Lexa waited so long for an answer that she knew it, that she felt it shatter her heart to pieces. She'd cry if she hadn't felt that pain once before, she'd break if she hadn't been rebuilt stronger than before. She'd collapse to her knees and cry out with whatever emotions she let free. But she had done all those things once before. So she wouldn't do them now.
She never had considered, but now, as she looked at Klark, as she stared into her vibrantly blue eyes, she found herself wondering if she had been too hopeful, too foolish and far too idealistic to ever hope that whatever had once existed could be rekindled after her betrayal.
And so she stood, she tried not to let her pain be seen so openly and she waited, she hoped, she prayed that Klark would say something more, would dare bridge whatever gap existed between them. And she hoped Klark would for she wouldn't push herself upon Klark, she wouldn't force herself into her life, she wouldn't intrude. She had promised herself she would let Klark be the one to make decisions. She thought it only right.
"We will be leaving for Arkadia soon, Klark," Lexa said, her voice just barely held together. "You may stay in my tent until we begin to move out."
And with that she turned, she tried not to ingrain into her mind the uncertainty in Klark's eyes that had followed her question lest it haunt her forever and she ducked out of her tent.
Stepping out of her tent gave Lexa a chance to compose herself. Or perhaps it forced her to compose herself. She couldn't be seen to feel any of the emotions now that her warriors walked about around her. Ryder nodded at her as she took a moment to breathe, to inhale deeply, and she held it, she let her lungs burn and she exhaled in a single breath that came out steady and calm.
"Do not let Klark leave this tent unprotected," Lexa said as she began walking with no discernible direction in mind.
All she knew in that moment was that she needed to be alone, to have some peace, some quiet, or at least some isolation. Her tent wouldn't work, not with Klark there. And so Lexa walked through the camp of warriors, each one armed and more than prepared to defend at a moment's notice. She didn't trust Azgeda this close to the border. She didn't trust Nia not to try something with Klark so close to Azgeda territory. It also made Lexa's emotions bubble at the simple fact that she couldn't bring more warriors with her this close to the border without having to explain herself to the clans. She couldn't even station warriors along the border in the hopes of capturing Echo, the assassin, the spy, the woman who, she had a suspicion, was.
It'd be easy to send a messenger to one of her outposts along the border. There was still time. Echo wouldn't make a clean break for the safety of her clan's territory. Not immediately. She wouldn't risk being so easily discovered. Lexa knew she'd take her time, she'd let the search die down, perhaps even stay hidden in Trikru lands for weeks before crossing over. And she could use that time to trap Echo, corner her and not let her through the border.
But only if she had the ability to station warriors at the border. And that ability, she knew, she didn't have.
And so Lexa came to the edge of her camp. Her warriors had found a plateau of sorts, easy enough to access from all sides by a steep climb. She had chosen it for the simple fact that she knew Klark needed the time to recuperate before being moved. So the plateau had been perfect. It had given her an easily defendable position that looked out over the lands. But it also made it so very visible to any that wished to look.
The tops of trees stretched out just below her. In the direction she looked the trees continued to grow greyer and greyer the further out she cast her eyes until they began to thin, to bleed into rocky outcrop and white dusted ground. Behind her she knew the trees would grow more and more green with each passing stone as they formed the depths of Trikru lands. But she didn't need to look back, she didn't need to look upon the forests.
What she needed to do, what she wanted to do, was to cast her gaze ut as far as the eye could see across Azgeda's territory. In the distance she could see the undulating mass of white and grey and blue of the Azgeda plains and rolling hills and jagged rock. If she looked harder, if she forced her eyes to strain, to pick out every little detail, she was sure she could see the speck of their capital somewhere so far away it was perhaps more imagined mirage than visible sight.
Lexa didn't realise her teeth ground, she didn't realise her jaw clenched until an ache began to form behind her eyes. She almost needed to force herself to relax, she almost needed to force herself settle. Her thoughts were a mess, her angers so close to the surface that she couldn't quite decide what to do.
Part of her felt responsible, part of her was responsible for how Klark's life had played out. But part of her, the selfish part, the foolish part, blamed Nia, blamed Azgeda, blamed each and every fur covered warrior that walked across the Azgeda plains. She blamed them for Costia's death, she blamed them for breaking her heart. And now she blamed them for attacking Nessa, her nomon, and Klark. And she blamed them for Klark's admission.
And yet she couldn't. She couldn't blame them. Not for Klark. Hadn't she done that all by herself?
Clarke stared at the spot Lexa had been sitting in long after she had left. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. The thought that what Lexa had done was in fact not rescuing her had never crossed her mind. Until Lexa had asked it. She didn't think that was the case, but for some reason, as Lexa's words had cemented themselves into her mind she didn't know how to respond.
Not because she wasn't uncertain or unsure of who to trust, that is if she could trust anymore. She was under no misconceptions that Azgeda would cut her head off as soon as she stopped being useful. But was that better than what Lexa had done? Lexa had left her at the Mountain's entrance. But hadn't she been given a fighting chance?
Perhaps they were problems to face at another time. The one thing she knew in that moment was that Azgeda was no friend of hers. They had tried to kill Nessa, they had tried to take her against her will. They had hunted her, tracked her, kidnapped her and she knew, she so absolutely knew she was a pawn for their queen.
And with Lexa? The hurt in Lexa's eyes, the pain she knew she saw, was enough to tell her that she meant more, no matter how much that revelation hurt to admit to herself.
And so yes. Lexa had rescued her. Even if she now doubted it.
Clarke reached out for the beaker and took one last long swig of it, if only because it was so absolutely tasty. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and made for the tent's exit.
She took two steps, three steps, a forth and then a fifth before she paused. It took her a moment to realise two things, but as she took a sixth she found herself frowning as she looked down. Each step of her left foot came a little less comfortably, each stride she took with her right leg seemed not to bend as easy as she liked.
Clarke's brows furrowed as she reached out and steadied herself with her uninjured hand. She lifted her left leg up and tried to look at the surprisingly well fitted boot on her foot. Tucked into the sole, just before the leather stacks of the heel, was a small, almost unnoticeably handle that protruded just enough that she could grasp it with a finger and her thumb.
She took hold of the handle and pulled, it took her a moment to figure out just how to pull the handle but then it came free with a pop. To her surprise she found the handle, half the length of her finger, was attached to as intricate and small a blade as she could imagine.
She was under no misconceptions that the blade was sharp, she could tell by the whistle it made as it cut through the air as she held it up and looked at it. The blade was perhaps as long as her pinky finger, small enough to go unnoticed by most, large enough to cause as much damage as it could given its size.
Clarke didn't know what to think of that, she didn't know what to even do with the knowledge that Lexa had given her clothes with weapons hidden within them. It was thoughtful, it was useless. She didn't even know how to use a knife for anything more than cutting vegetables or swinging it pathetically before a foe.
But that same odd pressure came as she bent and slipped the knife back into place. And she knew. Clarke ran her hand down the inside of her right pant leg, and within the inseam she felt a barely-there solidness that was distinctly not fabric.
Clarke's finger explored for a second longer before she found an opening, she hooked her finger inside and she pulled out a small metal rod. Its diameter perhaps half that of one of her fingers, its length just enough that she could hide it in her palm. One end was flattened like a screwdriver, perhaps designed for prying, for wedging it into or between rock or bolted chain. The other end narrowed into a sharp point, enough to stab, wound and maim.
She didn't quite know how many other weapons were hidden within her clothes, but she assumed she'd find more. Or she could simply ask. But that would require talking to Lexa.
Clarke needed to do that, she needed to force herself to confront her fears and her pains. She'd never grow, never learn to understand and to accept the things that had happened if she always hid away.
And so she tucked that small metal tool back into its smallest of pockets as she continued to make her way out of the tent.
Clarke didn't know what to expect when she exited the tent. Perhaps a small camp tucked away into the forests, whose presence must be hidden, not seen and never heard. What she saw was the complete opposite. Warriors moved about, all armed and clearly ready for a fight. She could see guards patrolling the perimeter, too, all with arrows nocked to bows. Horses seemed to be getting ready to move out, too, many already with packs tied to their bodies.
But the thing that really made Clarke gasp was the fact that they seemed to be on a raised part of the land. It was flat, but in the distance she could see the tops of trees, she could see the forests that stretched out as far as the eye could see and she knew their presence would be seen from far away.
Perhaps Lexa wanted to be seen though, perhaps she wanted Azgeda to know she was onto her. It would make sense to Clarke. But the thing that made the most sense was the fact that it was so plainly obvious to her now that there were intricacies, unknowns, players and rules of the game that she didn't know. She had only scraped the surface, the barest tip of the iceberg that hid away all its secrets below the depths. And if she was to stop being a pawn, if she was to stop being used, she would need to learn.
Clarke startled as she took a step forward, and with her came a shadow. She looked up to find Ryder standing behind her, one hand on his knife by his hip, the other hanging by his side and in reach of the bow strapped over his shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment and Clarke found herself feeling just a hint of regret at the last time they had really spent any time together, when she had held a gun to him and threatened his death should Lexa continue to threaten Octavia.
"I—" she paused, perhaps to find the words she should say.
But Ryder shook his head as if he knew what she tried to voice.
"You do not need to say anything, Wanheda," he said simply, and there was no humour in his voice, no niceness, nor malice or anger. Just straightforward bluntness. And that was refreshing. Clarke wished more people spoke to her with no expectations.
"I'm sorry, Ryder," she'd apologise anyway. It felt like the right thing to do.
Ryder bowed his head ever so slightly before facing forward, his attention clearly aimed outwards and to any he might think were a threat.
Clarke looked around herself and she tried to find Lexa, tried to see a flash of her red sash, or the mane of wild braids that wove through curly hair. But she couldn't see either through the crowd of warriors that moved about.
"Where's Lexa?" she asked as she looked up at Ryder.
She watched him think for a second or two before gesturing with his chin. It was as much direction as Clarke thought she'd get and so she began to wind her way through the warriors, Ryder ever present at her back. At first it didn't become clear, but as Clarke passed more and more warriors she realised all seemed to make way for her, all seemed to watch her with intensity and curiosity, deference or respect. She didn't like it. Not really. But she didn't think she hated it either. It existed somewhere between the two, where her mind couldn't decide whether it wanted to shy away from their attention, or whether her mind was thankful that even these warriors, so prone to violence, so capable of creating pain and suffering, all understood that what she had done had been significant. That it wasn't normal. That it should neverbe normal to kill as she had killed.
But then Clarke saw her.
She saw Lexa standing at the edge of the camp a safe distance from the edge of the plateau Clarke found they had made camp upon. She didn't know if Lexa had heard her approach, she didn't know if Lexa had sensed it. But for a moment Clarke found herself unable to break the quiet that had seemingly settled upon the scene before her.
Lexa's body was full of tension, that much was clear. Clarke could see the stiffness in Lexa's shoulders, she could see a straining in the way her hands her clasped behind her back. But above all, she could see turmoil, she could see apprehension and any other raging emotion. And Clarke didn't quite know when she learnt to read Lexa so well.
Clarke approached Lexa carefully, and this time it was her turn to move as if she were afraid of startling a caged beast. Lexa had to know Clarke was behind her, there was no way she didn't. And yet, as Clarke continued to approach carefully, quietly, so very gently, Lexa made no move to register her presence.
Clarke looked over her shoulder to find Ryder standing where she had left him, his head turning slowly from side to side as he looked out at the forests, his gaze ever scanning, his attention ever constant. She looked at a group of warriors who seemed to be packing a tent, each motion they made so very clean and even it looked as if they danced together in a mess of limbs and body motions.
She looked back at Lexa then and she startled. Lexa had turned her head to look at her, gaze was drilling into her and her eyes more guarded and harder to read this time. There was an intensity behind them, something that made Clarke's skin crawl, that made her want to shy away from the storm within Lexa's eyes.
"Klark," her name was said with such dryness Clarke thought she had done something wrong by just being in Lexa's vicinity.
After everything she had been through, after everything Lexa had put her through, being spoken to like that made her seethe. Clarke was done with people turning their back on her, she was done with people walking on egg shells around her not telling her anything. She was tired of being treated as broken, as crazy, as nothing but an untamed beast that would no sooner bite its own leg off than attack any who got too close.
And she hated it.
Clarke knew she couldn't get away with insulting Lexa openly. At least not in front of warriors. She was under no misconceptions that Lexa would even be able to do anything but punish her if she did. But still, Clarke wanted to get her point across.
And so, "what the fuck is wrong with you?" she said it so quietly that she knew Lexa would have to strain to hear. Clarke felt victorious, she felt satisfied and so very pleased with herself as Lexa's eyes widened before they narrowed.
"What is wrong with me, Klark?" Lexa's voice responded just as quietly and with just the same amount of anger.
"Yes," and Clarke tried to keep her expression as passive as she could lest she draw too much attention. "What," she almost, so very almost poked Lexa straight in the chest, "is wrong with you," this time it came out more statement than question. "You walk out on me, you leave me to do what? Just sit around in your tent? What?" Clarke feels her angers beginning to turn from controlled simmer to heated bubble.
"You wanted to be alone, Klark," Lexa said, her own voice just as hard now, despite how quiet she kept it.
"Oh, I wanted to be alone?" Clarke challenged. "Is that so? Did I say I wanted to be alone? Did I tell you to leave? Did I ask you to give me some alone time?" it would be so easy to poke Lexa. "Huh?" she stepped forward, just enough that most wouldn't notice, but enough that she knew Lexa would sense her space be invaded. "Is that how it's going to be, you making decisions for me now?"
Lexa's nose creased into the barest hints of a snarl as she turns to face her completely, her shoulders squared and her chin lifted in challenge.
"Not here," Lexa said simply and she turned and began walking back.
That shocked Clarke. That made her even angrier than she had been just moments before. She couldn't believe Lexa had just done exactly what she had said angered her. Did Lexa even listen? Did she even understand what she had been trying to say? Clarke was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted. And yet she found herself rushing to follow Lexa back through the camp and towards her tent.
Clarke didn't realise she was grinding her teeth until an ache began to form in her jaw, she didn't realise she was glaring until a warrior looked at her only to look away after having seen her face. She didn't realise she was almost too visible seething until her chest began to rise rapidly as blood pumped through her veins and as adrenaline made her stomach flip, turn, dance and twist.
Before she knew it they had made it back into Lexa's tent, the sound of the outside camp almost all but relegated to muffled noise. Lexa turned to face her from where she stood in the centre of her tent, arms behind her back, shoulders squared and chin raised just enough that it made Clarke more than certain that in that moment Lexa thought herself above whatever emotions she must so obviously be displaying. It was that control, that blank expression, that ability to command and to dictate their interactions that made Clarke's skin crawl, that made her want to poke and poke and wipe away the facade.
It had to be a facade. It had to. There was no way Lexa didn't feel some tiny bit of the emotions Clarke felt. There was no way she was as in control as she made herself seem. There couldn't be. Clarke didn't see how, she couldn't understand how. Not after everything they had both been through.
An idea sprung into her mind. A stupid idea. A foolish idea. One she might regret. And it was stupid, it was so, so, stupid. But in that very moment Clarke wanted to feel in control, she wanted to dictate what happened next. And so she did the only thing she could think of, and she damned the consequences.
Clarke walked forward with purpose, she didn't like the way Lexa didn't budge this time but she didn't care. She came to stop right in front of Lexa, she invaded her space and she made sure Lexa could see the fire in her eyes.
"Klark," it was a warning, a threat and it was hissed, barely audible, barely heard.
"You aren't in control."
And with that Clarke leant forward and crashed her lips against Lexa with as much passion, as much hate, as much fury and anger and love as she knew how.
She'd deal with the consequences later.
