The sun was relentless, casting a harsh glare over Jerusalem's holy site. Inside the dim, relatively cooler confines of the private tent, Ricarda sat in brooding silence. Her mind whirled with the remnants of the heated argument she had with Philippa earlier that day. Her fiery nature had gotten the better of her once again, and now she found herself alone, frustration gnawing at her insides.

Philippa had always known how to push her buttons. Despite Friederike's best efforts to mediate, the situation had escalated. The memory of Philippa's sharp words still stung, and Ricarda's fists clenched at the thought of her rival's smug expression.

"Fucking Blau bitch," Ricarda muttered under her breath, slamming her hand down on the wooden table beside her. Her blue, aquamarine eyes, usually so bright and full of life, now burned with a mix of anger and hurt. She stood up, pacing the narrow space of the tent, her movements abrupt and jerky, lacking her usual grace.

The smell of dust and sweat mingled with the faint scent of flowers she carried from home. It was a reminder of the peace she craved amidst the chaos. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her raging thoughts. "I can't let her get to me like this."

Ricarda paused, looking at her reflection in a small, polished piece of metal. Her ginger hair was slightly disheveled, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She absentmindedly tucked a stray strand behind her ear, her mind already drifting to the next steps. She couldn't afford to be consumed by anger. There were more important matters at hand.

She sat back down, this time forcing herself to relax. The argument had left her drained, but she needed to gather her strength. Outside, the sounds of the bustling camp continued unabated, a constant reminder of the reality she couldn't escape.

"Think, Ricarda. Think," she whispered to herself. She needed a plan, a way to regain control and ensure that the next confrontation with Philippa wouldn't leave her so rattled.

But for now, she allowed herself a moment of quiet, hoping that in the stillness, she'd find the clarity she desperately needed.

Philippa reclined on a plush divan inside her private tent, the heavy fabric barely staving off the relentless heat outside. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, still seething from the altercation with Ricarda. That elf had a way of getting under her skin like no other, and today's clash had been particularly infuriating.

"That arrogant wench," Philippa muttered under her breath, her hands clenching into fists. The memory of Ricarda's smug, insufferable face flashed before her eyes. "She thinks she knows everything, doesn't she? Damn her."

Friederike had tried to mediate, bless her soul, but the attempt had been in vain. Philippa's pride would not allow her to back down, not in front of Ricarda. She cursed her own temper now, knowing it had only escalated the situation.

"Why must she be so... infuriating?" Philippa asked herself. 

*I am a queen a ruler, I should not let that elf rile me up so easily.* 

Yet, every encounter with Ricarda seemed to end the same way, with harsh words and simmering resentment.

She shifted on the divan, adjusting her robes to allow for more airflow. A gentle breeze from the tent flap provided some relief, carrying with it the distant sounds of her camp. Her soldiers, ever vigilant, were preparing for the next day's march. Philippa sighed, rubbing her temples as she tried to focus on the tasks ahead.

*I cannot let her distract me from my duties. The Kingdom of Blau depends on me, on my leadership. And I will not let some elf ruin everything I've worked for.*

With a deep breath, Philippa pushed herself up from the divan. She couldn't afford to wallow in anger and frustration. There were plans to be made, strategies to consider. She needed her wits about her, now more than ever.

But even as she busied herself with maps and reports, the thought of Ricarda lingered at the back of her mind, like a persistent itch she couldn't quite scratch.

Friederike lay on the riverbank, gasping for breath, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead, and her soaked chainmail clinging to her body. The water of the Salef River had been cold enough to shock her system, and the weight of her armor nearly dragged her under. But through sheer luck and intervention, she was alive.

She opened her eyes, the world coming into focus slowly. Above her, the sun blazed mercilessly, a harsh contrast to the cold river. Her soldiers, initially in panic, now gathered around her, murmuring in concern. They'd never seen their strong and carefree leader in such a vulnerable state.

With a groan, Friederike pushed herself up to a sitting position, taking deep, ragged breaths. Her men fell silent, watching her with bated breath.

"Well, that was... a bit much," she said with a crooked grin, attempting to inject some humor into the situation. Her voice was shaky, betraying the gravity of what had nearly transpired.

One of her closest aides, Sir Wilhelm, knelt beside her, his face a mask of worry. "Your Majesty, you nearly drowned. You must be more careful."

Friederike waved a hand dismissively, though the gesture lacked its usual vigor. "Wilhelm, I've survived worse. Just... help me out of this damn armor. It's like being hugged by a cold, wet bear."

As Wilhelm and another soldier helped her out of the waterlogged chainmail, Friederike took a moment to gather herself. The Holy König Reich needed her, and she couldn't afford to be careless. But the experience had shaken her more than she'd like to admit.

"Men," she said, her voice stronger now, addressing her troops who looked to her for guidance and reassurance.

"This was but a small setback. We've faced greater challenges, and we'll face more. Let's not let this little mishap dampen our spirits. We press on."

Her soldiers cheered, albeit hesitantly at first, and then with growing confidence. Friederike managed a genuine smile this time. She knew the path ahead was fraught with dangers far greater than a treacherous river, but she was determined to lead her people through it all.

With a last look at the river, Friederike stood tall once more, her commanding presence restored. She gestured for her troops to march forward, her own steps steadier than before. There was no room for hesitation or fear; the Crusade awaited.

And she looked at the {{user}} that saved her life.