Clarke wakes to the noise of a camp waking, to horses being fed, tents being packed and feet moving about quickly. She groans as the ropes continue to bite into her arms, and she feels the aching pain that runs down her back as the pole continues to dig into her flesh. It takes her a moment longer to clear the sleep from her eyes, and as she blinks she finds daylight only just beginning to settle, a small sliver of light filtering in through a gap in the tent overhead.
She hears the approach of feet though, and as she turns to the entrance she sees it open and a figure duck through. Clarke gazes at Nia's servant, the woman's hair a messy braided knot, the curls unruly. Clarke's eyes fall to the plate in her hands though, small slices of breads and stale cheeses on it that Clarke knows will do little to sate her hunger.
The woman bends down in front of her and places a slice of cheese on a piece of bread before bringing it to Clarke's mouth. It's awkward, Clarke finds, to eat silently, the woman's eyes ever careful as she gazes upon Clarke.
"Thanks," Clarke says quietly, careful to keep her voice from carrying far.
But the woman looks at her simply before shrugging. She turns though, pulls a waterskin from her belt and then brings it up to Clarke's lips. And so Clarke drinks, the liquid enough to satisfy her for only a while, but Clarke welcomes the cool drink as it soothes her parched throat.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Clarke asks, her eyes drifting from the woman's hazel eyes and then down to the scar that burrows across her cheek and dips into her lip. "You don't need to answer," Clarke says as she sees the woman frown briefly. "I don't want you getting in trouble over me," and Clarke shrugs awkwardly.
The woman smiles quietly, her fingers firm as she squeezes Clarke's shoulder before she stands and begins walking out of the tent.
"Hey," Clarke whispers at her loudly. "How am I supposed to eat this," Clarke finishes as she jerks her chin towards the plate at her feet.
But the woman merely looks over her shoulder with an apologetic smile before ducking out.
And so Clarke sighs, her eyes falling to the food on the plate and she feels her stomach grumble loudly.
The Azgeda war camp breaks quickly, and as Clarke is pushed out of the tent she finds many already gone, only a few warriors left, their gazes guarded as they take her bound state in. A man walks up to her though, and as Clarke eyes his scarless face she knows him to be a spy or assassin. His hair is short, dark and cropped close to his scalp. She thinks his face angular, too, she thinks it cunning, hawklike and weathered to the harshness of the Azgeda winter winds.
"Come," he says simply as he grips the rope that ties her hands together as he begins walking towards where a few horses are tied.
Clarke follows him awkwardly, her hands outstretched before her as he pulls her forward, but she finds herself thankful that she isn't blindfolded this time, isn't blindly stepping behind a faceless noise she follows.
"What's your name?" Clarke asks as she looks at the back of his head.
"Silence," he says simply.
"I get it," Clarke sighs. "No talking," and she glares at the back of his head.
"No," he says, and she thinks she sees a twitching of his cheek. "You may call me Silence," and Clarke's head cocks to the side as the oddness of the name sinks in. "We sacrifice our names in service to the throne," he says in answer to the awkward silence that follows.
"I see,"and Clarke winces as he stops abruptly by a large horse, the halt jarring her shoulders.
"Up," and he gestures upwards with an eyebrow.
"How," Clarke asks as she waves her bound hands in front of her face.
She sees Silence sigh heavily then before he steps back and holds his hands together for her feet to step into.
"Really?" she asks.
"You may be Wanheda," he counters. "But you are a prisoner," and she sees him smirk at her glare. "Up," he finishes.
And so Clarke steps into his hands, and she knows she hears the small laughter coming from the few warriors who remain as they watch her helped onto the back of the horse like a child.
They ride for what Clarke thinks must be hours. This time, though, she finds herself thankful that she is able to watch as the land passes by, as it bleeds from rocky ground and sparse trees and into ice and snow and sleet. And she knows that they pass into Azgeda lands when the wind bites into her a little more forcefully and as it rustles her furs. She knows she senses the nervousness of the warriors who ride with her vanish, too, as they settle and ease in the familiarity of the lands around them.
Ten warriors ride with her in total, Silence guiding her horse forward from where he sits behind her, the other warriors fanning out around them, and she thinks them a guard, a barrier to attack, or rescue, depending on how she thinks of the situation.
"Where'd everyone else go?" Clarke asks after a long stretch of silence, the only sound being the drumming beat of the horses as they gallop across the ground.
"Elsewhere," Silence answers.
"Helpful," Clarke mutters, and she thinks the wind steals her words until she feels Silence squeeze her harshly.
"I allow you to speak, but do not think it allows disrespect," he says into her ear. "Guard you tongue."
And so Clarke's eyes roll as she settles in for however long she has left on the horse, but as she glances into the sky she finds herself gauging the direction she travels, how much daylight has passed and how much is left to give.
It must be mid afternoon by the time they break through a shallow snow field. The snow slowly begins to be replaced by rocky outcrops, the stone jagged and black-grey. She slowly starts to see signs of life though. She eyes the way snow has been cleared, how smaller stones have been moved to clear a space for a path that begins to wind through the rocks. She hears quiet sounds of life next, and as the horse she rides on crests a hill she finds a small valley that sits carved and recessed into the sides of a mountain and in its centre a simple village, the building stone and small. And as she takes it in she feels a pang of longing for Ronto, the imagery before her eyes bringing memories of the small village to the forefront of her mind.
The horses begin their journey down and into the valley, and Clarke watches the village begins to come into focus more clearly now, the small buildings barren, signs of life barely visible. And she knows that this village is out of the way, that it draws little attention and that escape or rescue is unlikely.
Silence urges the horse forward easily, the warriors who ride with her quick to follow.
"I guess this is where I'm staying," Clarke says quietly as she takes in the barren village they arrive at.
"Yes," Silence says simply as he pulls on the horse's reins, the beast stopping easily with a flick of its head.
She limps back and forth past her bed, her jaw clenched tightly and her mind worrying. She feels her fingers close angrily around her knife handle and she feels the tension that lives in Anya's shoulders.
"We do not know exactly where they went," Anya says, her body weary, her braids haphazard and errant in their sticking to her forehead.
"How," she hisses, and it comes angry and furious, but she knows that Anya knows her ire not directed at her.
"Decoys," Anya answers tersely. "Five of them," and she hears Gustus grunt out a curse.
"But you know they are now in Azgeda lands?" she asks as she stops mid stride as she turns to face Anya.
"Yes," and Anya looks out the window briefly in thought. "If I were Nia I would hold Clarke somewhere quiet, out of the way," and Anya pauses in thought. "Clarke is Wanheda, and word of her appearance would spread quickly, even if she is now being painted as a disgraced Azgeda warrior."
"I agree, Heda," Gustus says. "It reduces the number of villages and towns she may be held at," and Gustus pauses for a moment as his arms cross and as he thinks over thoughts. "If they had travelled without stopping they would not even be into the deep snow yet," and he nods to himself. "They will not try to take Clarke deeper into Azgeda yet, it would leave them vulnerable to rescue attempts once they begin crossing the snow plains."
"I agree," Lexa says, and as she turns back to her war table she eyes the map and the small models that lie atop it. "Perhaps Roan will know where she may be held."
Anya's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before narrowing as she looks at Lexa's profile, and Lexa hears Gustus grunt out at the realisation of why Shana had acted as her not so long ago.
"You work with Roan," Anya says as an eyebrow raises. "He is not captured or dead."
"No, Anya," and Lexa turns to meet her gaze. "He is not dead, he is not captured."
"Clarke was not happy, was she," and Anya's lips lift up slightly into a smirk.
"No," and Lexa shrugs once, but her thoughts begin to drift, and as she thinks over who she had seen she feels a tension begin to settle in her mind, a frustration and an anger. "Nia knows of Clarke," and Lexa doesn't quite meet Anya's eyes as she voices her thoughts, as she keeps her worries internal.
Anya's jaw clenches tightly though, and Lexa feels the woman move to the table's edge beside her.
"It was a risk," Anya says simply, and Lexa knows where Anya stands on the topic, she remembers Anya's tempered anger when she had found out, her words of caution, of thinking of the past, of not letting mistakes be repeated.
"It was," Lexa says simply. "Nia will do the same," and Lexa grimaces.
"We will find Clarke," and Anya leans closer, her shoulder brushing Lexa's now. "History will not repeat itself."
"We have not even discussed what exists between us," Lexa says quietly, her gaze following the line that marks the border between Trikru and Azgeda. "She is held prisoner. She will be tortured. She will suffer for something that may not yet exist," and Lexa's eyes close for a moment as she breathes in deeply, her mind moving too quickly for her to organise and sift through the thoughts that flit through her mind.
Anya remains quiet for a while though, her eyes careful as she takes in Lexa's posture, the way her shoulders hunch slightly, and the way her hands clench into fists against the wood of the table's edge.
"You care for her," as you did for Costia.
And Lexa knows Anya will not voice old wounds, will not give breath to a pain she thinks lingers within her own mind, the guilt of being used by Echo, by Nia, still present in her mind.
"Yes," Lexa says.
"You will have the chance to know that Clarke feels the same," Anya says, her hand reaching out for a moment before settling awkwardly over Lexa's clenched fist, the motion staccato and unfamiliar to them both.
But Lexa's gaze follows the motion, and as she looks into Anya's eyes she feels the woman squeeze just once before her hand settles back by her side.
"I will send for Roan," Lexa says into the awkwardness. "He will aid in Clarke's rescue," and Lexa nods to herself as she squares her shoulders and as Anya nods in turn.
It sucks.
The cold freezes into her legs, and she hates the cramp she feels already beginning to settle into her back. Thankfully her hands aren't bound anymore, but she angrily eyes the shackle around her ankle, the rusted metal of it already wearing at the furs she wears. Clarke doesn't even know where her belongings are. Her pelt and skull are missing, her knife has been taken. Even her father's watch is missing. She feels the pang of guilt and regret, too, and she wishes she had taken the time to remove it before the challenge lest it be destroyed or damaged further.
Clarke stares up into the cracks of the cell she finds herself in. The floor smoothed from years of use, the walls rough, stains dripping down them, and she thinks a moss, or a fungus, or whatever kind of plant must survive the harshness of Azgeda, grows in places, the grey-green growth a furry, odd smelling thing that makes her nose twitch.
The drip continues though, and as she cranes her head further, she sees the water that seeps through a crack in the ceiling before tumbling to the floor slowly, its form coagulating, shifting, dancing in the air for only a second before it splashes onto the ground in front of her.
It's funny, too. Memories constantly come crashing back of her time on the Ark, when she had been imprisoned, when she had been destined to be floated once she turned eighteen. She remembers the too cold, too constant ache in her bones. She remembers pacing back and forth, she remembers counting each step, and she remembers pressing her face into the wall as she imagined that the Ark's constant humming was her father's heart as it beat soothingly in his chest.
But she knows those moments long gone now, all relegated to memories not quite so happy.
She remembers landing in the drop pod. She remembers waking upside down, she remembers crashing to the ground, she remembers the panic and the fear that had set in, she remembers the excitement. She remembers Ontari and their first meeting, how Ontari had been the first person she had seen, of how Ontari had choked her, had threatened her. And she smiles sadly, and she feels herself hope that Ontari not too severely punished. And she thinks of Entani, perhaps the first person to really show her kindness. She recalls the days when she had been ordered to follow Entani around, she remembers how Entani had taught her how to heal, which pastes to use, how to make her own medicines.
Clarke smiles bitterly as the moments drift through her mind. The two years worth of memories something to cherish for however long she has left. If only because she is sure her time is soon to be exhausted, Nia's fury at her actions, Nia's wish for revenge clear for Clarke to understand.
She wonders what her father would think now, she wonders what he would say if he were to see the scars on her face, the cuts and bruises and markings etched into her flesh from however long it has been since she came to the ground. She thinks he would be proud though. Perhaps not of the lives she has taken, perhaps not for the things she has been willing to do. But she thinks he would be proud of why she had done them, why she had sacrificed and bled for her people.
Clarke feels the smile tug at her lips once more though as she tries to think of just how old she may be now. And she thinks twenty three, she thinks perhaps almost twenty four. But she isn't quite so sure. But she knows the Ark would have kept track of time, would know the date. And she knows her mother would know how old she is. And maybe Clarke will have the chance to ask her before it ends. But she thinks it wishful thinking, she thinks it not quite so likely.
She hears the easy thumping of approaching feet though, and as she looks up at the door that sits in the far wall she feels the anticipation begin to return, an eagerness for things to start beginning to settle in her mind. And maybe she can argue that whatever comes next is punishment for the lives she has taken, the people she has killed.
The doors open slowly, and Clarke blinks through the harshness of the flames that burn in torches as a figure steps through the threshold before stopping in front of her.
"Clarke," Nia says evenly as she stands in front of Clarke, the woman's gaze looking down at her.
Clarke holds Nia's gaze for a moment before it shifts to the guards she sees outside, the door still open, and she sees Teril standing there, his gaze quiet as he takes her in, and she sees Torvun, too, his eyes meeting hers just once before he looks away, but Clarke thinks she senses the gritting of his teeth and the quiet discomfort that lingers in the twitching of his fingers. But she knows Torvun unable to do little more than remain quiet, more royal guards standing close as they glance at her cautiously.
"Tell me, Clarke," Nia begins softly. "When was it that you thought of overthrowing me? Of removing me from the throne?"
And Clarke thinks over the question carefully, she tries to think of it from Nia's perspective, she thinks of what Nia would gain, could gain, from knowing when she had decided to stop following orders.
"During the siege of the Mountain," Clarke says simply.
"Why," Nia asks gently.
"Does it matter?" Clarke asks as she meets Nia's gaze.
"Yes," and Nia smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
"You told me what to do. The Commander told me what to do," and Clarke shrugs. "I got tired of being told what to do."
"So you decided to betray Azgeda?"
"No," Clarke says.
"No?" and Nia's eyebrow raises slightly.
"Everything I have done is for my clan," Clarke repeats her sentiment from last they had spoken.
"You are a principled fool, Clarke," Nia counters. "When the pain begins, perhaps then you will not be so steadfast in your beliefs," and Nia smiles lowly, her eyes turning eager, turning cold and grey. "Teril," Nia calls over her shoulder.
And Clarke watches as Teril steps into the room, as he begins drawing his knife, as he walks towards Clarke. Teril reaches her quickly, and she flinches slightly as he holds the knife up to her before he reaches forward with his free hand and snares a strand of her hair before slicing if off.
"It is important that all the details are correct," Nia says simply as her gaze moves over Clarke's face for a long moment. "Enjoy the night," and Nia begins to turn towards the door. "It will be cold."
Lexa's feet pad quietly through the tunnels, her eyes scanning left and right as she traces the cracks that only become visible as she passes, the light of the torch flickering the only thing to light her way. She takes a left turn then and as she steps over a small rock, she thinks she hears the steps that echo out around her, that linger through the stone and tile that surrounds her.
She sees the light soon, and as she begins to near she sees the light flickering off the wielder. She sees Roan look up at her approach, his hand raising easily as he leans against the wall.
"You have heard?" Lexa asks as she nears Roan, her gaze taking in his weary state.
"Yes," he says as he pushes off from the wall. "I do not know where she is kept," he preempts.
And Lexa eyes him for a long moment as she considers what he may know.
"You do not know where she is held?" she says, her chin rising slightly.
"I do not," Roan answers.
"But?"
"I have an idea," and he shrugs. "If we are to make an attempt to free her then we must be certain," and he pauses as he lets Lexa consider his words. "You know it and I know it," and he shrugs. "If we are wrong, then my mother will have Clarke executed before we can attempt to rescue her a second time."
And Lexa nods slowly.
"There are only a few villages that Clarke would be held at given how little time has passed," Roan continues. "They will not have begun crossing the great snow fields yet."
"I agree," Lexa says, her mind beginning to form plans and actions.
"I have sent Echo to begin to track them," Roan says, and Lexa doesn't miss the way Roan treads carefully over the assassin's name.
"You believe she will find them?" Lexa asks, but she thinks that with her past experience with Echo, that the assassin will succeed.
"Yes," Roan says simply.
"And your warriors?" Lexa continues as she pushes worries of Clarke's wellbeing to the back of her mind for now. "They are ready?"
"Yes, Heda," Roan says. "Many are already in position to make moves and to isolate those who may be the most loyal to my mother."
"Good," and Lexa nods to herself. "Indra will begin moving the Trikru warriors at Arkadia to the border soon."
"What of the other clans, Heda?" Roan asks.
"They will think it merely a redistribution of Trikru forces with the end of the Mountain Men."
"You are sure?"
"Yes," Lexa says. "Echo still has the radio Clarke gave her?"
"Yes," and Roan nods.
"I believe they will soon prove their usefulness," and Lexa thinks over how beneficial being able to talk over great distances may become in the next few days. "Ensure you have this with you at all times," and Lexa reaches into a pocket before she hands over the Radio Clarke had given her.
"You have one, too?" Roan asks as he takes it, his eyes moving over the tech grasped in his hand.
"Yes," Lexa answers, her fingers tapping against Clarke's own radio, and Lexa tries to ignore the quietly beating pulse she feels begin to pick up speed as it pumps blood through her veins.
"Echo will send word when she has found a trail," Roan says. "I will meet her with a few of my forces," and he pauses in thought for a moment. "You wish for me to contact you once we know where Clarke is?"
"Yes," Lexa says.
The first thing Ontari realises is that her hands are bound behind her and that a gag is in her mouth. The next is that her neck throbs, the sting having left it raw and itching. She feels the ground against her cheek, and as she tries to look out around her she realises her eyes are blindfolded and that her feet are tied together. But she hears a quiet groaning next to her, and from the muffled grunts she thinks Entani must lie besides her, the healer also bound and gagged.
But she hears the feet that approach, their step crunching against the harsh bite of the ground and so Ontari stills, she lets her ears try to pinpoint the direction, how heavy the person may be, whether they be man or woman, she even tries to listen for the breathing of others, any who may be outside her striking distance.
The feet stop just short of her face though, and she thinks she can smell the musky scent of furs that have travelled far, that have weathered storms and trudged through ice and sleet. Ontari feels strong hands grip her by her shoulders before she feels herself lifted so that she sits on the ground, her legs stretched out before her.
"I am surprised you have not died yet given your performance when we first met," comes the voice, and Ontari jolts at the familiarity of it.
And so she blinks through the light that shines into her eyes as her blindfold is lifted and as she comes face to face with Echo who crouches before her. And Ontari snarls, her nose throbbing just slightly, the break still healing.
"Ontari," Echo says with a lifting of her lip.
She watches as Echo moves to Entani, who slows her struggling, as Echo begins to lift her up too so that she sits besides Ontari.
"Stop struggling," Echo says simply as she pulls the blindfold from Entani's eyes, the healer wincing as her ribs settle and as her eyes adjust to the burning flame of the campfire Ontari only now notices behind Echo.
Echo pulls the gag from her mouth then, and she watches as the assassin does the same for Entani who spits out onto the ground.
"Where have you been?" Ontari hisses.
"Busy," Echo answers simply.
"Clarke sent you to find the Mountain Men yet you disappear," Ontari says.
But Echo stills for a moment, her gaze looking at the two captured women.
"Why are we bound?" Entani asks, her eyes moving around her as she tries to find signs of any others who may linger close by.
"There are no others here," Echo says as she follows Entani's eyes.
"Answer the question," Entani snaps as she struggles against the rope that ties her feet together, and Ontari winces as she sees the grimace that pulls at Entani's lips.
Echo smirks once more though as she eyes Entani's futile struggles, though.
"Why are we bound?" Ontari echoes.
"I do not know which side you are on," Echo says simply.
"Azgeda," Ontari hisses. "You betray the throne?" she finishes, her eyes darkening.
"There are many things you do not know, Ontari," Echo says.
"Then explain," Ontari sneers.
"I will in time," and Echo chuckles quietly. "I must admit, Ontari. I enjoy this," and Echo gestures to Ontari's bound state.
"I will kill you," Ontari hisses as she tries to rise, only for Echo to push firmly against her chest to seat her back on the ground.
"You will not, and you can not," Echo counters.
"I can try," Ontari answers.
"But you would fail," and Echo's lip curls slightly as she cocks her head to the side for a moment. "Or do you not remember last time you attacked me? When you were at full strength. But now?" and Echo gestures up and down her body once. "Not so much."
Ontari glares more harshly at Echo though, the assassin's words leaving her angry and frustrated.
"What do you want?" Ontari repeats.
And so Echo eyes her for a long moment, and she lets her gaze linger on the ropes that bind her feet.
"I will untie your feet. Do not try to run," Echo says simply as she pulls a knife from her boot before bending to cut through the ropes.
And as Ontari watches, she thinks of lashing out with her foot, of striking Echo across the face and stealing her knife. And as she eyes Echo's gaze that focuses on the ropes she thinks she feels the anticipation build, she thinks she feels her legs begin to steady, begin to prepare for the strike, prepare t—
"Do not try it," Echo says as she looks up to meet Ontari's eyes. "I can feel your legs preparing to strike."
Ontari grumbles, and she thinks she hears Entani's quiet snicker despite the predicament they find themselves in. But she sighs as the ropes unwind, as the pressure lessens and as she feels the blood begin to flow unhindered once more. Ontari watches as Echo moves to Entani, her knife quickly slashing through the ropes until both women's feet are able to stretch and move about freely.
Echo stands as she slips her knife back into her boot.
"Hungry?" she asks as she glances between both women.
And Entani nods mutely as she turns her gaze to the fire, and as Ontari feels her stomach grumble, she thinks the scents of slowly cooking broth and soup waft over the wind. And so Echo smiles once as she turns and begins to ladle the broth into two bowls before coming to turn back to them.
Echo sits before them both, and Ontari watches carefully as Echo places the first bowl in front of Entani before Echo turns her attention to her. Ontari feels the snarl lift her lips though as Echo dips a spoon into the broth before lifting it to her lips.
"I will not let you feed me like a child," Ontari mutters as she turns her face, her lips pursing shut tightly.
And so Echo shrugs once before placing the bowl into Ontari's lap before offering Entani her own small spoonful. And Ontari watches as Entani merely shrugs before leaning forward and taking the spoon into her mouth with a groan, her own stomach empty and hungry. Ontari watches for a while as Echo spoons mouthfuls of food to Entani, the healer content to take what is offered with little argument.
"How am I to eat?" Ontari says as she glances back to the bowl in her lap.
"You will figure it out," Echo answers, her attention turning back to Entani.
And so Ontari glares at her for a moment longer before looking down at the bowl in her lap. And as she studies how it sits precariously cradled between both her thighs, she knows it will spill with little help. Ontari tries to bend though, she tries to lean forward and tuck her chin to her chest, but she feels the frustration build as her face merely sits only close enough for her to smell the spices and the meats and broth that simmer easily. Ontari glances discreetly to Entani who continues to take the spoonfuls of broth Echo offers her, and as Echo's eyes flick to her Ontari shifts her gaze back to her own bowl.
"Do you need help?" Echo asks.
"No," Ontari snaps as she stares at the bowl that she thinks must be quietly cooling right under her nose.