Prologue
There's a number of things Clarke finds annoying, that she finds herself despising in her Life. Perhaps the first is the long walk up the winding stairs to her quarters when the elevator breaks down in Polis tower, or maybe it's the long wait for the elevator when it actually works. Maybe it's the way Lexa's gaze always shifts too quickly for her to catch in clan meetings, when her mind screams out in boredom as she once more listens to another ambassador drone on about Azgeda this, Azgeda that. But she thinks she's found a new thing to despise, a new thing to dread and recoil from.
And as she stumbles, as her foot drags on the icy ground beneath her, she curses out quietly, her knees throbbing and her hands tied behind her back. But it's a laugh that rips from her lips as she recalls years past, when she had been marched from her cell on the Ark, when she had thought her last moments were to be in the cold embrace of an empty airlock.
And so she doesn't much care for the next few moments she is sure to experience.
She feels the press of a large body besides her for only a moment before it, too, gives an ungainly lurch, a gruff curse all she hears as the person besides her falls forward, a groan of annoyance reaching her ears as her unfortunate companion stumbles blindly forward.
And it's only a moment, only another few steps before rough hands grip her shoulders, before a foot lashes out and kicks behind her knees, sending her down onto the ground with a sickening thud. And it's a quick rustle, a quick tugging of her hair and then her blindfold is removed, her eyes squinting in the harsh of the morning light.
And she knows she hates this.
"It has been an honour to serve you, Clarke."
And it's a sad note, a soft whisper of words that she hears.
And so she turns her face to the voice besides her and she finds Torvun smiling kindly at her, his eyes closing as an acceptance spreads across his bloodied face, his cheek already resting against the cutting block laid out in front of them.