Clarke's thoughts shift listlessly, her mind restless, senseless and lost in the haze of pain that throbs through her head. It takes her long seconds of pained whimpering to realise she can't see, that her vision is darkened and blurred. It takes her too many shallow, broken breaths to realise her hands are tied behind her back and her face is pressed into the harsh bite of ice rock. It only takes another pained moment before her memories return, and as flashes of the explosion pass through her mind, as images of blood and bodies and limbs bubble to the surface she knows she feels the wet trail of a tear that slips from her eye and drips down her cheek cruelly.
A cough passes her lips then, her throat dry and her lips cracked and broken. She feels whatever it is that covers her eyes slip sightly, enough for the dark to turn to a slight haze, and as she tries to sit she feels a press of a body besides her and the quieting of breaths and the approach of feet.
"Don't move," comes the voice, and it comes guarded, careful and wary.
"Pike," Clarke coughs roughly, surprise flitting through her mind that she remembers her former Earth Skills teacher.
She feels him approach, she hears the crunch of his boots and she feels the body besides her stiffen at his approach.
"I'm surprised you remember me," he says easily, and she senses him crouch down in front of her, his voice not far from her face, the baritone of it rumbling quietly in his chest.
"What do you want?" Clarke says with a wince, her shoulder protesting the shifting of her body as she tries to more fully turn to where she thinks he crouches.
"That's not important," Pike answers, and Clarke stiffens as she feels rough fingers grip the back of her head forcefully before the blindfold is lifted from her eyes.
And Clarke comes face to face with the man, his skin dark, muddied from days of travel, his eyes weary and his beard unkempt, but she sees the traces of life, determination and a quietly burning resolve. Her gaze peers over his shoulder quickly to find that it nears nightfall, stars already beginning to shine dully in the sky. A fire burns behind Pike, too, the flame flickering and dancing in a slight breeze. It only takes another second before her eyes land on Torvun's body, his arms behind his back, and large ropes wrapping his body taut, a gag in his mouth and another blindfold over his eyes.
"We don't take risks," Pike says, his own eyes following Clarke's. "He took a hell of a beating," Pike continues, "took the blast for you," and he shrugs, and as Pike turns back to her, Clarke finds a slow drip of blood seems to pool underneath Torvun's body, blood caking his hands and cheeks. "I think he'll live," Pike says as he eyes her for a moment.
"Where is everyone else," Clarke whispers, her gaze only now registering that she finds herself alone, Ontari and Entani both nowhere to be found.
"We're separating the dead from the wounded," Pike shrugs. "We aren't savages," and his head cocks to the side. "A lot are missing limbs," and he smiles sadly.
"What do you want?" Clarke whispers once more, her eyes beginning to burn from the smell and stench of burnt flesh she only now registers clings to her furs and leathers.
"You destroyed what we wanted months ago, Clarke," Pike says. "We wanted to live in the Mountain," and he gestures to her face once. "But I guess that wasn't good enough for you," and Pike turns thoughtful for a moment, a hand coming to scratch at the short hair on his head. "I know what you're going to say," and he settles himself before her, fingers beginning to play with the small rocks on the ground before him. "You're going to say that the Mountain Men were savages, that they were evil," and he eyes her, an eyebrow rising in question. "They were," he shrugs. "But it's easy to side with people most like you after someone else comes and slaughters your children and friends."
"What—" and Clarke coughs past her words painfully. "What do you want?" she repeats.
"We want the Mountain," he shrugs. "We want to live like we did," and he smiles for a moment as he sees the doubt lingering in Clarke's eyes. "You think it's ironic don't you? That the man who taught Earth Skills doesn't want to live on the ground."
Clarke glares at him forcefully though, his words and conversation only heightening the tension she feels building in her mind.
"Where are my friends," she whispers, her eyes straining in the fading light as she tries to find a trail, another figure, a sign that might tell her where the Azgeda may be.
But Clarke hears a quiet crunch underfoot and she sees Pike turn to the sound, his hand falling to a handgun on his hip as he turns to face the newcomer.
"Pike," the woman says, "we ambushed the other lot," and she gestures behind her. "They were exactly where we thought they'd be."
"Good work," he says before nodding to the woman.
"It's just you two?" Clarke asks, and she sees Torvun's body shift subtly as he tries to move closer to the sound of the woman who takes a seat opposite them by the fire.
"Not just us two," and Pike gestures into the distance, and as Clarke follows the motion she realises that she is held in a rocky outcrop that must linger somewhere between the Azgeda-Trikru border. "But most of the others aren't here. There's not a lot of us anymore, you made sure of that."
"What do you want?" Clarke repeats.
"I'm not supposed to kill you," Pike says. "I probably wouldn't even really enjoy it," and he scratches his beard. "It's strange, don't you think? The ground's changed us. I never thought I'd ever kill someone. But we do what we must to survive," and he sighs for a long moment.
"Then why are you attacking us?" Clarke questions, her mind still hazy and clouded.
"It's simple," and Pike shrugs. "You kill us so we kill you until one of us doesn't live anymore," and he gestures around him again. "You've been doing a good job of that, but we're going to go down fighting."
"Where's my people?" Clarke asks, Pike's words doing little to soothe her aching mind.
"Bring me the first one," Pike calls out to the woman.
And Clarke watches as the woman nods once before fading into the dark, her footfalls disappearing into the wind. It must only be a few minutes, but as the time ticks by Clarke eyes the tired state that she finds Pike to be in, she eyes the gun strapped to his hip and she eyes the rocks nearby, some large enough to grasp with a fist, some small and jagged enough to cut and saw. But she hears the woman return, and she hears the whimpered curses and dragged feet of a wounded person.
The woman fades back into the firelight, and Clarke watches as she steps over a rock, one hand gripping a hooded figure by the back of the neck, the other gripping an upper arm. The woman comes to a stop besides pike as she kicks the person's legs out from under them, and as their knees fall onto the harsh rock Clarke hears Ontari's muffled voice curse out. The woman yanks the hood off Ontari's head roughly, and Clarke hears Ontari swear out once more as her hair is pulled, a few strands coming away as the woman takes a step back.
Ontari blinks in the dim light of a fire, and as Clarke meets her eyes they share a quiet smile, but Clarke can't help but to wince as she eyes the way Ontari's nose bends crookedly, both her eyes blackened, blood washing her chin and neck red from the blood that had poured from her nose.
"She put up a fight," Pike says as he eyes her for a moment. "She was one of the last ones standing before we took her out," and he sighs once as he comes to a stand, arms folding across his chest as he peers at Clarke who still kneels before him.
"Where is everyone else," Clarke whispers, her eyes hard glints as she still meets his gaze.
"Entani is ok," Ontari says quickly, her voice coming broken and ragged.
"What do you want?" Clarke asks once more to Pike.
"I'm not supposed to kill you," he says, "but it doesn't mean I can't lighten the load a little," and Clarke sees him pull the handgun from his holster, before it comes to rest by his side.
"Get the other one," he calls to the woman, "the one with the broken ribs."
"What do you want?" Clarke asks, but as she eyes the gun held in his hands she can't help but to feel the panic begin to slowly build, and she knows she can sense Torvun's anger and fury as he begins to struggle more obviously with the ropes that wrap around his body, the blindfold still stealing his vision.
"It's easy, really," Pike says as he turns to meet the woman who returns, Entani gasping out in pain as the woman drags her forcefully forward, one hand clutching her hair, her other hand digging into Entani's ribs. "Choose," Pike finishes as his eyes harden and as the woman pushes Entani down onto her knees besides Ontari.
"What do you want," Clarke says once more, and she knows the panic finds its way into her voice.
"Choose," Pike repeats as he takes a step behind Ontari and Entani, both women's eyes meeting once as a realisation dawns upon them both.
"What do you want," Clarke hisses, and she knows the fear pulls at her heart now, and as she meets Entani's eyes she sees an acceptance behind the pain etched into her face.
"Choose," Pike says more softly now. "You're good at making decisions for other people, Clarke."
And Torvun lets out a muffled growl as he begins to more forcefully roll on the ground besides Clarke.
"Please," and Clarke meets Ontari's gaze, and she sees a sadness live in the brown eyes that stare back at her, and she watches as Ontari's chin lifts and as she squares her shoulders. "What do you want, Pike?"
"I want," and Pike steps forward, a knife being drawn from a sheath before he presses it against Ontari's throat, the barrel of his gun pushing against Entani's head. "You to choose."
"Please, Pike," and Clarke knows she begins to sound just a little less like the warrior she knows she appears, and more like the girl who had been sent to the ground so many years ago.
"You know what I want," Pike shrugs. "Choose," and Clarke watches as he digs the blade into Ontari's neck, the skin splitting slightly as blood begins to drip from the small wound. "Choose, Clarke," and he presses the gun more harshly against Entani's head.
"Please," and Clarke shuffles forward awkwardly, the rocks under her knees digging into her flesh and drawing blood as she looks into Pike's eyes, his own gaze hard and cold. "Just let them go and we can talk," but she thinks her words useless. And maybe she knows they are when Pike merely smiles slightly.
"Choose, Clarke," and he gestures for the woman to come forward, and Clarke watches as she points her own handgun at Entani's head as Pike holsters his own, free hand now coming to grip Ontari by the hair. "I won't ask again."
"Please," and Clarke knows tears begin to well in her eyes as she sees the grimace that pulls at Ontari's mouth as Pike's fingers pull at her hair and as the knife begins to dig deeper into the skin under her chin. "I'll do anything. Choose me—" and Clarke knows her voice comes broken and ragged. "Just let them go," Clarke finishes quietly, her eyes moving to Entani who clutches her ribs painfully, her breathing coming watery and wheezing.
"It is ok, Clarke," and Clarke's eyes snap to Ontari to see her smiling at her sadly. "Today is my day," Ontari finishes quietly as she meets Entani's widened eyes.
And so Ontari's eyes close to the sounds of Entani's wretched sobbing and her struggles against the woman who holds a fistful of her hair.
"I guess she chose for me," Pike shrugs as he pushes Ontari forward, her face coming to crash against the rocky ground. "No one dreams of turning into a killer, Clarke," he says as he draws his gun, the barrel pointing at Ontari who struggles to her knees once more, her hands ever tied behind her back. "But we all do what we must to survive," Pike finishes.
And the last thing Clarke hears before her face is splashed with the red of blood is the loud crack of a bullet being fired and the shrieking rage of Entani.
Octavia ducks a falling branch, the explosion whipping her face with a wave of heat. A curse falls from her lips as she fires her arrow at the flashing of a muzzle that fires from a rocky outcrop. Lincoln curses quietly, the snap of a bullet echoing out around them.
"Pull back," Anya yells over another explosion, and Octavia feels the snapping of air that whizzes past her face, and so she dives to the ground, a burst of gunfire ripping overhead.
"The Azgeda got ambushed," Lincoln shouts over the noise of gunfire as he slides behind a tree. "They must need our help," and she sees him peer from behind the tree trunk.
"We can not help them if we die ourselves," Anya snaps back as she slips from tree trunk to tree trunk, arrow being fired in the few seconds she exposes herself. "Pull back," she finishes with a glare and a curse falling from her lips.
And so Octavia curses once more, she curses the Mountain Men, she curses their tech and she curses the mine that she is sure has just maimed one of the Azgeda warriors.
"Move, Lincoln," she yells as she begins ducking under branches, fingers reaching for the last of her arrows.
It's quiet, it's tense, and she feels eager. Jenma's eyes scan the rocky outcrop, her gaze falls to the ravine that opens up before her and she feels the tension in the air.
"If they move this way we kill them," she says as she tucks a strand behind her ear.
"You think Wanheda will let them live if she captures any?" Bronat asks, his hand scratching his beard as he slips down besides her.
"I think Wanheda would kill them just by looking at them," Jenma laughs quietly. "Her skull is fierce," she finishes.
"It is," Bronat agrees, his eyebrows waggling.
And so Jenma sighs with a roll of her eyes.
"She would not even think of you," Leeton snickers, "I think Wanheda and Ontari are close," and Bronat sighs wistfully at Leeton's words.
"Do not even bring up what you imagine," Jenma whispers. "I know you Bronat. And do not even think of it when Ontari is near. She would sense your dirty thoughts eas—"
An explosion echoes out through the terrain and Jenma's eyes widen in shock before she registers the flash and the smoke that begins to billow up from the other side of the rocky outcrop.
"Ambush," Leeton hisses. "What do we do, Jenma?"
"We move," Jenma answers, jaw steeling as she scans the outcrop. "We go through the rocks, we must not let them escape through here if they flee."
And so the others with her nod their heads, eyes flashing as they begin hearing the shouts and warnings that echo out through the lands.
Lexa's gaze shifts over the map, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as she takes in the figures that mark the Azgeda forces near the border and the places where the Mountain Men have attacked.
"You think they are walking into a trap?" Titus asks from where he stands by her side, his gaze falling to the map and the figures that dot its surface.
"Yes," Lexa answers, her thoughts turning worried for only a second before she banishes the thoughts. "Nia knows Clarke disobeys her orders so she will wish to remove her, and she can not just simply have her killed," and Lexa glares harshly at the border between Trikru and Azgeda lands drawn onto the map.
"You think Nia would sacrifice the power of Wanheda so soon?" Titus questions.
"Perhaps not," Lexa nods to herself slightly, but she knows Nia to be cruel and patient, past experience souring her thoughts. "But for now I will wait," and Lexa knows she will avoid mention of what exists between her and Clarke, she thinks Titus need not know of it for now. At least until Nia has been replaced.
"That is why you sent Anya?" Titus asks, but she knows he asks not for an answer, but more for her to consider her actions.
"Anya will obey orders," Lexa answers anyway. "In this matter she will."
"What is Clarke dies?" Titus says simply, his eyes peering at her profile as she continues to look at the map.
"She will not," Lexa shrugs. "But if she is to fall then her power will be returned to the Mountain Men," and Lexa takes a moment to consider her next words. "Which then means it remains in Nia's hands as the Mountain works with Nia. But if Clarke returns than it will further Nia's goal of issuing the challenge," and as Lexa considers Nia's next move she finds herself not so afraid, not so worried at the outcome, the plans she has set in motion enough to steady any doubt.
"You have done something, Heda," Titus says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines the slight twitch in a muscle and the quiet stiffening of a shoulder.
"The prisoner has agreed to work with me, he will leave a trail for Clarke and her warriors," Lexa says, the irony of her words lost on Titus who studies her for a moment and so she schools her face, blanks her thoughts and only considers Jaha and the dark of his skin and the squareness of his jaw and the way he lounges aimlessly in the cell. Titus need not know more, she thinks.
"You are sure he will?" Titus asks.
"Yes," and she knows he will. "He will not risk his son's life," and she turns to meet Titus fully now.
"But if he fails?" Titus pushes cautiously.
"I do not believe he will fail," Lexa says, and she knows that Titus does not realise she speaks not of Jaha.
The sun hangs high in the sky, Clarke already two days into her journey, and as Lexa studies a sword in her hand, she imagines Clarke must be almost at Ton DC, may even be already tracking Jaha's trail that she had instructed for him to leave.
"Aden," she calls out, sword swinging in an easy arc briefly. "You will use this," she says as she flips the blunted weapon, hilt facing Aden.
Lexa stifles a smile when she sees his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the length of the blade, the edge far longer than he has trained with before.
"You must adapt when you are faced with challenge," Lexa says simply as she takes a step back, her own training sword swinging out before her as she eyes Aden and the careful steps he takes as he settles himself. "Do not reveal that you feel uncomfortable with the weapon you wield," and Lexa takes a measured step forward as she begins to probe Aden's footwork. "You must let your attacker believe that you have trained with a weapon your whole life, no matter how foreign it is to you," she continues as she feints a strike to Aden's leg, her lip curling only slightly as he adjusts his step and lowers his body just enough.
And she sees it.
Aden's eyes become guarded and still, she sees his eyes peer someone at her throat, and she sees him relax just barely.
And she knows.
Aden slips forward quickly, his feet fast and rapid as he changes stance as he lunges. The sword snaps out quickly, the blunted tip poised for her heart. But Lexa moves back, her own sword coming to swipe up at his underarm, but Aden shifts with the motion, a foot lashes out and it connects just barely with her calf.
But Lexa sees the strike, her own leg moving fast enough to avoid most of the kick, and she feels the clang of metal against metal as their blades meet. But in the speed of his attack, Aden's elbow collides with her jaw, the blow fast enough to stun, hard enough to disorientate, but Lexa absorbs it, she turns with it and she slips under his outstretched arm, her hands gripping him by the collar before throwing him over her shoulder.
And so she peers down at Aden who winces and clutches at his ribs as his breaths come pained and frantic.
"That was clever, Aden," she says as she holds a hand out to help him up. "You knew you could not effectively use the weapon as a sword so you used it as a spear."
"I did not best you though, Heda," Aden says as he pats himself off.
"You were able to confuse me for long enough to land a strike," and she sees his mouth begin to open in protest. "No matter how shallow the blow was, it still connected," she finishes.
And so Lexa nods once at Aden before tilting her head as she steps back, another nightblood coming to face Aden, their own unfamiliar weapon in hand as the two young nightbloods square off in front of each other.
"Word comes from Ton DC, Heda," Gustus says quietly as he comes to stand besides her. "Clarke and the others left early this morning."
"Good," and she peers over her shoulder at Polis tower that rises in the distance, the clouds hanging slightly lower as winter begins to set in.
"You think they will succeed?" he asks, arms coming to fold across his chest as his gaze falls to Jani who slips under a wide slash of a sword, her hair whipping out behind her.
"I think Clarke will succeed," Lexa says, her own eyes following Jani as she disarms the other nightblood before flipping him over her shoulder, blunted knife buried into the ground by his throat.
"You think she will succeed despite sending her knowing Nia knew where her loyalties lie?" and she knows Gustus doesn't question her, merely voices his concerns, however subtle they may be.
"I do not think Nia will throw away Clarke's life so quickly," Lexa answers as she ignores the slowly building tension in her shoulders and the worry that seems to wriggle in the back of her mind.
Gustus falls quiet for a long moment then, and Lexa thinks his thoughts must move through the things he knows.
"She will be angry," he says, "that you have not told her of your plan."
"She does not need to know everything," Lexa shrugs.
"And if she does not forgive you?" Gustus asks more quietly now, his words more breath than voice.
"We all make sacrifices for our people," Lexa answers, her eyes focusing back on Aden as he comes to stand in front of Jani, the guards already pairing the nightbloods off with others or handing them different weapons.
The sun dips below the horizon now, the sky tinged a deep red, and as Lexa's feet crest the last of the steps she pauses for a moment as her breaths even and her mind steadies. Her eyes fall to Clarke's door once, her absence never ignored but Lexa shakes the thoughts from her mind as she turns down the hallway. She nods once to the guards who open her doors before slipping through. She finds herself greeted to the scents of soaps and spices that waft from her washroom and a steam already beginning to settle through out her quarters.
"Heda," and Lexa hears Shana's voice call from behind the closed door.
And Lexa feels the small smile twitch the corner of her lips as she begins to release the buckles of her coat and loosen the straps of her leathers. She approaches the door quietly, her mind sifting through the events soon to take place. But the doors open, Shana standing on the other side, her hair braided a familiar pattern that keeps it out of her eyes and her gaze keen in the light.
"You wish to bathe first?" Shana asks, eyes scanning the dirt smeared on Lexa's chin from training with the nightbloods.
And so Lexa nods tiredly, the few moment she steals for herself enough to reinvigorate her tired mind.
The water laps at her collar, the steam easily wafting around her as Shana unties her braids, fingers quick and familiar in the motions that Lexa feels tug at her scalp.
"Kwin Nia speaks ill of you to other ambassadors, Heda," Shana says into the silence as she brings a brush through Lexa's hair.
"Yes," and Lexa sighs into the heat of the water. "She will issue a challenge soon," and Lexa feels Shana tense at her words slightly.
"Many of the other handmaidens think you should have her killed," Shana continues, the sound of a small vial being opened echoing out through Lexa's washroom.
"They voice these thoughts?" Lexa asks, but she thinks she already knows the answer.
"They merely think them," Shana says easily.
"It is not so easy," and Lexa's mind turns to the times when she has had to put duty first, to sacrifice for her people.
"It is not," Shana whispers. "Jani took another small cake for the nightbloods this morning," and Lexa doesn't miss the change of topic and the ease in which Shana brings up Jani and her antics. "I have already had her punished."
"And what punishment did you think fitting?" Lexa asks, but again, she thinks she already knows Shana's answer after all these years.
"I made her choose between cleaning all the weapons and armour of the guards, or the kitchen, Heda," and Lexa knows Shana smiles slightly.
"She is too comfortable in Polis," Lexa says, but she thinks her words come just a little sad now, the years Jani has spent under her care too long despite Jani's youth.
"Jani is a strong nightblood," Shana whispers as she senses Lexa's worry. "She is not the oldest, but she is the most experienced," Shana finishes quietly.
"She is a nightblood," Lexa answers, her voice sounding just a little detached. "She knows what waits for her," and Lexa winces slightly as Shana's fingers tug at a knot in her hair.
"She will wait for a very long time then, Heda," Shana says, and Lexa knows she doesn't miss the conviction that finds its way into the younger woman's voice.
A knock rings out through her quarters though, the door to her washroom muffling the sound slightly and so Shana comes to a stand, a hand falling to the hidden knife strapped to her lower back as she slips through the door to the washroom. Lexa's ears track the sounds, the hears Shana's feet stop at her door before voices talk quietly and she knows she recognises the voice of one of her guards and the rapid fire questions Shana sends his way.
Shana returns quickly, her body slipping through a small opening she makes before she closes the door.
"He has arrived, Heda," she says, already reaching for a towel as Lexa begins to stand.
And so Lexa wraps herself in the towel as Shana nods once before beginning to undress her own clothes. And as Lexa dries herself she eyes the scars that litter Shana's body, some deep, some slight and superficial, but all speak of a life long service.
Shana smiles once as she reaches for Lexa's clothes that lie in a neat pile by the bath, and as she begins to slip a leg into them Lexa finds her smiling slightly.
"I do not think I will ever be used to this," Shana whispers as she stands, Lexa's undershirt already slipping over her head.
"You have prepared for moments like this for your whole life, Shana," Lexa says, eyes watching the way Shana's face begins to harden, as her lips begin to hold themselves only slightly differently.
It only takes a few more moments before Shana stands in the washroom, Lexa's coat flowing down her body, gloved hands studded and fierce in the light, and the green of her eyes and the dark of her hair braided and neat.
"Heda," Lexa says quietly, eyes moving over Shana's body just once in inspection before Shana hands over her own clothes for Lexa to slip into. "Gustus and Titus will meet you in the main hallway. They will walk with you through Polis," Lexa finishes.
"If Titus asks where you are?" Shana questions as she takes Lexa's knife, her own being passed to Lexa who finishes buckling Shana's armoured bodice around her waist.
"He will not," Lexa says, and she knows Titus will not openly question her motives and actions until later. "He will treat you as he treats me," and Lexa smiles slightly as she hears the sigh Shana lets escape. "You may tell him what to do," Lexa jokes quietly.
And so Shana smiles once more, fingers reaching out to fix the bodice that straps Lexa's waist quickly before she bows her head once before turning for the door, her chin rising evenly and her shoulders squaring.
And as Shana's footsteps fade from behind the door, and as Lexa hears the doors to her quarters close, she runs a hand over the braids in her hair, their pattern unfamiliar, the way they fall across her shoulders foreign and unaccustomed. But she breaths in once, lets her mind ease and her shoulders relax and her back slouch just a little.
And then she steps from the washroom, pads her way to the doors to her quarters and exits quietly. Lexa moves down the hallway smoothly, a slight bounce in her step that seems unkind to the years she has spent so steadfast in her service.