A/N: It's been over a year since I've written anything for this fandom, so... yeah basically, that's my excuse for inconsistencies and poor character development.

Jill couldn't remember Daein being so cold.

Though the last time she'd been in Daein she hadn't tasted war, and she'd been well-fed and under the care of a family. It was a makeshift family—Captain Haar was no substitute for a mother—but she was loved, and she was happy. Now, she was a faceless soldier, her father was dead, and she was ravenously hungry.

The food was good, even if it wasn't plentiful. The eldest brother in Ike's troupe was skilled at the fire, despite the limited resources of Daein winter. But the food was rationed more as the army grew, and the children received larger helpings than the rest—not that Jill complained—but she was no longer considered a child herself.

That had been a decision she'd made alone, when she'd decided she was old enough to fight.

Jill pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to contain the last remnants of warmth provided by the slight bowl of soup. Ike had suggested she not fight in this battle, but of course she hadn't listened. Ike, who didn't know her beyond a hot-headed, subhuman-loathing Daein soldier. Ike, who insisted she not put on airs around him, who didn't want to be called "General." Ike, who'd delivered the final blow to her father when she wasn't looking.

Jill Fizzart, the familiar Daein soldiers had said, their spears poised to kill, what are you doing fighting against us?

Join us, Fizzart.

A bitter wind blew her hair across her face, and extinguished the last remaining warmth inside her.

"Jill."

She was surprised to hear his voice, but had also been hoping it. Still, she hid her face in folded knees, as if that would prevent him from seeing her.

"Come with me, Jill."

She shook her head, forehead rubbing against the blanket on her knees. "I can't leave my friends."

"Just for a minute."

She stood, shakily; Haar grasped her elbow, and she hoped they were far enough from the army that they wouldn't notice the enemy soldier. At least Daein's residents believed she was on their side, even if their army knew the truth. She could hide better outside camp; she was safer. Her knees buckled, falling against Haar, his armor a poor substitute for the worn, cotton shirt she was accustomed to on his body. She took her blanket with her, wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. Haar continued to hold her arm as they walked, though she wanted to pull it away. But she didn't think she could walk unsupported.

"I've been wrong, Captain," she said, once camp was far behind them. "We were all wrong."

"Will you stop calling me Captain? We're comrades now."

She leaned against a tree when they stopped, the snow in the forest up to her ankles. She stared at the accumulating snow around their feet. He stood before her, logically close enough to feel his radiating warmth, but she felt nothing. The cold whipped past and through them. She wanted him to pick her up, set her on his shoulders, laugh like they used to. She wanted her father to be there. Alive.

He held her forearms, like he was unsure how to handle her. Torn between treating her like the child she was, and the woman she wanted to be. She was green, but she was strong—stronger still after fighting her own countrymen. "Look at me," he said, and she forced herself to meet his eye.

Haar was unconventionally handsome, with his battle scars and missing eye. She'd seen the scarred socket only once; he'd always kept it covered because he thought it would scare her. Now, she wanted to remove it, to have him exposed as much as she felt. His skin and hair were muddy, like he'd stopped in the middle of bathing. There was a trickle of dried blood near his ear. She didn't know if it was his. She glanced at his hands, which were permanently calloused, perfectly arranged for the handle of his axe.

"I'll fight with you," Jill said, looking back up at his face. "I—"

"No." Jill winced when those calloused hands gripped her arms tighter. "Stay with General Ike."

"But you're all I—"

"And when we lose, you'll have no one."

She looked back in the direction of camp, its fires extinguished, its soldiers slowing moving toward their tents. They packed in as many as possible for warmth. Jill had wanted to sleep alone, but ended up in a tent with Mist regardless. Mist, who tried so hard. Who wanted to be her friend, for reasons she still didn't understand.

Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Not now, she thought, grasping Haar's forearms. He steadied her, preparing for the outburst, but she leaned back against the tree. She listened for the soft drag of footsteps through snow, certain that her new friend would soon be looking for her.

She leaned closer to Haar, remembering when she couldn't reach his shoulder. It didn't feel like that long ago. She stared at the side of his face; he wasn't so young anymore, though it was hard to tell beneath the grime. "Don't you dare die," she hissed.

The skin around that one eye crinkle, a genuine smile, something she hadn't felt like doing since they stepped onto Daein soil. She suspected he hadn't wanted to, either. Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You too," he replied.

Haar wasn't the hugging type. But she was; her arms were around his waist, squeezed in just below the breastplate, where the armor was more pliable. It was designed for quick turns, for easier flight through battle, and maybe for hugs from the daughters of old mentors.

Jill wasn't expecting him to return the embrace, and was glad he hadn't. She backed away, rewrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her expression softening when catching the tail end of his smile. He dug through a small sack at his waist—she hadn't noticed it before—and pulled out a dried strip of meat, and her stomach grumbled in reply. Jill didn't want to take his rations but he gave her no choice; he uncurled her fist and pressed the meat into her palm. There was more meat in her hand in that moment than she'd eaten in a week. Haar watched as she tore off a piece with her teeth, salivating instantly, her nerves heightened by the salty tang. It was over-dried, leathery, and delicious. It warmed her like no soup could.

"You won't fight with us?" Jill asked, a last-ditch effort after swallowing the last of it.

Haar closed his eye, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd fallen asleep standing up. She was grateful that someone could sleep, even if it wasn't herself. It was a small comfort to know that some things weren't altered by war.

"I have to follow orders," he finally replied.

It was unlike Haar to care about orders. But Jill didn't want him to elaborate; she didn't need it. She nodded, and finally heard the shift of snow beneath someone's small feet, someone from the camp trudging through the woods. Mist's voice was a harsh whisper, but her own name still echoed over the forest.

When Haar turned to leave, Jill permitted him to go. She hoped he'd disappear before Mist saw him, but he hadn't gone far before he turned around her again. "You're so alike," he said, not watching her, staring at a spot over her head instead.

"What?"

"You and your orders." He rubbed the back of his head, yawning as he waved over his shoulder. "He commanded me not to die, too."