Clarke's eyes widen as Nia smiles and looks to her. She feels the tension build in her mind, and she senses the quiet that settles over the throne room. Clarke's eyes track Teril as confusion flashes across his face for only a moment before he stands back, his gaze tuned to Clarke's oddly, his eyes moving from hers to the bloodied furs on her shoulders.
"So be it," Titus says, his voice carrying out through the silence. "The challenge will take place tomorrow at the sun's highest point."
And Clarke sees Gustus clench his jaw tightly as he stares angrily at Teril, the Azgeda guard content to merely hover somewhere behind Nia now, his eyes taking in those who murmur words of confusion, or those who nod their heads in approval of the challenge. Clarke feels Torvun lurking close by too, and she knows she doesn't miss the dissatisfaction that she feels emanating from him.
"Very well," Lexa says after a moment, her gaze only once meeting Clarke's.
And then Lexa's hand rises, her fingers twitching once as she dismisses the many people in the throne room.
Clarke's mind worries, her eyes track the movements of warriors on the training grounds, her eyes follow the white furs of Azgeda who crash against each other, who throw friend over shoulder, who trip and disarm and mime killing blows, their eyes ever angry as warriors from other clans linger too close.
Clarke sees Ontari walking up to her harshly, her feet kicking at anything that crosses her path, and she sees Entani hobbling behind awkwardly, her ribs nowhere near ready for her to be moving about.
"What have you done," Ontari hisses as she comes to a stop in front of where Clarke sits on the ground, her body blocking the sun as it begins its descent through the sky.
"What have I done?" Clarke asks as she looks up at Ontari, to find her face sweating, her furs loosened around her neck and shoulders.
"You challenged the Commander," Ontari hisses once more, hands now on her hips as Entani comes to an awkwardly shuffling stop behind her.
"I did not, Kwin Nia did," Clarke says as she rises. "Follow me," she says after a moment, fingers gripping Ontari by the shoulder as she begins dragging her away from the training grounds. Torvun follows, his hands reaching out to help Entani, only for the wounded healer to curse him out loudly.
They walk for a moment until Clarke rounds a corner and stops behind a large copse of trees that lines the training grounds before she turns on Ontari, the woman still with hands fisted on her hips as she glares harshly at Clarke.
"Look, On—"
"I do not care," Ontari cuts in. "You will kill her," she says simply.
"What?"
"Why would you agree to fight her? Why would you even think to do it?" and Ontari's jaw clenches even tighter as she kicks at a pebble, and Clarke watches it bounce across the ground. "You will kill her," and Ontari nods to herself.
Entani and Torvun come around the corner then, and Torvun sighs as his eyes land on Ontari who stands, feet planted firmly on the ground as she glares at Clarke.
"She can use two blades," Ontari continues, her eyes looking up into the sky. "Her fingers are scarred on both hands so she is proficient with both hands. She will have an advantage in range, so you must get close to use your knife. But if she has two swords you will have the advantage, she will not be able to use them if you close the distance. If she has one you must be faster than her. You are shorter. Use it to your advantage. Let her tire before you attack."
Clarke sighs as Ontari continues to outline Lexa's combat style, the things she thinks the Commander will do, will use, and as Ontari continues to talk rapidly, Clarke eyes Entani who stares at her, eyes narrowed in thought.
"Stop, Ontari," Clarke says, her hand reaching out to shake Ontari's shoulder.
Ontari mouth snaps shut, her eyes glaring at Clarke for a long moment as her thoughts settle.
"Everything's going to be ok," Clarke says quietly, her eyes beseeching as she lets her gaze hold Ontari's.
Clarke paces back and forth through her quarters, her body weary, yet her mind remains attentive. She kicks at a fur underfoot for a moment before sighing and setting herself in a chair roughly, a hand rubbing across her face as she leans back. She shrugs the furs off her shoulders then, the sun already dipping below the horizon. Clarke lets her mind wander for long moments, her thoughts drifting to Nia's games, to Nia's issuing of the challenge, and to Nia appointing her as Azgeda champion. Clarke thinks that in the morning she will talk to Lexa, will discuss exactly how to handle such a situation, but in this moment she feels too tired to really comprehend, to analyse and to strategise more than just knowing that she won't actually take Lexa's life.
But a low knock echoes through her room, and as Clarke's eyes open a crack she thinks she sees the shadows of people that linger by her door.
"Clarke," Lexa's voice comes quietly, firmly, and so Clarke sighs as she rises and pads her way to the door, and she opens it to reveal Lexa standing in front of her, Shana by her side.
"Come in," Clarke says, gaze briefly looking to Shana who merely bows her head before turning and taking position by the door, and Clarke sees Torvun and Gustus lingering close by, too, their bodies framing the door, their gazes aimed down the hallway.
"We must talk, Clarke," Lexa says as she steps into Clarke's quarters, the door closing behind her.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs as she sits back down in the chair.
"Did you find evidence of Nia's treachery?" Lexa says as she comes to a stop in the middle of the room.
"Not exactly," Clarke answers, mind already turning to Jaha who remains prisoner at Arkadia. "Jaha says Nia only communicated through a bird and letters so we have no solid proof," and Clarke watches as Lexa nods once before glancing around Clarke's quarters briefly.
"I did not think he would be able to find evidence," Lexa says evenly.
"You didn't think he'd succeed?" Clarke questions, her eyes narrowing.
"No," and Lexa faces her fully, hands coming to be clasped behind her back. "I did not think Nia would allow any evidence to exist."
"So what?" and Clarke finds herself standing now, a frustration beginning to bubble under the surface. "You just let her send me on a wild goose chase?"
"I do not know what that is, Clarke," Lexa says, an eyebrow raising as Clarke's eyes roll. "But if if means your task was pointless, then that is not correct."
"It's starting to sound like it was," Clarke grumbles, her arms crossing over her chest.
"It is not," Lexa reassures. "It means we must rely on another plan."
"It'd be good if we had another plan," Clarke counters.
"We do," Lexa says.
"Explain," Clarke says simply, and she thinks Lexa's next words will leave her unimpressed, will leave her more frustrated and annoyed.
"I work with Prince Roan," Lexa says.
And Clarke looks at her for a long, silent moment, her eyes narrowing even further, and she knows a scowl begins to crease her forehead.
"What?"
"Prince Roan and I work together to overthrow Nia."
"Excuse me?" Clarke says as she steps forward.
"Prince Roan has been in hiding while he builds his forces."
"Get out," Clarke snaps, her finger jabbing Lexa in the chest firmly.
"Clarke, le—"
"—Get out," Clarke jabs Lexa once more as she begins stalking forward, and Lexa begins to back towards the door. "Get. Out," Clarke hisses as Lexa's back thumps against the wood, the green of her eyes widening only a fraction as she takes in Clarke's seething gaze.
And so Clarke watches as Lexa pushes off from the door slightly, as she nods to herself once before she turns and grips the handle, just a quick glance cast over her shoulder before she slips out of Clarke's quarters.
Clarke watches the door for a few long seconds, her mind turning and her jaw clenching tightly as she glares at the dark of the wood. But she sighs, leans her forehead against the cold of the door and breathes in deeply.
"Come back," she calls out, her ears picking up the slight pause in retreating steps from the other side of the door. "Come back," Clarke says more loudly now.
Clarke steps back as she hears the footsteps approach once more, and the door opens tentatively to reveal Lexa standing there once more, her chin raised defiantly, but Clarke thinks she sees a small admonishment living in the woman's gaze.
"Get in," Clarke says with a jerk of her chin once.
And so Lexa steps over the threshold as she closes the door before turning back to Clarke.
"You're lucky I like you or else I'd actually try and kill you tomorrow," Clarke begins.
"I do not think you could defeat me," Lexa says simply.
"Don't you try and sass me, Lexa," and Clarke steps forward slowly. "I'm still mad at you."
And Lexa looks away for a moment, her eyes peering into a flame that flickers in the corner of Clarke's quarters.
"Do you know how much stress you've put on me?" Clarke says as she pauses in her steps, just a small space between them now. "Do you know how many nights I've spent awake trying to figure out what Nia's game is?"
"I can imagine, Clarke," Lexa says, and Clarke knows she hears the remorse that lingers in Lexa's voice.
"How long?" Clarke asks, but she thinks she knows how long.
"Since Roan left for Azgeda lands," Lexa replies.
Clarke sighs for a long moment, her hand coming to rub against her cheek in frustration.
"I don't like you keeping things from me, Lexa," Clarke says into the silence. And she knows Lexa feels the admonishment, her gaze not quite meeting Clarke's. "I'm mad at you, but for now I'm putting it aside, ok?" and she sees Lexa's gaze shift to meet hers. "We need to figure things out," and Clarke thinks Lexa knows she talks of the challenge and the fight.
"I believe we should make it as realistic as possible, Clarke," Lexa says simply.
"How?" Clarke asks as she worries her lip.
"It is simple, Clarke," Lexa says with a shrug before she begins to move further into the room, her gaze moving to Clarke's furs that rest atop the chair. "You try to kill me," and Lexa meets her gaze.
"You're cocky, aren't you," Clarke says as she finds herself moving deeper into the room too.
"I have trained my whole life," Lexa answers. "I do not mean to offend, Clarke. But yes, I believe I would best you in single combat," and Clarke snorts at Lexa's words.
"Or," and Clarke moves closer to Lexa. "Maybe I'll strike you down with my power."
"Perhaps," and Lexa meets her gaze briefly as Clarke pushes Lexa against the edge of a table, their bodies close enough for Clarke to feel Lexa's breath ghost against her cheek. "Clarke," Lexa whispers quietly, and Clarke isn't so sure whether Lexa's words are a warning, are a statement or merely just a quiet exaltation.
Clarke hums quietly as she lets her own breath ghost against Lexa's neck, her lips only just brushing against the fluttering of Lexa's pulse.
"What would you like?" Clarke whispers, her voice brushing Lexa's ear for a moment.
"Clarke," Lexa whispers once more, and Clarke smiles as she feels the tension begin to leave Lexa's shoulders, the woman's posture relaxing slightly.
And Clarke knows she holds Lexa's thoughts now, and so she pushes off from the table's edge until space is created between them, her gaze wicked as she meets Lexa's half lidded eyes and the way her lips part.
"I'm still mad at you," Clarke says, her arms crossing over her chest as she inclines her head to the door with a smile spreading across her lips. "I need sleep," and she sees Lexa swallow painfully, "alone," Clarke finishes cheekily.
Clarke wakes to the gentle tapping against her door, and as she sits slowly, her eyes honing in on the entrance, she feels her fingers curl around the hilt of her blade as she rises. Clarke glances briefly over her shoulder and out the open window to find that darkness still lingers fully over Polis, the moon ever constant as it roams the night's sky. The knock comes once more, and as Clarke approaches the door she thinks she sees Torvun's feet shuffle slightly in the presence of whoever stands outside. Clarke opens the door quietly, her gaze narrowing to the face she sees, her hand readying the knife by her side.
"Wanheda," Shana whispers quietly. "Get dressed, Heda wishes for you to meet her," and Shana smiles briefly as she hands Clarke clothes before stepping back, her gaze sent down the hallway in habit. "It is best we are not recognised."
And so Clarke closes the door once more, her eyes taking in the dark leathers and lighter furs she holds in her hands.
The clothes she wears pull more tightly across her body than she is used to, the furs lighter, more form fitting, the leathers thinner, more supple, but as she follows Shana's quiet steps through Polis tower, Clarke can't help but to notice the clothes well made, well fitted.
"She didn't have these made for me, did she?" Clarke asks as she eyes the way the pants hug her legs evenly.
"Heda is observant," Shana replies quietly, her gaze moving to a flickering of light under a closed door.
"We're not supposed to be seen, right?" Clarke asks quietly as Shana urges her into a small room, its contents dusty, and haphazard in their storage.
"We are not," Shana replies before she moves to the far wall, her fingers ghosting against the stone for a moment before a low click echoes out through the space and a small door swings inwards to reveal a hidden passageway. "This way," Shana says simply as she slips through first.
And so Clarke follows, and as the small door closes behind her she realises that she has entered a small stairwell, the steps fading down and into the lower levels of Polis tower, and Clarke is sure from the darkness she spies that the steps might even move below ground.
Shana walks ahead for a long while, her steps quiet, a torch lit as light begins to fade away completely. But they come to the end of the stairs, and as Clarke's eyes squint as she gazes out around herself she finds the area to have sloping walls that curve overhead, that form tunnels that disappear into the distance.
"How long are these tunnels?" Clarke asks, her voice echoing out around them.
"They are long," Shana answers. "You may travel from one end of Polis and to the other without seeing daylight," and Shana looks over her shoulder once at the way they came before turning forwards once more. "But most do not know of their existence," Shana finishes.
"Useful," Clarke says as she eyes rubble underfoot, and as she hears the quiet drip of water that echoes out around her.
They take another corner, and as Clarke rounds the bend she spies a light that dances in the distance, and as she squints she sees two figures that stand close together. And as Clarke approaches she begins to recognise the furs Roan wears, the way her stands, and the way his voice carries over the distance quietly. And it takes Clarke a moment longer to register that the second person is Lexa, her usual clothing different, her hair not braided the same.
"Prince Roan," Clarke says tightly as she comes to a stop opposite him, his eyes moving over the healing cut on her forehead and to the Trikru clothes she wears.
"Clarke," he says simply.
"You're here," Clarke says with a gesture around them. "And not dead."
"No," and Clarke knows she hears the humour in Roan's voice.
"It's not funny," she says, her chin rising. "We agreed to work together but you made plans behind my back," and Clarke thinks she sees Lexa's eyes roll slightly.
"It is wise to plan for emergencies," Roan replies easily.
"Maybe for you," Clarke says. "Was it because you didn't trust me? Didn't think I could keep a secret?"
"No," and Roan's voice comes gravelly, rough and even. "My mother is quite good at reading people," he says. "You will forgive me for not wanting to risk everything on one person," and he steps closer, his eyes hardening slightly. "You are smart enough to realise that."
"We are here to work together," Lexa cuts in.
"Yeah," and Clarke eyes Roan for another long moment. "Fine," and Clarke shrugs before turning her attention to Lexa. "I'm here now, what's the plan?"
"We must fight," Lexa begins, her gaze just once turning to Shana who has her back to them as her gaze looks out the way they had come. "Whoever the champion is will demand that the loser submit," and Clarke doesn't miss the subtle look Lexa gives her pointedly at the mention of the loser.
"They're allowed to do that?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," Lexa says simply. "But most do not submit because their clan leader would have them sentenced to death for dishonouring their clan."
"Great," Clarke says. "How does that help me?" and she sees the twitching of Lexa's lips.
"Once you submit then Nia's game will have failed. I will still hold power, and Roan will then announce his presence and issue his own challenge," and Lexa shrugs once. "It will be simple, Clarke."
"So you've both decided that I'm going to be bait?" Clarke asks, her eyes narrowing as she looks from Roan to Lexa.
"Do you see another way of Azgeda changing hands without bloodshed?" Roan questions.
And as Clarke thinks over his questions she knows war would be costly, she knows many would die. But most of all, she knows she does not want Azgeda blood to be shed further than it already has.
"Where's Echo?" Clarke asks instead, her avoidance of the question answer enough.
"She is helping to keep our force a secret," Roan answers. "She has been busy silencing those who get too close to the truth."
"And you're happy with her killing our people?"
"I am not happy with any of this," Roan counters gruffly. "But if it stops all out war, then that is what is best for our people," he finishes.
And so Clarke nods to herself for a moment before her gaze moves back to Lexa who stands quietly by, her eyes taking in the conversation between both Azgeda.
"It is settled," Lexa says abruptly. "You will submit after I defeat you, Clarke," and Clarke's eyes roll. "And then Roan will bring his forces to Polis, reveal himself to Nia and issue the challenge," and she meets Roan's gaze for a moment.
"Good," Roan agrees with a nod. "Then it is settled, I will wait with my forces until you summon me, it would be best not to reveal ourselves too early," he finishes before bowing his head once before turning, his feet taking him deeper into the tunnels and away from where Clarke and Lexa stand.
"Do not worry, Clarke," Lexa says quietly, her gaze moving over the clothes Clarke wears.
"That's easy for you to say," Clarke says. "It's not your people you're fighting for."
"The Coalition is all my people," Lexa replies simply. "Azgeda may not be Trikru, but your warriors and your people are my warriors and my people," and Lexa's eyes soften just a bit as she takes in Clarke's clothes once more.
"What?" Clarke asks as she looks down at herself.
"Trikru colours look better on you, Clarke," Lexa says simply, her lip turning up.
Clarke's eyes roll, "you just want to get me out of my furs, don't you," Clarke jest.
"There will be time for that later," Lexa says with a smirk as she begins to move back the way they had come.
And Clarke feels her lips part slightly as she watches Lexa step away easily, her feet quiet as she moves over the rubble underfoot and towards where Shana stands in the flickering of a flame.
Daybreak comes too soon for Clarke, but as her eyes open she feels the sun that splashes across her face and that warms the vastness of her bed. She rolls over into the warmth and she smiles for a moment as she lets the softness of the furs lull her mind back into a slumber.
Clarke's eyes snap open to the banging on her door though, and she rises, furs slipping from her body as she steps across the cold stone underfoot. Clarke reaches to the door quickly, and as she opens it she finds Ontari and Entani standing outside.
"Please, come in," Clarke sighs as Ontari preemptively pushes past her before her words even finish leaving her lips.
"We are here to ensure you do not die," Entani says happily despite the pain Clarke sees on her face.
"Sit," Ontari grumbles, her mood less happy.
Clarke finds herself sitting in a chair, Ontari quick to stand behind her as she begins braiding her hair, fingers tugging sharply at the knots she finds. Entani sits on the edge of her bed, eyes taking in its size for a moment.
"We do not get quarters like this," Entani says as she runs a hand over the thick furs.
"We are not Wanheda," Ontari answers from behind Clarke, and so Entani shrugs before reaching for Clarke's knife on a table.
And so Clarke finds her eyes following Entani's motions as the healer runs a whetstone across her knife's edge, the blade glinting in the flickering of the candle light and the rising of the sun as it dapples through the latticework.
It takes Ontari longer than usual to braid her hair, and Clarke is sure the other woman takes her time with the patterns she braids, and perhaps Clarke knows if things were different she would feel more nervous, more uncertain, but in this moment she knows worry to be useless, the plan she had discussed with Lexa and Roan that night having soothed at least some of her worries.
Clarke feels Ontari's fingers still in her hair though, and she knows the other woman to be close to finished, and so Ontari runs a hand over the braids she has just woven, and Clarke knows Ontari worries, frets and thinks of situations out of her control.
"Don't worry about me, Ontari," Clarke says, her hand reaching back to grip Ontari's wrist from over her shoulder. And as Ontari merely grumbles quietly in answer Clarke thinks she will have to explain the things she has done, she has kept from her friends.
Entani stands after a moment though, the knife resting in its sheath on the bed, and Clarke watches as Entani moves to where Clarke keeps her furs. Entani picks them up, eyes glancing briefly at them before she holds them out for Clarke.
"You have not cleaned them," Entani says as her fingers rub at the dried blood.
"I didn't have time," Clarke says as she stands.
"It will be a good distraction," Ontari says as she eyes the furs in Entani's hands.
And so Clarke lets both women help her dress, their worry for her not unnoticed. And as she pulls on her pelt, the clasp buckled across her chest, she feels the weight of the skull that sits on the back of her neck, the cool of the bone clinging to her skin for a moment.
But Clarke noticed that Ontari holds Entani'g gaze for a long moment, her eyes narrowed as she tries to convey a message, and as Entani notices she merely rolls her eyes before struggling to her feet, her ribs and her recent surgery still paining her.
"I will give you two some time," Entani says over her shoulder as she steps out of Clarke's quarters.
And so Ontari waits until the doors close before she comes to kneel in front of Clarke who remains seated in the chair.
"Do not be afraid, Clarke," Ontari says quietly. "The Commander," and Clarke feels her lips lift up as Ontari scowls at Lexa's mention, "was only a distraction. Kwin Nia has called on you to honour Azgeda and you will defeat her the Commander," and Ontari's hand reaches out and squeezes Clarke's fingers firmly.
And so Clarke smiles in turn, and she knows her words couldn't sooth Ontari in this moment and so she twists her hand slightly, enough for her fingers to entwine with Ontari's as she squeezes them.
"Everything will be ok, Ontari," Clarke says, and she makes sure her gaze holds Ontari's for a long moment. "I'm sure of it."
And Ontari meets her gaze with her own, and Clarke watches as Ontari worries her lip, looks away, and scrunches her nose in thought only to wince at her still healing nose.
"Don't do that," Clarke laughs quietly. "You need to let your nose heal."
And Ontari smiles briefly, a finger brushing against the splint that remains ever present. And Clarke sees Ontari's eyes ghost over her face for a moment before her gaze moves to Clarke's pack that rests an arm's length away. Clarke watches as Ontari reaches forward, hand carding through her belongings before she pulls the small vial of white warpaint free, and as Ontari lifts it for Clarke to see, she feels a smile spread once more on her lips as she nods.
And so Clarke's eyes close as Ontari opens the small jar, and Clarke feels Ontari's fingers begin to brush against her face, the cold of the war paint clinging to her skin and settling her slowly strumming heart.
Clarke hears it before she sees it. The sounds of the people gathered carry over the distance, and as her feet continue to take her forward she feels the strumming of her pulse begin to race. Her eyes squint up into the sky to find it clear, the sun almost at its highest point. A wind breathes through Polis, too, the chill of it rustling the furs on her shoulders, but she embraces it, the cold a comfort and a reminder of the times she had spent in Ronto. She feels Ontari's slowly worsening mood, the woman grinding her teeth as she glares at the few who they pass as they make their way through the main street of Polis. Entani remains steadfast by Clarke's side, too, the healer ignoring the pain Clarke is sure she feels, and as Clarke glances at her for a moment she sees an easiness in Entani's motions, her worry perhaps better internalised than Ontari's. And Clarke's attention turns to Torvun as he walks behind her, his body a constant comfort by her side in moments of unrest or uncertainty.
Clarke continues to walk the main street, the sounds of chatter and commotion growing louder and louder. She turns a corner to find people gathered before her, hundreds, she thinks, and she eyes the large platform that stands out from the crowd, ambassadors seated on it, their eyes moving across the swelling crowd before them. And as Clarke approaches she finds Azgeda warriors already gathered before her, their own faces painted white, their furs shining in the light. She notices Jenma standing near the front, Bronat and Leeton standing behind her, their heads nodding to her as she passes by the Azgeda warriors who part for her until she has a clear path to the open space that will be the fighting ground.
Guards line the perimeter, their eyes constantly tracking movement, their senses honed to any that would try to interfere, and as Clarke steps past the last of the Azgeda she meets Nia's gaze, the woman sitting in her own chair as she looks down upon Clarke, Teril ever present by the Kwin's side.
At the opposite end of the cleared space Clarke finds Anya glaring harshly at Nia's profile, she spots Gustus standing close by, too, his fist clamped tightly around the knife at his belt. But what steals Clarke's attention the most is Lexa who stands facing her.
Lexa's eyes drip with the black of her warpaint, the markings etched across her cheeks and claw at her face and bleed into her skin. Clarke's eyes gaze over the braids that adorn Lexa's hair, that weave and flow and cascade down her back. And Clarke eyes the clothing Lexa wears too, the lighter leathers nimble, flexible, enough to protect the most glancing of blows, soft enough to allow Lexa to dart about freely and unhindered.
But she sees Lexa's eyes travel over her own body, and Clarke can't help but to wonder what Lexa must see. She wonder's if Lexa thinks it impressive that she wears furs soaked in the blood of those she has killed, in the blood she has spilt herself. She wonders if Lexa sees her past the white of the warpaint that colours her face a deathly pale, she wonders if Lexa recognises her past the scars that adorn her cheeks and forehead, marks that show her as one of Azgeda.
But Lexa meets her gaze briefly, the sounds of the roaring crowd dying to her ears, and as they share a moment she sees Lexa's lips twitch up slightly, the gaze they share not for others to experience.
And it takes Clarke a moment longer to realise she stands before the Azgeda now, her feet having taken her almost to the centre of the fighting ground, and as she turns just once she finds Ontari's fist clenched tightly around her own knife as Entani and Torvun stand close by.
Titus stands, his voice ringing out as the crowd silences, his gaze moving about slowly as he takes in all those that stand before him.
"In single combat," and he pauses just once as his gaze meets Lexa's. "There is but one rule," and his gaze hardens as he meets Clarke's eyes. "Someone must die today," and Clarke watches as Titus raises his hand, as he pauses for a moment as the crowd silences in anticipation for what is to come next. And so Titus drops his hand as his voice rings out, "you may begin."
Clarke feels the anticipation build, she feels it begin to swell within her, within her mind and her limbs and her body. She feels the flush that spreads, the eagerness and the fright and the anxiousness and the months of planning and deceit and waiting and patience.
Clarke turns to face Lexa, perhaps not even five strides between them. And she watches as Lexa draws a sword slowly, the sound echoing out through the silence. She watches as Lexa holds her gaze, a confidence, an eagerness, an excitement beginning to swell within the green eyes that return her gaze.
Clarke reaches behind her, fingers snaring at her skull as she raises it, as she slips it over her head and as it settles before her face, the large fangs cradling her jaw, the eye sockets honing her eyes to Lexa's every move.
Clarke smiles, and she knows Lexa senses it by the twitching of a cheek and the slight parting of her lips.
And so Clarke lunges, her knife snaking out as she comes to crash against Lexa.