𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 || 𝖭𝗂𝗄𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗂 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌𝗈𝗏

𝘹𝘷𝘪𝘪𝘪 - 𝘥𝘳𝘶̈𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦

WITH SPRING FINALLY taking root in the earth again, chasing away the last bits of snow, the city of Ulensk was celebrating. The annual festival was one Freya never attended before, always too far from the city on missions or stationed somewhere else. This year, the pull to go out into the city and see the celebrations – maybe partake in them too – was too great to ignore. The gods must've heard her prayer, because her commanding officer gave her a day off right in time for the festival.

So, when the day came around, Freya was all too happy to walk the streets and watch everything that was occurring. The entire city was alive, the children and adults alike scurrying through the alleyways and main streets. Some of them were only looking around like Freya was, others were selling pins, ribbons and little candies.

Wreaths of dogwood and vines decorated with blooming spring flowers hung from doors and large banners with 'tansyuavaj do maje' written on them stretched between two sides of the street. Dance into May, Freya smiled to herself, remembering similar words written on the banners in Halmhend when she was a child. The celebrations in Fjerda weren't too different from Ravka, holding many of the same perks.

The difference that seemed to be the biggest was Ravka's celebration of love instead of the coming of spring. Couples were supposed to kiss under blooming trees and secretly deliver gifts to their beloved's homes. In Fjerda, there was less of that and more of giving thanks to the gods for allowing the land to survive another winter. Girls would dance around a maypole until they grew too tired to, and the one that remained last would have a crown of flowers placed on her head and named blessed by the gods. The girls in Ravka also danced around a maypole, giggling and twirling with the long ribbon attached to the pole gripped in their hands, but it seemed more about having fun than anything else.

Freya found herself easily entranced by the dancing, standing off to the side as she watched the young girls with their long billowy skirts and braided hair with blooms and ribbons woven between the locks. Standing there with her hair loose and unadorned, her body dressed in a soldier's uniform of blue and violet instead of a pretty dress as most girls her age were, she felt unwelcome.

Had she remained in Fjerda, she would be like the girls spinning around the maypole. No weapon would've ever been put into her hands. The calluses on her palms and fingers would've been from work around the house and gardens and not from curling her fingers to summon and brandishing a blade. Something ached distantly as she thought about herself in that other life, helping Matthias ask a girl he liked to dance and weaving ribbons into Skadi's hair. Things would be so much easier.

Djel, she might've even been set to marry by now. There had been plenty of boys her age in Halmehend and her little village, most of whom were kind and handsome enough to garner her attention. Instead, she was stuck on the frontlines of a war she wanted no part in, taking the lives of people from her homeland, aching for a love she would never be able to have. Because the golden-haired prince with a charming smile wasn't there with her, instead a thousand miles away and across the True Sea. When he returned from his studies, they'd be such wildly different people that she doubted she'd recognise what they'd once had. A betrothal would be awaiting him, no doubt. And more battles and years of servitude would be awaiting her.