Her fingers tap quietly against the hard edge of her throne, the furs underneath her a soft blanket that soothes her mind for long moments as she eyes the man before her. She lets the silence linger for a while, for long enough that the shadows cast by the flame in the centre of the throne room flicker and glow. Even the torches that burn against the columns along the walls seem to dance in the warmth of the large room she finds herself in. Her eyes trace a lone snowflake that falls through a crack in a blind though, she watches it drift and flutter before it melts, before it fades into a quiet hiss as it touches the heat of a burning flame.
"You are sure?" she asks after a moment, her eyes snapping back to the man before her. She watches him look away briefly, his mind turning back the days as he considers his words.
"Yes, Kwin Nia," he answers. "I am sure of it," he finishes evenly.
And so she nods her head slowly, a smiling coming to lay across her lips as her thoughts shift, as they settle, drift and solidify in her mind.
"Thank you," and her fingers still in their tapping. "You may leave," and she inclines her head evenly, the man taking one last bow of his head before turning and walking towards the doors.
Nia watches as he retreats then, she watches the rustle of his furs and she watches as the doors swing open with a groan before closing as he passes through them.
"Leave us," she calls out then, and she eyes the guards who linger at the edges of the throne room, who stand guard at the far entrance and the hidden passageways recessed into the walls, hidden by large tapestries and furs that hang from the ceiling.
It doesn't take long until the guards file out of the room quietly. But as the last of them fade she turns her attention to the woman who stands before her.
She eyes the woman's slender figure, the lean muscles that cord up her arms, the scarred fingers that twitch by her sides and the deep richness of her skin. Nia eyes the woman's dark hair too, the way it curls, the way it dances lazily in the gentle breeze that seems ever present in the throne room. And she peers at the scar that runs down the woman's cheek, that mars her lip and Nia follows the way the woman's eyes focus somewhere over her shoulder, hazel gaze never quite meeting her own cold, blue gaze.
And so Nia leans forward.
"How does it feel?" and Nia watches as the woman's eyes close briefly, as her lip trembles and as her jaw clenches tightly. "How does it feel to know you were so easily replaced?"
It's warm, it's hot, and her skin burns, her mind wriggles for only a moment and then her eyes snap open. Clarke finds herself in a tent, candles burning thickly by the side of the bed she finds herself lying in, too close for comfort, too hot to keep her cool and too close to fight the chill that clings to her flesh. Her gaze swims oddly for a moment before she sits up fully, her vision blurring briefly before she eyes the war table that lies in the centre of the room and the large map that covers it.
The furs fall from her torso as she sits, they bundle at her waist and she feels the pinch in her shoulder and the sting in her thigh and the tightness of her forehad. Clarke finds her shoulder wrapped tightly, a slight scent lingering on the bandages enough to tell her medicine has been applied, and she is sure the same bandage and paste has been applied to her thigh. She brings a hand through her hair, a strand falling into her eyes and she feels the braids that have been loosened, that now flow past her shoulders freely. She hears the rustle of feet then, and so she turns with a wince to find Nyko at a table, a pile of fresh bandages being laid out in front of him as he eyes her carefully.
"You are awake," he grunts out as their eyes meet. "Do not move, I will send for Heda," and then he raises, walks over to her quickly and places a cup into her hands before walking to the tent's entrance.
Clarke brings the cup to her lips only to grimace at the foul smell before she swallows the bitter medicine roughly, a drop falling past her lips as she leans back tenderly, her aching body protesting the slight movements. The tent flap opens swiftly then, the sound causing her to spill the cup into the furs as she looks up at the intrusion. She finds Lexa standing at the entrance as the flap swings shut behind her, Torvun's face peering in briefly before his face is hidden from view.
"You are well," Lexa says simply, her eyes moving across Clarke's body only for a moment before she looks away, her throat clearing roughly as she focuses onto the table and the map that lies atop it.
"What happened?" and Clarke finds that her voice comes out frayed, worn and weary.
"You killed a pauna," Lexa answers, her gaze still trained onto the map, a finger brushing against the rough edge of the parchment.
"I…" and Clarke's voice trails off, her mind turning back the events she recalls.
"Torvun found you unconscious and pinned under the beast," Lexa interjects, "your knife was imbedded in its heart," and Lexa's jaw clenches tightly before she continues. "You should not have gone without Torvun," and Lexa's fingers grip the edge of the table firmly as she breathes through her nose for a long moment. "You should not chase death, Clarke," and she turns to meet Clarke's gaze steadily.
Clarke holds her gaze, her eyes shifting between Lexa's own for a moment as she thinks over the other woman's words. Her mouth opens once before it closes, Lexa's eyes shifting once more from her face and back to the table.
"You think I tried to get myself killed?" Clarke says, her eyes blinking in the dark of the tent.
"Why else would you attack a pauna and not call for help?" and Lexa's voice softens, her shoulders relaxing just a bit. "You have not been sleeping well, Clarke. It is clear the Mountain has left a mark on y—"
"Lexa, that's no—"
"The Mountain took a toll on you, Clarke," Lexa finishes.
"Look, Lexa, that's not what happened," and Clarke swings her legs over the edge of the bed and she grimaces tightly as she stands, her thigh protesting the exertion. "I just needed to cool off," and Clarke steps towards Lexa, the other woman's eyes widening before she turns her gaze from Clarke once more. "I wasn't trying to get myself killed, I just got ambushed, ok?" and Clarke comes to a stop mere paces from Lexa. "Ok? Lexa," and Clarke's eyes narrow as Lexa continues to avoid her gaze. "Lexa, just— will you look at me?"
And so Lexa swallows painfully for a moment, her eyes shifting slightly as she looks at Clarke from the corner of her eyes.
"You are not dressed, Clarke," is all Lexa says.
"Oh," and Clarke glances down to realise all she wears are her small shorts and her chest binding, her skin shining gently in the dark of the flickering candles. "I— uhh…"
Lexa turns though, paces across the tent and picks a heavy fur from the bed before turning back to Clarke and draping the furs over her shoulders.
"Thank you," Clarke says as she finds herself sitting on the edge of the bed, the furs wrapped around her shoulders as Lexa finally turns to her fully. "How long was I unconscious for?"
"Most of the day," Lexa answers from where she stands in the centre of her tent. "Torvun brought you back to Ton DC, Nyko saw to your wounds."
"So now I'm here? In your tent," Clarke says, her eyes skirting the edges of the tent for a moment before they come to rest on the bed she sits on. "In your bed," and she smirks softly at the way Lexa's jaw clenches.
"Yes, Clarke," and Lexa's eyes flicker briefly in the candle light, or perhaps Clarke merely thinks they do. "I am happy you are well," Lexa finishes after a moment's silence.
"Me too," and Clarke watches as Lexa relaxes some more, as she loosens the collar of her coat and as she takes a seat in a chair not far from where Clarke rests.
"Do you wish to discuss what the prisoner said?" and Lexa's eyes turn thoughtful, and just a touch careful in the candle light. "We do not have to," Lexa quickly amends. "It is not my pl—"
"No, it's ok," and Clarke sighs once, her shoulder aching for a moment. "I never really told you why I was sent to the ground, did I?" and Clarke sees Lexa nod once.
"You did not," and Lexa shrugs briefly. "It was not my place to ask, Clarke."
"On the Ark," and Clarke jerks her chin upwards, "we had tech that let us breathe in space, that let us survive," and she wets her lips, thoughts turning to her father, to Wells, and she feels the ever present weight of the watch that remains strapped to her wrist. "My father found a fault, he found that something was wrong," and Clarke steadies her breaths, closes her eyes briefly in anticipation of the tears she is sure will build. "He wanted to tell everyone, he wanted to warn everyone about the problem," and her eyes open, her vision remains steady, and perhaps it surprises her that her voice holds firm, that her mind doesn't quite recoil from the memories as it once did. "But he was stopped and sentenced to death," and Clarke sees Lexa nod once more, her eyes tender as she gazes upon Clarke. "I was locked up, I was going to be executed too, but then I was sent down to earth to see if we could survive," and Clarke smiles sadly for a moment before waving her hand across her face, "and you know how that part of the story ends."
Lexa remains silent for a moment though, her gaze quiet as she traces the scars that sit against Clarke's cheeks and across her forehead.
"I always thought it was my friend who turned him in," and Clarke looks away then, just for a moment. "I had come to terms with it, I'd even thought I could forgive him eventually. But Thelonious says it wasn't who I thought it was," and Clarke shakes her head ruefully. "I think I know who betrayed my father," and she isn't quite so sure what to feel in this moment.
"And what do you think you will do now?" Lexa questions quietly.
"I should talk to her," Clarke shrugs in answer, "I think after everything though, after living in Azgeda for two years, after surviving the Mountain," and Clarke smiles at Lexa again. "I think I'm ready for something different, I think I'm ready not to feel so angry anymore," and she pauses lets her thoughts catch up to her mind once more. "But yeah, I should talk to my mother."
Lexa remains quiet for long moments then, and Clarke finds herself happy to share in the silence, in the absence of words and so she lies back on the furs, her fingers happy to smooth over the tufts of browns and reds under her and she smiles quietly, the soft of the bed lulling her mind into a quiet that calms her for a short while.
"The pauna you killed is being prepared," Lexa starts after a while, her gaze meeting Clarke's once more. "Its hide and skull will be given to you as a trophy," and Lexa smirks for a moment and Clarke thinks an image must dance in Lexa's mind. "It will be impressive," Lexa finishes.
Clarke yawns tiredly though, her aching body already beginning to find sleep and so Lexa stands and looks to the tent's entrance for a moment.
"I will let you dress, Clarke," and Lexa looks back to her before continuing. "It would perhaps be best if it did not seem as though you were sleeping in my tent," she finishes, her feet scuffing against a fur briefly.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Clarke answers as she rises. "I'll only be a moment," she finishes as she reaches for her clothes that lie piled at the foot of the bed, Lexa only meeting her gaze briefly before ducking out the entrance.
Clarke exits Lexa's tent after a few minutes to find Torvun standing not far from the entrance, large fist wrapped around the handle of his sword as he glares at her.
"I'm ok, Torvun," Clarke says, a hand coming to brush away a loose strand of hair from her face with a wince.
"You are ok now, but if I had not come soon you would have died. The beast was smothering you," he says, eyes moving over her body briefly. "You could have bled out," and he stares pointedly at her forearm, then her shoulder and thigh, all three wrapped in bandages and covered by her furs and leathers.
And so Clarke signs, a small limp to her step as she begins moving away from Lexa's tent, Torvun ever close behind her.
"Ontari is angry," he says after a moment, "Entani is also worried," he finishes, his gaze following her carefully. "The Commander insisted that her healers attend you," and Torvun's voice lowers just a bit, his eyes peering out around them as they pass a few Trikru that walk close by. "I would caution discretion, Clarke," he finishes lowly.
And Clarke thinks over his words for a moment as she peers up at the passing of the sun, now sitting lowly in the sky.
"You don't think we should be seen together," she says eventually.
"Yes," he answers, his hand coming to steady her briefly as she wobbles over a rough patch of ground. "You must be careful with your actions until things are more clear."
And Clarke knows what he speaks of, she knows he cautions her from revealing too much to those that would use it against her, against Lexa, and so she sighs once more, her shoulder aching and her thigh and forearm itching from the paste.
"It wouldn't have looked so bad," Clarke says then as she peers back to Torvun.
"Perhaps," and he shrugs. "You are Wanheda," and he ignores her wincing at the title before continuing, "but even Wanheda would not see Heda so often."
Clarke finds the few Azgeda already setting up their tents, her encounter with the panther having wasted most of the daylight, so for now she finds herself sending the occasional Azgeda warrior an apologetic smile as she hobbles between tents as she looks for Ontari or Entani in the midst of the Azgeda.
It doesn't take Clarke long to find their tent, the grey-white speckled furs swaying quietly in the breeze. Ducking through the entrance she comes face to face with Ontari, furs wrapped around her waist, arm unslung and her eyes glaring at Entani as the other healer tries to wrap her shoulder.
"You are ok," Ontari says quickly as she comes to stand, Entani sighing behind her as she puts away the bandages for the moment.
"Yeah, I'm ok," Clarke answers with a glance over her shoulder to find Torvun's shadow looming outside at his usual position by the tent's entrance.
"We were worried," Entani says as she steps from behind Ontari, the healer's eyes moving over Clarke's body for a moment as she takes in the way Clarke leans more heavily on her uninjured leg. "You are hurt," is all Entani adds.
"It's not so bad, just a few scratches," Clarke says.
"You were angry," Ontari adds after a moment, her hands coming to rest on her hips and her hair falling over an exposed shoulder. "I can kill the prisoner without Trikru knowing," she finishes.
Entani's eyes roll at her words though before moving to the table, a plate of dried meats and breads already piled high for them to share. "Did you not consider, Ontari, that the prisoner is alive because he may still prove useful?" Entani says as she sits at the table.
"What use is he if all he does is antagonise? He has yet to give us any useful information," Ontari snaps back before turning to face Clarke fully. "We should be allowed to question him without Trikru," and the glint in Ontari's eyes shines just a bit brighter.
"Hold up," and Clarke steps forward pushing Ontari onto the side of the bed as she grabs the bandages from where Entani had left them. "We aren't doing any torture," she continues as she extends Ontari's arm carefully, ignoring the other woman's growl of annoyance. "And Skaikru wouldn't be happy about us questioning him either. He may be a prisoner but he's still a member of Skaikru," and Clarke pins Ontari with a careful look.
"We can request for him to be brought back to Azgeda," and Ontari lifts her chin, a thought taking place in her mind. "He wronged Azgeda the most, he attacked and killed Azgeda inside the Mountain and he led those against us," and she raises an eyebrow. "Is that not correct?"
And so Clarke sighs once before nodding, already recognising where Ontari's thoughts take her.
"Azgeda has a claim on his life," Ontari continues. "Any crime against Azgeda is dealt with in Azgeda lands. If we can take him then we can question him the Azgeda way," and Ontari smirks at the plan she voices.
"Ontari speaks truthfully, Clarke," Entani says as she passes them the plate before continuing. "There is precedent for disgraced warriors, for criminals and those wanted by the Kwin to be hunted and returned to Azgeda for punishment," and Entani looks to Ontari as the woman tugs off her boots before flinging them into the corner of the tent to meet their discarded clothes.
"I'll talk to the Commander," Clarke says in answer as she finishes tying a knot on the bandages around Ontari's shoulder, the weakened arm Clarke is sure still pains Ontari despite her protests.
And so Ontari nods to herself, a smile spreading across her lips.
It's dark, the night a black cloud overhead, or perhaps it's early, the sun only just beginning its lonely rise over the earth, but Clarke's eyes open quietly, they blink tiredly in the cool of the soon to be day and she finds the tent still, quiet and calm. It only takes her a moment to register that she lies next to Ontari, the woman's hand gripping her waist, head tucked into her shoulder. It only takes her a second to recognise Entani's knee that digs into her thigh and elbow that rests against the back of her neck.
Clarke lies for a short moment, enough for her skin to prickle in the cool of a Trikru winter that is soon to be, and then she rises carefully, her eyes scanning the tent, a quiet sliver of grey shining in from the outside. Her feet meet the furs on the floor of the tent, her thigh protesting the stretch in her muscles and her shoulder aching only a slight bit, the cut across her forehead and forearm already numbed and less swollen then the day prior.
Dressing is a quick, practised motion, her under clothes quickly pulled on, her chest binding wrapped and a knife slipped between it and her body. Her pants are pulled on stiffly, the furs warming her legs before her boots are tied, the furs muffling her steps as she treads to the table top, her cloth shirt and the heavier furs and leathers of her jacket already being pulled on. It only takes her a moment before she begins the quick few paces to the tent's exit, but as she nears, as her feet touch the end of the furs that carpet the floor, Torvun's words echo through her mind quietly, words of caution, of being careful, and so she turns quickly, her eyes only briefly glancing at the bed to find Entani rolling into the warmth her body has left behind, and then she pulls out the jar of white Azgeda war paint, her fingers dipping into it before smearing it across her face quickly, all in the name of representing Azgeda in Trikru lands.
Clarke steps out of the tent after short moments, the paint on her face settling her mind as she comes to a stop besides Torvun, his eyes already open, and his hand resting on a knife as he looks around carefully.
"I'm still not used to you being able to wake up so quickly," Clarke whispers to him, a smile on her lips as Torvun merely shrugs as he stands, his sword quickly strapped to his body as he sheathes his knife.
"Official business?" he questions as he eyes the warpaint on Clarke's face before falling into step behind her, the dark grey of the morning giving just enough light for the journey.
"You could say that," Clarke says in answer, her eyes snapping to movement not far from them to find an Azgeda warrior picking her way through the tents, a bucket of water carried in her arms.
And so Clarke and Torvun pick their way through the few Azgeda tents before breaking from the small camp and heading towards Ton DC's main entrance, a few guards eyeing them as they approach the gates already swinging open slowly as Clarke nods to the few that watch them.
It doesn't take them long until they reach Lexa's war tent, the ever large structure looming up in an open clearing at the other end of Ton DC, her own warrior's tents sprawling out around it for the night. Clarke finds Gustus ever present outside the entrance too, his eyes tracing the movements Clarke and Torvun make as they approach before peering past them carefully before once more settling upon Clarke's face and the white warpaint smeared across her cheeks.
"I would like to see the Commander," Clarke says in greeting as she comes to a stop in front of Gustus, the large man's eyes quickly counting the number of blades she has visible on her body.
"Wait here," he says before ducking inside.
It doesn't take Gustus long before he steps out once more, a nod of his head sent to Clarke before he steps aside, Torvun taking place next to him as the two men turn their backs on the tent's entrance, their eyes ever roaming over those that linger near.
Clarke's eyes adjust to the tent quickly, the flickering light of a number of candles warming her body and causing her eyes to blink rapidly before she finds Lexa standing next to her throne.
"It is early, Clarke," Lexa says as she steps forward, her eyes moving over Clarke's face before settling on her furs and leathers. "You have warpaint," is all she adds as an eyebrow raises and a hand trails over the edge of a nearby tabletop.
"Sorry," Clarke whispers as she steps forward too, her feet muffled on the furs she walks on. "I thought that if we were going to be seen meeting early in the morning, then it should look like offical business," she finishes with a smile.
"I see," and Lexa returns the smile too, or perhaps it's merely a twitching of her cheeks and a slight lifting of the corner of her lips.
"You weren't asleep, were you?" Clarke says as her eyes trail over Lexa's figure, the woman's coat already wrapped around her body, her knife strapped to her thigh and her bone studded gloves warming her fingers.
"I wake early," Lexa shrugs as she comes to a stop in front of Clarke.
And so Clarke smiles gently, her hand reaching out slow enough for Lexa's eyes to snap to it, to follow the motion before it joins with her own, squeezing it once before Clarke releases it.
"I do not mean to offend, Clarke," and Lexa's eyes move over Clarke's face slowly before settling a level lower, "but is there a reason as to why you wished to speak with me?"
"I can't just want to see you?" Clarke challenges lightly, an eyebrow lifting as she leans on the edge of a table, her arms coming to fold across her chest.
"I do not believe that is why, Clarke," Lexa answers cooly, her own smile coming to spread a bit more freely.
"You wound me, Lexa," and Clarke holds a hand to her heart as she gasps quietly in jest.
And so Clarke watches as Lexa moves around the table, her eyes trailing over the map atop it before settling back on Clarke. "This is a map of the surrounding area," Lexa begins in the silence, "it marks where those who fled the Mountain have attacked," and Lexa's finger taps on three separate areas, all marked with a small carving of the Mountain. "They flee over the border into Azgeda lands," she finishes, her eyes peering up at Clarke for a moment.
"I have no part in it," Clarke quickly adds, a frown forming across her face.
"I did not think that," Lexa says.
"But Nia is playing games," Clarke gives, her mind turning back to their most recent meeting at the clearing on the Mountain's side.
"Yes," and Lexa sighs once, a tiredness coming to rest atop Lexa's shoulders. "All available evidence would suggest that Nia is aiding them."
"That's actually why I wanted to see you," and Lexa looks up at her, "I wanted to ask if we could take Thelonious back to Azgeda, to get information out of him," Clarke finishes.
"No," and it comes out quickly, sternly, softly.
"No?"
"No," and Lexa sighs once more. "I can not be seen giving favour to Azgeda in a matter that concerns more than just Azgeda," she says.
"But he ordered the attacks on Azgeda inside the Mounta—"
"He sided with the Mountain, yes," Lexa interrupts. "He caused the deaths of Azgeda warriors inside the Mountain," and Lexa pins Clarke with a careful gaze. "But the clans see him as one from the Mountain. And the Mountain wronged all clans," Lexa continues. "So you will not be given the prisoner."
"And if we take him?" Clarke questions carefully, less conviction in her voice and more query.
"Then Azgeda would be seen as acting in defiance of the Commander's orders."
"I get it," Clarke sighs. "That's a no go," and she smiles kindly at Lexa, the other woman's finger tapping quietly against the wood of the table.
"I am sorry, Clarke," and Lexa's voice comes out quietly.
"It's ok," Clarke says. "It was only a thought, I don't think we'd get much out of him anyway."
"He will be punished, Clarke," Lexa says in turn. "Azgeda and all clans will see justice for the crimes of the Mountain, I swear it to you," and Lexa's voice hardens quietly. "But for now he has information, no matter how small, no matter how irrelevant it may seem, anything he says, anything he does, or how he reacts to news may give us enough to combat these bandits."
"Yeah," Clarke says lamely, her eyes finding the map as she traces over the areas that have been attacked. "They have guns," she says. "Why aren't they causing more trouble?" she asks.
"Kwin Nia wishes to test the Coalition, she wishes to probe for our reactions, how we respond. She wishes to see how far she can push before the Coalition breaks," Lexa's voice trails off for a moment in thought, her own gaze turning to the map. "You should come to Polis."
"The capital?" and Clarke looks up at her.
"Yes, it would be good for you to help assure the clans that Azgeda does not wish to break from the coalition, despite Nia's actions, no matter how covert."
"You think it would help?"
"It can not hurt," Lexa answers. "It would be seen as Azgeda taking this threat seriously if Wanheda were to speak on her clan's behalf, and it would give more bullish clans pause in their own reactions for Wanheda to confront them."
"What about Nia though?" and Clarke's thoughts worry over Nia, of how she might react.
"Nia has not made a move on you, or the Mountain other than the bandits, so I believe that Roan is steadying her hand and in that case she will not recall you from Polis or countermand your presence at the capital. Or perhaps Nia respects the power of Wanheda," and Clarke feels a slight stinging across her face at the words, no matter how easily the title falls from Lexa's lips, "and in that case, she will also not command you away. Your presence at the capital will be seen as Azgeda showing its strength, and Nia will not want to seem weak by sending you away," Lexa finishes.
"But we haven't heard from Roan in a while," and Clarke worries her lip.
"In that case," and Lexa's eyes meet Clarke's for a moment, "it would be best that you are not isolated at the Mountain," and Lexa's meaning isn't lost on Clarke.
And so Clarke nods her head, Lexa's words making sense to her.
"Who would command the Mountain in my absence?" she asks after a moment though.
"I will have Indra command it," and Clarke nods at Indra's mention.
The two women fall into an easy silence then, both of them happy to let their eyes wander over the map, the detailing of the trees and rivers and mountains that are drawn intricately over the parchment. Clarke watches as Lexa looks up quickly though, her head turning to a small table that lies at the corner of her tent near her bed. Lexa moves towards it, just a quick glance over her shoulders at Clarke.
And Clarke watches as Lexa picks up dark black furs wrapped in a bundle, and she watches as Lexa turns to meet her eyes, the furs wrapped in her arms as she steps towards Clarke easily, her gaze moving over Clarke's face briefly.
"What's this?" Clarke asks as Lexa comes to a pause in front of her.
"The pauna you killed," Lexa answers cooly as she unwraps the furs, the black pelt unrolling in her arms and shimmering, the colour a deep black that borders on a rich purple as it flickers in the light. And as it unravels in her arms it reveals a skull, lower jaw missing, large canines shining in the candle light, dagger like and fierce as they protrude the length of Clarke's fingers.
Clarke looks at it for a long moment, her eyes taking in the stark white of the bones, bleached and hardened, she eyes the softness of the fur, the short hairs not as long as the grey-white furs she wears, but just as warm to the touch and just as soft and supple.
"Thank you," she whispers, unsure of what else to say as Lexa starts to move behind her.
"It is a trophy, Clarke," and she feels Lexa's fingers brush the hair from the back of her neck gently. "You do not need to thank me," Lexa continues as she drapes the pelt over Clarke's shoulders, the weight resting comfortably across her as Lexa brings the clasp to rest over Clarke's chest, the sturdy metal buckle settling easily.
She feels the weight of the skull then, and she feels Lexa place it on the back of her head, the teeth coming to cradle the sides of her head.
"It has been attached to the pelt," Lexa whispers quietly from behind her, fingers still easing the skull in place. "It will not fall, and it will rest here," and Lexa's breath comes closer to her ear then, and Clarke can't help but to fall into the soft timber of Lexa's words as they brush the shell of her ear. "You can slide it up to protect yourself in a fight, the bones are hardened, it will give you protection and allow you to still see," and Lexa's fingers ghost against the line of her neck tenderly. "It will make you look fierce, Clarke," and Clarke thinks she can hear the smile in Lexa's voice.
And so Clarke turns, she turns to face Lexa easily, the candle light flickering in the tent. Clarke reaches up then, her fingers grasping the skull from behind her head as she slides it up, as she settles it over her face, and as she looks through the enlarged eye sockets, the panther's teeth coming to settle against her cheeks and down to her jaw.
"How does it look?" she asks, her voice only slightly muffled by the bone.
"Good," Lexa whispers, her eyes dancing over Clarke's face.
And so Clarke leans forward, her hands coming to rest against Lexa's hips as she bumps the skull against Lexa's nose softly before repeating the woman's words with a smile.
"Good."