of her cheek. She was used to providing people with comfort, but it was always with her friends. Whether it be Luca or Zoya or even David. But Nikolai was not a friend. Not like they were anyway. Her heart did not threaten to jump from her chest when she looked at them. Her body did not turn to molten liquid when their skin grazed hers.

It was not the same. Some part of Freya wondered if it ever would be. Something in her told her that the difference between her friends and Nikolai should warrant a difference in approach to this kind of situation. And it did. She wanted to pull Nikolai to her, to embrace him tightly and allow him to cry onto her shoulder. She wanted him to lay his head in her lap, and let her run her fingers through his hair while he let out whatever he needed.

But that didn't happen. There were too many people a little too close to them. And even if they were alone, she couldn't do it. Nikolai was a prince. She was a commoner, foreign at that. And a Grisha. What could ever happen between them? Nothing that would warrant any kind of real future.

"You can tell me," she spoke softly. "I told you about what happened to my family. It is only right you are allowed to share something with me." He needed to get it off his chest. The weight on his shoulders was almost visible.

Nikolai sighed. "I lost someone during the Halmhend campaign," he admitted, leaning back against the tree trunk and looking up into the cloud of leaves above them. Freya hadn't heard much about the Halmhend campaign – partly because she did not want to hear about the destruction of a city she so often went to as a child –, but it had been brutal. Many had died on both sides. "He was a close friend to me."

Freya nodded. "What was his name?" Nikolai's shoulders shuddered again at the question. Freya shifted closer to him, despite her mind screaming at her to stop.

"Dominik." The name came out as a pained gasp. "He was brought to the Grand Palace when I was nine. Every time I misbehaved, he was the one that got hit." Freya grimaced. It was a common tactic among nobles. No one wanted their true-born sons and daughters to carry scars or welts, so they brought in some commoner instead. "He was my only friend at the time."

"Is he why you signed up for the infantry?" Freya asked. It would have been a good enough reason for anyone. What Freya wouldn't give to have Zoya with her at that moment. Instead, her friend was a hundred miles away at the border with the Shu Han.

"Yes and no. I knew Dominik would end up in Poliznaya, but I also wanted to serve my country. Properly, and not from behind a desk in a heated room with sugared grapes." Nikolai shrugged as if what he had done was something minor. "Dominik was just one more thing that made me want to do it."

"You are brave," Freya told him. Nikolai's head turned to hers quickly, not expecting words like that from her. She offered him a small, saddened smile. "I've never known anyone that chooses to go to the frontlines voluntarily. Especially someone of noble blood." She couldn't imagine someone like Prince Vasily lying down in the trenches.

Nikolai stared at her for a few long moments. Something glistened in his eyes, something unreadable. "Do you know what he said to me right before he died?" Freya shook her head. Nikolai breathed out a low humourless chuckle. "This country gets you in the end, brother. Don't forget it."

And Djel, if that wasn't the truth.

Author's Note

I know that Dominik lives longer in the show, but I'm still unsure if this fic will follow the show or the books. I will probably do both eventually (the book version will be posted on ao3), but I want the beginning of the stories to be the same.