Morning

Lexa

Lexa slipped from her bed hours before sunrise. She knew full well that trying to sleep, with Clarke so close, was a waste of energy. Up until a few hours ago, she was under a self induced delusion that she could simply have her men bring Clarke to her unharmed and that she and Clarke would talk through what happened in Mount Vernon and reunify in leading their people together, as if a betrayal had never happened. Up until a few hours ago she'd believed she could convince Clarke of her reasons/strategies and as soon as Clarke understood, the two of them could sway the coalition together. Up until a few hours ago, she was mildly successful fighting back her romantic feelings for Clarke and could prevent the recollection of the softness of Clarke's warm mouth and the enticing scent of her skin from running rampant in her psyche. But, now, recollections of every moment of intimacy between them flooded her senses. Seeing the woman of her desire embody such rage was a harsh reality, one that Lexa was forced to immediately accepted as truth.

With a warrior spirit, Lexa recognized when a battle was lost and started planning her next bold move. She needed to find a way to reach through Clarke's rage. She needed to carve a new pathway into Clarke's heart. A heart, she reminded herself that was once pure and generous, beautiful and kind, open and welcoming.

A natural ability to slip in and out of places without being seen is a skill Lexa comes by naturally. It is her art form. She padded quietly and could be as silent as a church mouse, when need be. It had helped her escape many dangerous situations in her lifetime. Her strongest ability and most deceptive skill was the way she could hide in shadows. She set forth, knowing she would be able to get close enough to Clarke's cell without others seeing. She dismissed the guards with a single glance and made it clear that they were not to make any noise on the way out. She approached slowly and was taken aback by what she saw. There was Clarke sleeping in a sitting position, fists balled together, white knuckles bulging, brow furrowed, blood dried and streaking. Lexa's breath hitched and she almost drown in the realization that perhaps she was solely to blame for the rage that so clearly emanated off the woman before her. For the first time it occurred to her that Clarke had been strong enough to handle the battles she'd won and lost, Fin's death, and the deaths of the villagers, but not Lexa's betrayal.

Lexa thought back to her first battle. She had gone through everything Clarke went through as a leader, almost verbatim, but no one she trusted had betrayed her the way she betrayed Clarke. People were taken from her and tortured because of her love for them, but no one she trusted had ever intentionally caused her harm. This thought made her heart race and no matter how much she tried to calm herself, she couldn't. Her heartbeat so hard and fast that she was sure the sound of it was audible in the stone chamber; each contraction bouncing off the walls around her. She needed to leave and do so immediately. She checked the hall behind her then stole one last glance at Clarke. She felt frozen when she saw the woman of her desire staring directly into her eyes. She lingered for a second, but then pushed through the paralysis and made her way back to her throne without being seen.

The next several hours involved Lexa putting herself back together. She accepted the fact that her cards were on the table with Clarke and that Wanheda would be able to use them anyway she liked. It was a fact she could do nothing but accept. If only she would have stayed open and trusted Clarke. If only she had refused to make a deal with Mount Weather. Had she done these things, she wouldn't be where she was now, terrified, only meters of the woman she wanted as an ally and lover, yet unable to come up with a way to make this happen. She needed to think.

Clarke

Clarke awoke the second Lexa slipped in. She kept her breath steady and her eyes closed. She did nothing to indicate her awareness of the Commanders arrival. Would she be bold enough to approach the bars, Clarke wondered. She planned for the possibility and imagined grabbing ahold of Lexa's long tone arms, pulling them through, and forcing her face to the bars. She imagined staring deeply into her eyes and entangling Lexa's arms in such a way that the Commander couldn't move. She imagined leaving one hand free to take Lexa's blade and torment her with it. She imagined cutting hatch marks up and down Lexa's long neck, memorializing the lives of each innocent victim. She imagined slipping her strongest hand around Lexa's throat, feeling the warm blood from the fresh wounds ooze between her fingers. She imagined tightening her grasp and the color draining from Lexa's face. She imagined the sound of her heart beating. This confused her. Her heart rate should have slowed, not increased. Then she realized she was actually hearing Lexa's actual heart beating. She opened her eyes and saw Heda looking right at her. She felt paralyzed and could see Lexa was transfixed as well. But, as always, Lexa was the first to find the strength to break free and Clarke watched her disappear into the shadows. She launched to her feet and wanted to scream words of hate, but the words wouldn't come. Frustrated, she closed her eyes slowly and became aware of her own heart beating. It was rapid and lurid. She steadied herself and capitalized on the rare guard free moment to check the vulnerability of the loosened wrung. It was indeed loosened, but not enough to result in an escape, not yet.

It took nearly an hour before Clarke could free herself from the looping thoughts of Lexa's visit. It was unlike a queen to put herself in such a vulnerable position, but it was just like Lexa to take such risks when it came to Clarke. This was something that Clarke had become acutely aware of during their time together. It could work to her advantage.

Clarke understood that Lexa was both a woman and a warrior. She was attracted to the way Lexa was one at a time and occasionally both at once. The warrior in Lexa was genderless, powerful, and ruthless even. The woman in her was different. The woman in her was capable of feeling incredible empathy. The woman in her felt fear. The woman in her felt desire. Clarke experienced first hand the way Lexa ran from fear with a childlike immaturity and embraced desire with Aphrodite-esc maturity. It drew her in completely.

The clanging of buckets brought Clarke from her analysis. She looked up to see Lexa's personal guards carrying buckets of steaming water, a vessel that could be used as a bathtub, fresh clothing, and tray of fresh fruit, water, and bread. In English the guard blurted, "The Commander would like to offer you these items as an apology for disturbing your rest."

Clarke nodded and waited until the guard opened the door wide enough before lunging - she wasn't attempting an escape, she was testing waters. No weapons were drawn and the guard who restrained her used very little force, holding her only for the amount of time it took for the others to gently place Lexa's offering inside the cell and leave. As the guards left, Clarke contemplated her power over Lexa and the situation she now found herself in.

Niylah

Niylah awoke sore, but rested. The herbal remedy had helped her sleep through the night and she was grateful. The recipes handed down from her great grandmother never failed. Her sleep through was rejuvenating. It would be hours before her father would arrive and she knew there was meat in the smoker ready to be pulled. She dressed slowly and went out. As she unloaded, a dream from the night before attempted to surface. It was tenderly close to consciousness, but just beyond her reach. It teased then escaped her grasp. Her preoccupation with remembering her dream left her vulnerable to a sudden attack. Out of nowhere a member of the Queens Nation was upon her. He demanded she tell him everything she knew about Wanheda. This new perpetrator used intimidation more than his fists, but Niylah's reaction was the same. She was going to fight to protect herself and hopefully stave off any additional harm to Clarke.

As the attacker became more and more agitated, Niylah searched for a way out of the situation. The instant she received the first blow, she felt empowered rather than shocked. It was a blow that should have knocked her to the ground, but surprisingly it did not. Her perpetrator was equally surprised and during his split second of awe received a retaliation blow of a lifetime. Niylah had run a quick scan of her surroundings and spotted a massive meat tenderizer at the side of the smoker. Neither saw it coming.

As the Ice Queen's guard fell to his knees, Niylah considered hitting him again. She then thought better of it. She had never harmed someone before in such a fashion and wasn't going to start now. Contemplation was the right move. During the moment it took her to decide what to do next, Indra arrived. Without words the two women fell into line. Indra motioned to two of her guards to come and take the attacker away. Niylah was relieved to hear him groan as he was lifted to his feet. She stared him down before they disappeared him. She believed he would not return.

Once inside the Trading Post, Indra ordered Niylah to sit then brought water and a bottle of alcohol she spotted on the counter. Niylah chose the water. Again the dream from the night before attempted to break through, this time leaving behind an image of a woman Niylah remembered from her youth. A woman who came by a few times a year and spent days at a time visiting with her mother. In that second, Niylah realized how much Indra was like her mothers mysterious friend. Because of this, and the unwavering support and kindness she'd always received from the TreeCru, Niylah patiently answered Indra's questions, over and over again.

"So there's nothing else you remember about the man that asked about Clarke?"

"I'm sorry, not that I can think of."

"Tell me everything he said, word for word, once again. Don't leave out a single detail"

"Miss Indra, I wish I knew more, but I don't."

"I know child, I'm sorry. I just need to be sure and repetition sometimes helps."

Niylah was about to point out the fact that she's a woman and not a child any longer when more of her dream broke though. "Your time has come, child. You're your mother's daughter. You're ready." The memory and the way it resounded in her head made her lose her balance. She reached out and steadied herself with the side of the table and caught a look of concern in Indra's eyes. She answered before being asked, "I'm fine. I'm just shaken up, that's all. Do you think Ice Nation will continue to come here? Am I safe?"

"I'm going to leave two of my men here until things settle down. They'll keep you safe."

A few minutes later Niylah found herself bidding farewell to Indra and the rest of her crew. As one guard spoke to another, Niylah detected a slight lilt in his cadence. It reminded her of something about the bounty hunter who had come for Clarke; something she hadn't thought to share with Indra, until now. It was her first impression of him. He spoke differently from the Ice Nation men she'd met before. He had a slight accent and sounded similar to the Azgeda people her father traded with.

Niylah smiled when Indra said, "Thank you, child," and hastily led her men away. She stood there until Indra disappeared then looked in the direction of Ice Nation. Her mind immediately turned to Clarke. She wished, more than anything, to have the chance to see her again. She knew in her bones that Clarke was still alive. She could feel it.