Clarke doesn't actually think she's ever been stabbed before. She's been cut, slashed, hit with blunt objects enough to daze her, but after all her years on Earth, she doesn't think she's ever stabbed.
She finds that she doesn't much appreciate it.
Pain lances up her side as she staggers against a rocky tunnel wall, the barest step she takes enough to twist her face in pain. But despite that agony, despite that burning heat emanating from her wound, she doesn't think anything serious has been hit. She can still breathe albeit painfully, so she thinks her lungs haven't been punctured or at least not fully, she can still walk, albeit slowly, so she doesn't think any other vital organs have been pierced. She doesn't even think an artery has been severed, if only because she knows enough to know she'd have bled out long ago by now.
And yet?
It still hurts.
A lot.
She'll add the sure to be scar to another one of her many, perhaps she'll even show it off to Ontari, Entani and Torvun at a later time, maybe Lexa will even find it attractive once her worry fades. And that's a funny thought, Clarke finds herself thinking. It never was a conscious thought before, but now, as she takes just a moment to catch her breath, she finds herself liking the idea of being able to show Lexa her battle scars. Perhaps it's the notion of finding refuge with Lexa, of finding a sense of normalcy, of comfort and permanence by her side in whatever role their lives will allow. She finds that she hopes that comes to pass.
Clarke pushes off from the tunnel wall, she wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and she grimaces as blood smears across her face. She tries to ignore the burn in the corner of her eye as she squints and looks around herself. Shadows dance left and right, light in the distance, bounced from stone to stone, shimmers and gives just enough sight to her eyes.
She can still hear what she thinks is Ilian's voice carry over the distant commotion that seems to be echoing out through the tunnels but she can't think about that just yet. But that isn't so important. Her mind continues to spin, continues to try to understand the things it has seen. She knows explosives will be used, to collapse any entrances into the Mountain from the reaper tunnels, perhaps to cause destruction within. Even the acid fog she is sure will be used to clear out anyone unfortunate enough to be within.
But she must take one problem at a time.
The most important thing is to find whoever has the explosives, and hope she can stop them from being set off before it's too late. But even that will be difficult, if only because she knows more than one person has explosives and she knows she can't stop all of them at once. But if she can at least keep one passageway into the Mountain from collapsing then she'll be satisfied.
Clarke pushes off from the tunnel wall again, she uses one hand to steady herself, the other to hold her wound, perhaps to stem the flow of blood, perhaps to try and push the pain into the corners of her mind. No matter the reason, the pressure she feels somehow and someway alleviates the pain enough that she can begin to walk.
She's thankful reapers no longer exist, she doesn't know what she'd do if she came face to face with even just one in her current state. She doesn't even exactly know what she'll do if she comes face to face with Ilian or one of his allies. But that, she knows, to be a problem for later.
And so she walks.
Clarke stubbles every third, forth, sometimes tenth and eleventh step. She manages to right herself and she continues to follow the tunnel, the sound, the commotion in the distance.
It feels like hours she walks, but she knows from experience that the tunnels length time with each passing step, she knows the shadows play with her mind and she knows that each echoing sound makes the depths of the black far more frightening than they have any right to b—
Clarke pauses.
There's a distinct subtleness to the air that permeates around her. She can't quite put her finger on it at first, but the longer she leans against the wall, she longer she begins to realise what it is.
Memories that seems years old begin to come to her of moving through these same tunnels, memories come to her of fighting reaper and mountain man alike and she realises.
The tunnel she is in is the exact same one she had led Azgeda forces through during the Mountain's siege. She recognises the winding path it wends through the bedrock and gravel and she knows there is an entrance to the Mountain at the tunnel's end. And perhaps she isn't surprised to find that this entrance is being targeted. If only because Ilian and his allies have had more than enough time to scout and map the tunnel systems and entrances leading in and out of the Mountain.
And so the decision is simple, Clarke thinks. If there's one entrance to the Mountain she can save, it will be this one.
This isn't the first time Torvun has been left alone to face an unknown number of foes and he doesn't think it will be the last. A dying warrior lies somewhere behind him, the last of their ragged breaths the only thing to break the stillness that settles around him.
Torvun doesn't remember the reaper tunnels ever feeling so claustrophobic, but as he stands at his fullest he feels the walls closing in on him just enough that it makes his lips turn down at the corners. He hears that sound again though, and as he strains his ears he thinks he can hear the sounds of voices echoing in the distance and he even thinks he can hear the barest hints of metal clashing against metal.
Perhaps it's because Torvun is tired, perhaps it's because his head has been aching for far too long, but it takes him just a moment longer than he likes to register the sounds he hears as danger.
But then he moves.
Torvun grips his sword in hand and begins moving towards the sounds of fighting, clanging steel against steel and he hopes that Clarke has found friend and that she isn't surrounding.
He doesn't even really feel fear for himself, he had survived too many battles, too many skirmishes and wars to worry about his death. But when it came to Clarke, when it came to his friends, he didn't quite like the bitter taste left in his mouth at the thought that there could be something more he could do to help.
Each little pain in his body bleeds away with each quickening step he takes until the only thing on his mind is the next foot he places in front of the other, the sword in his hand and the anger he can feel beginning to pump through his veins.
Torvun begins analysing movement and motion he will make when he comes to the bend ahead. If he comes face to face with an opponent? He'll crash into them, force them against the wall and use his size to pin them there and stun them enough to drive his sword into their chest. He'll use their body to block whatever attack comes next, he'll use the darkness to mask the weapon he holds and he'll attack two, maybe three at the same time before his presence is fully registered.
And then?
And then he'll cut each one down until he finds Clarke safe and sound.
Torvun's feet take him faster and faster, he prepares himself and he lets his mind go black, he lets his anger bleed into calmness and he rounds the corner.
Torvun takes in everything he sees in a split second. The first thing is a warrior who has spun around to face him. Her hair is braided back out of her eyes and she's short, perhaps not quite as short as Clarke, but short enough that he can bowl her over without much trouble. The next thing he sees are warriors, some already engaged in battle, others turning to face him. But he sees no Clarke and he sees no Azgeda scars or clothing and so he contin—
"Torvun?"
He pauses, he skids and he almost crashes into the warrior without meaning to.
Torvun doesn't quite lower his sword, but he pauses long enough that he can look into the woman's eyes. Yet again it takes him a moment longer to register who stands in front of him, but as recognition dawns he finds himself both surprised and unsurprised at their presence.
"Heda?"
"Where is Clarke?" Lexa says, her eyes urgent yet her tone calm and collected.
"Deeper," Torvun answers as he points down the tunnel.
"We have come from that entrance," Lexa says as she gestures down the other end.
"I have been hunting these people," Torvun says as he begins walking with Lexa. "They lead deeper into the tunnels."
Lexa nods her head as she peers into the darkness ahead of them.
"These tunnels will lead to the side entrances to the Mountain," Anya says quietly from where she kneels over a dead rebel.
"Yes," Torvun says. He doesn't quite know what Ilian and his friends plan to do, but he knows enough that it involves the Mountain and what better way to gain access than by sneaking in through the seldom used reaper tunnels?
"Are you ok, Torvun?" he looks to his right to find Costia eyeing him cautiously, the woman's gaze critical yet kind as she seems to take measure of the wounds he has suffered since the explosion at Polis gates.
"I am fine," he says. "There are more seriously wounded in the Mountain."
"Come," Lexa cuts in quietly as she continues to move ahead, sword readied as she takes cautious step after cautious step.
At any other time Torvun would let the Commander take the lead, but not this time. He doesn't care what anyone else may think or say as he lets his large stride take him further ahead.
What unsettles Torvun though is the distinct lack of sound that has now settled around them. When once there was the distinct clash of metal against metal and voices echoing throughout the tunnels, now there is nothing. He knows the others with him notice the lack of noise too, and Torvun knows it can mean only one thing.
Torvun's pace quickens enough that he can cover more ground, but he keeps it slow enough that he can react to ambush or surprise if one is to be had. But he thinks the only reason that silence has settled around them is because Ilian and his friends have made it into the Mountain and have unleashed whatever plan they have concocted. He doesn't want to think about what the lack of noise could mean for Clarke either.
And so he simply grits his teeth, tries not to let the wounds that cover his body pain him too much and he continues forward as steadily as he can, all the while the Commander quiet and calm beside him, her own gaze hardened and ready.
Clarke doesn't mean to stumble yet another time, but as she continues to push forward she finds her strength slowly but surely ebbing. It doesn't quite worry her though, she's been in worse situations, if she's honest with herself she doesn't even think she should have survived crashing to the ground in the drop pod so long ago. But she had, so she doesn't think a little stab wound is going to be the thing to put her down for good. Especially if she has anything to say abo—
She coughs, it comes out ragged, broken and just a little wetter than she intended. A metallic bite fills her mouth and she knows the taste is blood. It covers her lips, too, makes her mouth feel leaden, weary, thick and slimy. She spits, or perhaps not quite spits, because the motion makes her grimace, it makes her wince and clutch at her wound just that little bit more tightly. So maybe she spoke too soon about not puncturing a lung or having been wounded too seriously. If only because coughing up blood can't be a good thing.
Clarke rounds the last corner in the tunnel then, and not to her surprise she is sure she spies a group of people huddled by the entrance to the Mountain that had once been its downfall and could once more bring it to its knees.
She stumbles again, and this time the noise is enough to draw attention to her. Three faces turn to look up at her, one is a man, large, broad shouldered with a deep scar that wounds down his cheek. But Clarke can't quite help but to choke on a bitter laugh as she sees Teben next, the woman's eyes somewhere between guarded worry and uncertainty. But then Clarke sees Ilian standing, one hand holding what she thinks must be a poorly made bomb, the other clutching onto a sword.
"Clarke," he says, his voice loud enough to carry to her, low enough not to echo too far out.
"Stop," Clarke manages to choke out past another ragged cough that splatters her lips with blood. "You can't do this," she doesn't like the way her body is listening to her when she tells it to stand up fully, when it tells her to stop leaning against the tunnel's wall.
"I am trying to save our people," Ilian says quietly as he hands the bomb to the other man before walking towards her cautiously.
"You're a fool, Ilian," Clarke manages to say as she straightens enough that she isn't hobbled over.
"I am a fool?" gone is the anger, the fury and the desperation in Ilian's eyes she had seen only moments ago. What replaces it scares her though. Now all she sees is determination and acceptance for whatever he has done and will do. "Why am I the fool when all I wish to do is save not just my clan, but all clans?"
"You—" she coughs again and this time she stumbles to her knees. "You don't understand tech," exasperation colours Clarke's voice now as she pushes herself up to from her knees and continues to stagger her way forward.
Normally Clarke would probably try and stab Ilian as soon as he gets close enough. She can recognise the determination in his eyes is strong enough that she won't be able to talk him out of it. At least not easily. She doesn't even think it's worth trying, perhaps in part because she doesn't much care for him anymore. Not after what he's done. All she knows in this moment is that she needs to get closer.
Ilian comes to stand before her, the space between them enough for him to react if he needs to. Clarke can see blood stains on his hip from where she lashed out at him and she hopes it hurts more than he seems to be letting on.
Clarke forces herself to stand upright, she ignores the stabbing pain in her side and she makes sure her voice is as steady as can be expected before she speaks.
"Are you prepared to kill me?" and Clarke lets the fire in her eyes take control. "I won't let you collapse this tunnel," and she steps forward. "I won't let you continue."
Ilian sighs and steps aside and gestures for her to follow him. Clarke takes a moment to consider if his actions are a trap before she decides delaying him is currently her best chance of success. If anything, it'll let her get closer to him, this new third man and to Teben who still remains quietly aside.
"No one will die if you help us," Ilian says, and it seems so simple when he says it, it seems so straightforward and easy to understand. And yet Clarke can't get past the fact that Ilian is talking about the potential murder of hundreds, if not thousands of people within the Mountain.
"How?" Clarke's mind races as she tries to figure out how exactly the red smoke will be used. It's clear from what she's seen that the explosives are to seal the Mountain, and she can infer enough that the red smoke will be used to incapacitate anyone else still in the Mountain when it is released.
"How?" Ilian's head turns to the side as he pauses, their steps having taken them close enough to the entrance now that the glow seen through the door's window illuminates the space around them.
But there's something different, too, something Clarke can't quite place at first. It starts as a subtle itch, a subtle burning, a subtle bitterness upon her tongue that she doesn't find pleasant.
It doesn't take long for Clarke to realise that the itch, the roughness and the heaviness of the air she breathes in is from the red smoke.
"You've already released the red smoke," is all she says, and as she looks up at Ilian who walks beside her she sees him nod just once. "You need me to tell everyone to get them out?" and Clarke tries not to let the memories of bodies strewn throughout the Mountain surface.
"Not quite," Ilian says as they come to a stop by the door, the itch and the heaviness in the air now more apparent.
"Not quite?" and Clarke's eyes turn puzzled as she looks from Ilian, to Teben and to the third man who comes to kneel by the entrance, the metal door rusted from disuse.
But as Clarke looks through the window, as she peers inside, she realises why.
Instead of the expected tapestries and furs, branches and plants that have come to adorn the Mountain's interior, all Clarke sees is smoke. She sees the red haze of flames and she can't quite put two and two together.
Her hand reaches out, she presses it to the rusted door and she winces and snaps her hand back as the heat burns into her palm and sears her flesh. Horror comes next. Clarke knows how many people are in the Mountain. But most of all, she knows Azgeda warriors, people she has served with for months will be trapped there, some the wounded from the Polis explosion, some from other battles.
"What have you done?" Clarke says as she turns to face Ilian, and she finds his face hardened and determined.
"We needed to ensure people would flee the Mountain," Ilian says. "We discovered that the red smoke can bring life to flames an—"
Clarke's mind begins to turn, it begins to organise chaos and disorder into plan and action. There's no time, there's no fear left in her. She retraces her steps, how many it took to get from where she had stood to where she now stands. She takes a moment to judge how far away from her the third man is, how fast she must move. She looks at Ilian, at how he stands before her, how his body is turned enough to expose his side, his lungs, perhaps his heart if she is quick enough. And Teben, even Teben, she tries to judge where she is, how quickly Teben could react.
Whether or not the odds are in her favour, Clarke doesn't think a better opportunity will present itself.
And so she does the only thing she has left.
In less than a second Clarke draws the knife she had stolen in their first scuffle, she spins and slams the blade into the man's neck, she doesn't even wait to see if she has delivered a killing blow before she rips out from his flesh, turns and slams it forward as hard and as fast as she can towards Ilian's exposed side. And she knows she'll drive it in, she knows she'll stab him once, perhaps twice before Teben makes a move. And she knows that's all the opportunity she'll have before Teben is on her.
So Clarke throws all her weight behin—
The blade sinks into flesh, it thuds into body and it rips a gasp, a grunt and a broken wheeze from pained lips.
Clarke's stabbed a lot of people in her life. It's something she's never been very proud of, but she's done it to survive, to make sure her friends survive, and to make sure her people survive.
She's done it enough times to know what it feels like if her knife pierces organ, or if it misses entirely and required her to plunge it in again. She knows what it feels like for her knife to hit a rib, to deflect and cause a less than ideal wound. She knows what it's like to have her knife pierce so firmly into someone that she struggles to rip it free.
She knows what it's like to look someone in the eyes as the life fades from them. She doesn't like the feel of the blood that pools around her fingers sometimes, how it makes her hold on her knife a little less sure than she'd like. She even knows what it's like to miss entirely, to hit nothing but air and to have that one split second of panic before she reacts, before she turns to defend herself from counterattack.
But the one thing she doesn't know is what it's like to be stabbed and to actually know she's been stabbed.
Ilian stands close to her, he towers over her, looms over her, becomes one with the shadows that swallow the tunnel whole. He's so close that she can see the barest hints of the scars the needles left behind as they inked his face. He's so close that she can see the stubble on his chin despite how dark it is. He's so close that she thinks she can feel the steady beat of his heart as he holds her up and close to his body.
"I gave you the opportunity to help our people survive, Clarke," Ilian says quietly, and it surprises her that his voice seems full of remorse. "You could have been the one to show them that tech will always corrupt."
Clarke realises Ilian's hand is closed over her own, and that it squeezes her fist in his own so very tightly.
"I never wished you harm," he continues as he steps back and lets his hand fall away. "I am sorry."
Clarke staggers, her legs feel weak and she can't quite figure out why.
"Our people needed you, they needed Wanheda to guide them down a new path," Ilian says and Clarke watches as he wipes his bloodied hand on a dirty rag.
"Ili—" Clarke chokes, she splutters and blood bubbles up past her lips and she doesn't know why.
"For a moment I believed you were to help us," Ilian says as he kneels down and begins fiddling with the explosives already set up around the entrance. "Complete the others, Teben," he says.
Clarke sags back against the metal door, and for some reason her body doesn't feel the heat of the flames this time. Perhaps oddly, she finds she feels cold. And that's just a little odd. Trikru territory has its winters, it has its seasons, but it's never been cold. Not like the Azgeda winters. She's actually always enjoyed the refreshing chill of Trikru winter months if only because she can move about in the chill just like she does back home, except she need not worry about frostbite, or shielding her eyes from the blinding white of the snow plains. And so it's odd that she feels that same cold right now.
Clarke is shocked to find herself sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out before her, and her torso somewhat slumped over against the tunnel wall. Ilian now stands over her with sadness now clearly taking hold in his eyes.
"It will be over soon, Clarke," he says. "I am sorry I can not help you."
Clarke tries to rise, she tries to speak, but she finds herself too weak to do anything but grunt and grimace and groan.
Ilian's gaze lowers for a moment and she sees pity flash across his face before Teben comes to stand awkwardly beside her, eyes downcast and hands clutched together carefully.
"Goodbye, Clarke," Ilian says before turning.
Clarke watches for as long as she can Ilian fades into the darkness of the tunnels, and through it all she finds herself still unsure of why her body doesn't seem t—
Clarke coughs, it wriggles through her body and a new pain, a fresh pain and a deep pain sears into her stomach. She gasps, she splutters and Clarke's hand comes up in an attempt to kill the pain, to silence it and to fight it back. She finds her vision is beginning to blur, and that it's a little harder to keep her head up. And so it doesn't quite surprise her when she realises her vision has settled onto the handle of that same knife she had tried to drive into Ilian's body.
But instead of being stuck in Ilian, Clarke finds that the knife's handle is in fact somehow protruding out of the right side of her lower chest.
And it's funny, somehow. Clarke laughs, and this time she doesn't feel the pain, she doesn't feel the cold or the tiredness that makes her eyelids feel heavy. All she feels is a contentedness beginning to settle over her with each passing second.
Clarke never gave much thought to how she'd die. Perhaps it was because she had always assumed she die orbiting earth surrounded by the few family she'd have. Perhaps she thought she'd be floated for helping her dad. But she never thought or imagined she'd die lying in the dirt in a dark tunnel somewhere beneath the Earth's surface.
But dying isn't so bad, she thinks, as her eyes begin to close, maybe dying won't be so frightening, if only because she feels so very calm.
And so, as Clarke slumps over, as blood spills out through her fingers, she finds herself thinking of Torvun, of his quiet presence that is never far. She finds herself thinking of Entani, her friend who is a calming presence when needed and a solid wall to lean against in times of need. Clarke thinks of Ontari, of her fire, her fury, her energy and the way her nose crinkles just slightly when she laughs when no one but her closest of friends are close.
And Clarke thinks of Lexa, of a woman she finds herself imagining a future with that she now thinks wont be hers to share.
And, as the last of her mind begins to fade, Clarke realises she thinks that thought such a shame.