Chapter 28/29 - there's one more left :)
Nia's smile spreads even further as she stares at Clarke. And Clarke can't quite help but to feel her body begin to tremble, whether that be from fear, from anticipation or from adrenaline. But she hears Ontari take in a shallow breath, and if Clarke didn't think Nia would abuse the lapse in concentration, Clarke would turn around, would comfort her friend. But she keeps her gaze locked on Nia who steps past Costia with a smirk and a stroke of a hand across the kneeling woman's cheek.
The Royal Guards closest to Nia seem unsure of what to do in this moment too, and as Clarke watches the one who Teril had injured, Clarke thinks his face a deathly white, she thinks she sees his fingers tremble and his lips quiver as sweat drips down his brown. Another guard moves carefully over to the man's side, and Clarke spares them only another quick glance to see the woman kneel down and begin to pull him further from the centre of the room, her eyes darting from Nia and back to Clarke.
Clarke takes a deep breath then, tests the weight of her knife and she steps forward. Clarke lets her feet take her closer to Nia and she pauses with just a few arm lengths between them. Some of the guards approach, too, and Clarke senses them form a circle around her and Nia, the silence and the unspoken words that seem to pass between everyone present enough of an acknowledgement that an offical challenge has been given and a response has been taken.
And Clarke knows no one will interfere, she knows no one will try to sway the outcome.
Clarke's gaze snaps back to Nia's eyes, and she sees the woman smirk once more before her eyes go blank and her knife begins to move slowly through the air as she begins to circle around Clarke with a lazy step, her long furs hiding her footwork, her eyes not quite focusing on any one part of Clarke's body.
And so Clarke begins to circle, too. Her knife feels light in her grasp and she lets her mind ease into a rhythm and her thoughts settle on the task at hand. Clarke thinks over what she knows of Nia, she considers how Nia had thrown the knife at Costia's head that one time, she thinks over how Nia had arrived at the gates of Arkadia, of how she had surprised Clarke with her presence. And Clarke thinks Nia will not move first, will not try to draw blood first. If only because Clarke thinks Nia likes to gauge her opponents, likes to wait for them to make a move so that she can counter it, so that she can weaken, can pick away at their weaknesses.
Clarke snakes her knife out quickly, she lets the blade slice through the air and she watches as Nia's gaze follows the glint before the woman steps back just in time to avoid the sharp edge. Clarke tests the stone underfoot then, and she lets her heel slip just enough that she knows how far she can slide, how quickly she can move without losing her footing, and she knows Nia has an advantage in this, she knows Nia must have walked over the stone underfoot countless times, she knows Nia must be aware of every crack, every raised edge, every jagged point that would cause Clarke to lose her footing.
Clarke draws back slightly as Nia begins to advance then, and Clarke watches as Nia's lips curl up slightly, her eyes gleaming in the flickering light of the fires and candles that burn around them.
"Wanheda," Nia croons quietly, "who could have imagined that the Commander of Death would visit me herself?" and Nia darts forward, her knife slicing through the air as the blade slashes out at Clarke's wrist.
But Clarke feels the attack coming and she dives under the strike and rolls onto her feet behind Nia who turns simply, her furs spinning out as she comes to face Clarke again.
"You think you can rule Azgeda better than I?" and Nia sweeps a hand around them, and Clarke lets her gaze fall to the guards who stand close by, and she lets her gaze flit over the wounded guard, the same woman kneeling over him as she pushes her hand against his shoulder as blood continues to pool out around her fingers. "You think you can lead Azgeda to greatness?"
"Azgeda is already great," Clarke answers. "But you're too blinded by your desire to rule everything to see that," and Clarke lunges, she slices out with her knife and she drops her weight enough so that she rolls under Nia's block, and Clarke sees her knife sink forward, she sees it begin to slice into Nia's side.
But Nia sees it and she slips back, she twists her body, and she slams her palm into Clarke's face with a brutal strike that stuns her and causes Clarke to drop to her knees as her eyes water and her nose burns out in pain.
"You think you can defeat me?" Nia sneers as Clarke scrambles to her feet. "I have trained my whole life to defend my clan," and Nia gestures with her free hand as she sweeps it around the throne room. "I have fought for this my whole life," and Clarke rises to her feet and drags the back of her hand across her nose as she watches Nia's hand continue to trembling arc across the throne room. "I will not allow you to take from me what I have suffered years for."
And Nia attacks again, and Clarke back-peddles quickly as Nia slashes quickly, her blade hissing past Clarke's face before the Kwin reverses grip, her free hand punching out fast enough that Clarke doesn't have the time to block both blows, and she feels Nia's fist slam into her ribs . But Clarke manages to bring her knife out just in time to redirect Nia's strike away from her throat, the clang of metal against metal ringing in her ears as Nia kicks Clarke's leg out from under her.
And Clarke lets the loss of footing take her body down to the ground, and she rolls with it, she braces and she slides aways with a groan of pain before rising again.
"How long have you trained, Clarke?" Nia asks as she turns easily, her eyes angry in the fading light. "How many hours have you spent honing your skills knowing that one day someone will challenge you? How many years have you spent waiting for an assassin to kill you in your sleep? How many years have you spent leading your people to greatness?"
Clarke steadies her breathing, her ankle smarting to the violent kick, her ribs protesting the expansion of her lungs, and she watches as Nia points her knife squarely at Clarke as she sneers again, as she turns the blade so she holds her hand palm up, her fingers brushing against the handle as she begins to walk forward once more.
"I will not allow Azgeda to fall to ruin," and Nia steps over Teril's blood as it seeps further and further over the stone. "I will not allow other clans to pillage and take from Azgeda what they do not deserve," and Nia continues to stalk forwards, her free hand held by her side, the blood from Teril's cut beginning to matt the furs of her arm. "Trikru does not deserve Azgeda's keep. Broadleaf, Glowing Forest both are weak," and Nia sneers. "Rock Line? Blue Cliffs? What have they done for Azgeda? What can they do for Azgeda?"
But Clarke grits her teeth and focuses on Nia's advance, she focuses on the way Nia steps over the stone and the way Nia keeps moving forwards. And Clarke slashes out, she lunges forward and she lets her blade whip out in search of Nia's flesh only for the Kwin to block the strike and counter it with her own. But Clarke ducks under the woman's arm once more and she spins around to face her. And Clarke takes the time to glance back to the wounded warrior, to the way the blood continues to bleed out between the other woman's grasp. And Clarke spares him a glance long enough to register the paleness of his flesh, the way his fingers tremble and the way sweat drips down his face despite the cold.
"Fight me," Nia snarls as she moves on Clarke. "Face me," and Nia slashes out. "You challenge me, yet you refuse to fight," and Nia lunges, and Clarke's gaze focuses on Nia's approach, and she waits.
Clarke waits for long enough that Nia commits to the strike, she waits for long enough that Nia is close enough that Clarke thinks she sees a trail of sweat beginning to drip down Nia's temple, that slides across the raised edges of her scars. And Clarke even thinks she sees the paleness of the woman's flesh and the rapid beating of her pulse.
And Clarke thinks she knows what Teril must have done, why Teril injured another guard, had wasted time in showing his hand rather than moving straight for Nia.
And so Clarke darts forward, she meets Nia half way and she slams her head into Nia's nose with a forceful strike that leaves both women reeling, Nia's nose bloodied, Clarke's eyes watering as she ducks under Nia's broad slash.
"It's over, Nia," Clarke says. "It doesn't matter if I die, it doesn't matter if you kill everyone else in this room," and Clarke sweeps a hand out to those who continue to watch. "Roan is coming. The Azgeda in the capital haven't attacked," and Clarke taps her ear. "Where's the sounds of fighting? Where's the calls for reinforcements? For more warriors?"
But Nia snarls as she moves on Clarke, and she attacks with speed now, with an anger and a fury that takes Clarke by surprise. And so Clarke shifts her stance and she begins deflecting each attack as she blocks furious strike after ferocious slash, the sounds of their knives slashing together filling the throne room with the gentleness of controlled anger. But Nia continues to press Clarke further and further back, and Clarke senses the guards shift around them, as they move and part for the two women who continue to battle.
Clarke feels the heat of a flame behind her, and she knows Nia backs her into a pillar or a wall, she knows Nia tries to trap her with little space for movement. But Clarke lets Nia dictate where they move, she lets the woman continue to press forward, to exert herself, to pump the blood through her veins as she raises her heart rate.
Clarke's back slams into the wall as Nia pushes forward, and Clarke only has a second's warning to the kick that comes, Nia's furs hiding her footwork as she lashes out with a heavy boot and kicks it into Clarke's stomach, and then Nia holds her ground as she stands before Clarke, eyes gleaming in the light.
"I will kill you," Nia says, her breathing more laboured now, her lip quivering slightly to the exertion. "And every Azgeda will come to know the name Clarke to mean traitor," and Nia lunges once more. And Clarke grits her teeth, she prepares to dive out of the way, to make distance between them for just a moment longer.
Clarke ducks the strike, she begins to dive but she feels Nia's elbow slam into her throat as the Kwin anticipates her escape route. Clarke gags and groans in pain as she spins with the blow and as she stumbles on the stone, her feet trying to find purchase on the iced hardness underneath her.
But Nia moves quickly, her hand snares Clarke's braids and pulls her back until her shoulder slams into the ground and Clarke whimpers as Nia slams her foot into her ribs, the kick enough to loosen her grasp on her knife, and she gasps out as she hits the ground fully, and she curses as she sees her knife scrape against the ground as it slides from her grasp.
"You do not know pain," Nia snarls. "You do not know suffering," and Nia stalks forward. "I will teach you these things," and Clarke begins to crawl to where her knife lies on the ground, but Nia steps on Clarke's ankle harshly, the weight enough for Clarke's eyes to water as Nia's heel pushes her ankle into the stone. "You are weak, Clarke," Nia sneers.
But Clarke manages to just barely grasp her knife and so she slashes out with it, and she tries to ignore the burn in her ribs and the lack of oxygen in her lungs, but Nia catches her wrist easily, she twists her hand and Clarke feels her arm pull painfully aside as Nia swipes the blade out of her hand with a fast slash of her own knife.
"It is over," Nia says simply as she places a knee on Clarke's chest and pushes her down to the stone, her eyes just once glancing to those that stand around them, that stare transfixed on what happens. "But I am impressed, Clarke," and Nia smiles. "You have made me work harder than I expected."
"You're a coward," Clarke snarls as she feels Nia's knee push more firmly into her chest as the Kwin settles herself over Clarke's body.
"I am the coward?" Nia asks with a raising of her eyebrow. "Who ran from who just now? Who refused to meet me in single combat? Who challenged me to fight only to duck and run from each advance I made?" and Nia leans her face closer to Clarke's.
"You're a coward because you hide in the shadows, you get others to do your dirty work," and Clarke grimaces as Nia releases her wrist only for her to close her cold fingers around her throat.
Clarke grimaces as she feels Nia's weight settle fully on her chest, and she thinks she hears Ontari's pained whimpers from somewhere behind her. Clarke keeps her eyes focused on Nia though, and she thinks the next few moments crucial, she thinks the next few moments important, she knows them to be life or death, to be the gamble that pays off or the failed attempt to survive whatever her life has become.
Nia's eyes hold Clarke's for a long moment, and Clarke thinks Nia considers gloating now, she thinks the woman considers how to kill her, whether to make it quick, whether to make it public. But Clarke feels the subtle shift above her, she feels the gentle trembling in Nia's fingers, in her cold grasp and Clarke knows she sees the sweat drip down the woman's jaw.
Nia brings her knife up slowly, the point glinting in the dark fire light and Clarke grimaces as Nia drags the tip gently across her cheek, just barely enough that it tickles her skin, makes her face twitch as the point comes to rest against the corner of her eye.
"Clarke," and Nia's lips turn up slightly as she lets her gaze wander over Clarke's face. "I had such high hopes for you," and Clarke feels Nia's breath brush against her lips as the woman pushes against her throat gently. "Goodbye."
And so Nia raises the knife, she lets the point hang above Clarke's face.
And then she drives it forward.
The shadows reach far now, the last of the sun's rays dipping below the horizon, and Lexa takes in the purples and reds that it leaves behind, and as she glances into the sky she sees the stars already beginning to fade into existence.
Lexa watches as Roan stands at the forefront of the combined Azgeda and Coalition army. She takes a moment to steady her beating heart before she turns her attention to the Azgeda warriors that stand before her, and she feels the apprehension that rolls through their ranks, that causes them to shift with uncertainty and unease.
And she knows it must be strange to face their own people, to face their prince with an army of Northern Azgeda and Coalition warriors at his back. But she thinks Nia's games have backfired, she thinks Nia's secrecy has caused her plots to slip through.
Because as she looks out at the Azgeda who had come to meet the invading force, she can tell that they are not aware of Roan's actions, she can tell that they know not of Nia's deals with the Mountain, with the events that have taken place.
"Who commands you?" Roan's voice echoes out over the silence, and Lexa sees a few Azgeda at the front of the army share uncertain gazes.
"I lead the capital's defences, Prince Roan," a warrior says as he steps forward, his hand raising slowly as he begins the lone walk through the shallow snow.
Lexa watches as Roan studies the man, she watches as Roan takes his measure, and she watches as Roan begins to move forward, too. And she watches as Roan waves off two Northern Azgeda who begin to move with him, who keep their hands on their swords.
"Forgive me, Prince Roan," and the warrior bows his head as he pauses an arms length from Roan. "But we were not informed that you were returning," and he looks up cautiously. "Kwin Nia informed us that you were hunting the Mountain Men."
"I see," and Lexa watches as Roan's head tilts and as he glances to the warriors who defend the capital, who continue to gaze upon the Coalition forces that stand alongside the Northern Azgeda.
"May I ask why the Commander marches with you?" the warrior asks, and Lexa sees him glance at her only for his gaze to shift quickly back to Roan's.
"You may not," Roan says simply as he begins looking into the sea of Azgeda before him. "Wanheda," Roan says, his gaze snapping back to the warrior's. "She arrived?"
"Yes," the warrior says as he looks over his shoulder. "She arrived at the outer wall not long ago," and the warrior worries his lips. "You sent her to deliver a message for Kwin Nia?"
Roan meets the warrior's question with a simple lifting of his chin.
"Hand me your weapon," Roan says instead of an answer.
Lexa watches the warrior's eyebrows quirk together, and she sees him look to the closest Trikru warrior who shifts in the cold.
"I will not ask again," Roan says, his voice hardening, his eyes ice.
And Lexa watches as the warrior swallows, and she thinks he must consider what to do, how to act, whether to disobey an order, to question further. But Roan takes a step forward, and Lexa thinks that must be enough to shake the man's uncertainty because he averts his eyes and he loosens his sword from its sheath before he draws it awkwardly with his opposite hand, the blade whistling as it slides free.
"Prince Roan," the warrior says as he offers the blade to Roan with a step backwards.
"Kneel," Roan says simply as he takes the man's sword and stares him down.
And the warrior looks up once in confusion before he lowers himself to a knee, and Lexa's eyes snap to the Azgeda before her, and she sees open hostility in some faces, she sees uncertainty and confusion in others.
"I am taking command of all who stand before me," Roan calls out into the silence, and Lexa feels her hand tighten instinctively on her sword as she feels the ripple roll through the Azgeda forces.
"Prince Roan?" the warrior asks as he looks up from where he kneels.
Roan glares at the man though, and Lexa sees him recoil just slightly as Roan steps around him and begins to stalk along the front of the Azgeda.
"Kwin Nia is no longer ruler of Azgeda, she has betrayed our clan," and he lets the tip of the sword he holds drag through the snow, the sounds of the blade scraping against the iced ground spreading into the silence. "At this very moment Wanheda, Mountain Slayer, Champion of Azgeda, demands her surrender," and Roan stops before a furious warrior, the woman's eyes aflame as she looks from Roan to the Coalition forces. "You do not believe me?" Roan snarls in her face.
"Kwin Nia would not betray Azgeda," the woman says simply, her chin raising in challenge.
"You call me a liar?" Roan asks, and Lexa sees the woman's eyes widen a fraction as she realises her mistake. "You call me a liar?" Roan reiterates as he steps forward.
"I—" and the woman swallows painfully as she takes a step back, others around her moving further away as Roan advances on her. "No, Prince Roan," and the woman looks away, but Lexa still sees the snarl lifting the corner of her lips.
"But you do not believe me?" and Roan continues his stalk before the Azgeda warriors. "Kwin Nia sided with the Mountain Men," and Roan lets his voice spread even further into the silence.
"She would not," another warrior shouts, and Roan turns in search of the voice only to find silence once more.
"She would," Roan snarls. "Bring him," and Roan gestures with a flick of his wrist.
And so Lexa feels her heart beat just a moment faster as two Northern Azgeda warriors break from the army she stands before. Lexa watches as eyes focus on who is carried between them, his feet struggling to remain upright in the iced snow.
"The last of the Mountain Men," Roan says as he points to Jaha's tired body as it is forced to kneel in front of Roan. "Tell them," Roan says as he meets Jaha's weary eyes.
And Lexa thinks the next words to be voiced will break this silence, will shatter it and send warrior crashing against warrior. But she thinks it could hone the silence into a stunned stupor, could cause enough confusion, enough uncertainty in those that stand before her to allow Roan's hold on their loyalty to dig deeper, to pierce through their minds and sway their allegiances.
Lexa watches as Jaha turns and glances over his shoulder, and she watches as his gaze shifts from warrior to warrior before they land on Wells, his son, who stands close by Lexa's side with the few Skaikru warriors that had travelled with them. And Lexa knows she sees a choice made in that moment, she knows Jaha accepts whatever fate he seals for himself, and she feels those around her grip their weapons more tightly now, she feels them prepare to strike, prepare to rush forward, prepare to war and bleed and seek violence where they can.
And so Lexa watches as Jaha turns back to Roan. And she watches as Jaha's eyes harden, and as his mouth opens, and as words begin to form on his lips.
Nia drives the knife forward and Clarke feels time slow to a crawl. She sees the firelight glancing off the tip of the blade as it falls to her heart, she hears the whistling of air as the blade slices through the space between them, and she sees the raging pulse that strums beneath the Kwin's skin. But above all, she feels Nia's cold fingers, she feels the tremble in the woman's grasp and she sees the sweat that drips openly down the Kwin's cheek. And she knows the poison has set in.
And so Clarke acts. She reaches up and she rips Nia's weakened hold from her throat with little more than a grimace as Nia's nails claw at her skin, and Clarke grips the woman's wrist with her other hand, she raises her hips and she twists her body with the momentum. She redirects Nia's hand past her face, her gaze following the knife as it only just slices into her cheek.
Clarke ignores the burn and the pain and the blood and she rolls them both so that Nia lands on her back, so that Clarke now straddles the woman. Clarke strikes out with a fist then, the blow slamming into the crook of Nia's elbow.
And that is all it takes, all Clarke needs. The blow weakens Nia's grasp on the knife. It stuns her arm. It gives Clarke the time, the seconds, the breath to turn the knife back towards the wielder. And then she pushes forward. She growls out in anger as she drives the woman's own hand back towards her own throat.
Clarke knows it lasts little more than a second, little more than the drip of blood that she feels spilling from her cheek. But she watches as the blade sinks into Nia's flesh, into the underside of her jaw, she watches as the blade slowly pierces through her throat and up into the roof of her mouth. Nia's eyes widen in shock first, and Clarke thinks she sees the pain and anger and fury wash over the woman's face all within the time it takes for the blade to fully settle, to fully embed itself.
Nia's ragged breathing fills the air then, and Clarke doesn't quite realise how close her face is to Nia's until she feels the woman's breath brush her cheek, until she feels the misting of blood as it sprays from her lips.
Nia's eyes close once, and Clarke sees them squeeze painfully, she sees Nia's lips tremble and she feels the ache in her own body as Nia opens her eyes and meets Clarke's gaze. Nia's hand reaches out then, and it comes carefully, it comes slowly, and Clarke holds the gaze they share as Nia brings a cold hand up to her cheek, the woman's fingers brushing against her face for a slow moment.
"I'll take care of our people," Clarke whispers to her, and she sees the acceptance that settles over Nia, and she know she feels the woman's fingers begin to tremble as life slowly starts bleeding away.
And perhaps Clarke finds herself not quite sure what Nia thinks, whether the acceptance she saw was for her death, or for Clarke's own words and actions. But Clarke feels Nia's hand slacken from where it remains rested against her face. And it's odd, too, Clarke thinks Nia a fool, she thinks the woman vindictive, cruel, too quick to punish, too arrogant, too eager for violence and pain. But she knows Nia's actions only stem from wanting her people to succeed, to thrive and prosper and remain strong. To survive. And Clarke thinks she can respect that. Just a little.
"Your fight is over," Clarke finishes quietly as Nia's eyes begin to dull and as her hand drops from Clarke's face.
Clarke pulls the knife from under Nia's jaw slowly, she watches as the blood oozes from the wound and as it covers her hand and pools in the dip in Nia's neck.
Clarke can't quite tell if she feels relief in this moment, she can't quite tell if she feels remorse or dread or anxiousness. If only because she finds herself not quite sure what it means for her now, what her actions have dictated must happen, how the choices she has made will lead her life. And with such an action, with such a change, she had thought that there would be more violence, there would be shouted words, would be an explosion of emotion and actions. She had thought there would have been more than whispered words and a shared touch.
But she she looks up from where she sits over Nia's body, and as she looks around herself she finds Royal Guards already beginning to bow, already beginning to kneel in the throne room as the death of the Kwin sinks in and as the last of her blood spreads out from where Clarke sits atop her dying body.
Clarke's gaze falls to Costia who remains kneeling by the throne, her eyes stunned and unsure and unfocused as she stares at Nia's body. And Clarke's eyes meet Ontari's then, and she feels the woman's relief, she feels the woman's happiness and she smiles, she smiles just a little as Ontari's eyes close and as she takes in a deep breath before releasing it. Entani smiles, too, and Clarke can't quite help but to feel at odds with the scene before her, she can't quite tell whether she has the right to feel anything more than pain and suffering. But as Ontari begins to kneel, as Entani takes a knee and as Torvun lowers himself to the ground, Clarke thinks she should embrace whatever it is that happens now.
At least for the moment.
And so Clarke rises to her feet. She looks down at Nia's body just once more, for just long enough that she can commit the image to her mind, so that she knows she will never forget the actions she has done. And then she takes in those who kneel, those who have witnessed the challenge. And then she turns her gaze to the doors that lie open, that let in the cold of the night, and her gaze falls to the figures that remain silhouetted by the raging of the fire that fights back the dark.
Clarke sees Lexa's eyes take in the scene before her, she sees Lexa's gaze move from Nia's body to Clarke's bloodied fist that still holds the knife before landing on Costia. Clarke thinks she sees relief wash over Lexa in that moment, but then Clarke sees Lexa's eyes move to meet her gaze once more. And Clarke sees Roan, too, she sees him take in the scene before him, she sees an uncertainty, an acceptance and an odd emotion she can't quite pinpoint flit through his eyes.
Clarke steps over Nia's body and she can't quite let herself believe, can't quite let herself accept. She takes in the Royal Guards who remain kneeling, she takes in Costia's gaze as it stares from Nia's blood to Clarke's bloodied fist, and she takes in Ontari who kneels, who smiles, she takes in Entani and Torvun who remain kneeling, too, she sees Echo and Silence, she sees Jenma, Bronat and Leeton who all kneel, who all remain quiet and then she sees Lexa and Roan who stand in the doors, who haven't moved, who haven't disturbed whatever it is they think she waits for.
But Clarke thinks she knows what has happened, she thinks she understands and accepts the role she has inherited.
And so she looks around herself just once more before she lets her voice fill the throne room.
"Rise."
