Her mind settles, her thoughts focus, and she feels the tension in her shoulders relax further as the weight of her sword pulls at the muscles in her arm. Her eyes focus on the furs that Clarke wears, the bloodied splashes a fearsome sight, the skull glinting fiercely in the sunlight. And she sees Clarke lunge.

Lexa waits for a moment, her stance shifting slightly in anticipation of the strike, of the deflection she will create with the edge of her sword. And then she slips back, her sword slashing out smoothly as she blocks Clarke's first strike, and she thinks she hears Clarke mutter under her breath, and she is sure Clarke insults her, insults the ease in which she holds herself.

Lexa spins quickly, her sword flicking out in anticipation of Clarke's next strike only for her blade to sing through the air in a lonesome arc. And as she turns to meet Clarke's hidden gaze Lexa thinks she sees a lifting of Clarke's lips behind the mask, she thinks she sees an ease in the blue eyes that hold her gaze.

Lexa hears the crowd roar as she begins to stalk carefully in a circle around Clarke, and she watches as the blonde tests the ground underfoot, how much her feet can slide on the rock and stone and dirt. And Lexa feels the beating of her heart and the paint that clings to her cheeks.

And she knows that the thrill she feels is not one from fear, from anticipation of a killing strike, if only because she doesn't wish to harm Clarke. But as Clarke lunges once more, her knife snaking out rapidly, Lexa can't help but to feel the flush and the thrill and the pumping of her blood as she dances out of Clarke's reach with a flourish and a wide curving slash of her blade.

And she knows she hears Clarke curse her more loudly now, her eyes beginning to narrow as Lexa continues to move just out of her reach. Lexa feels the smile tug at her lips, but before it fully takes hold Clarke lunges once more, her foot kicking up dirt at Lexa, but Lexa sees it, she moves with it, and so she ducks, her free hand gripping Clarke's outstretched hand before throwing the other woman over her shoulder, but Lexa feels Clarke loosen herself, ease her body into the throw, and as the blonde rolls over Lexa's shoulder she hits the ground in her own roll before coming to a low crouch, her knife held out in front of her as she slowly begins to settle into a defensive position.

Lexa comes to a stand, her eyebrow raising subtly, the roar of the crowd more loud now, her display of throwing Clarke over her shoulder sending a ripple of discontent through the Azgeda ranks. Lexa spares only one quick glance at Nia to see the woman smirking, her eyes briefly moving into the crowd before snapping back to Lexa.

Clarke settles though, and as Lexa pulls her attention back to the blonde, she realises that Clarke waits for her to make a move now, that her first few attacks were a trial, were a testing of the waters.

And so Lexa strikes out quickly, but she twists her blade slightly, so slightly that she knows none would perceive it, but just slightly enough that if it were to strike, then it would only cause minimal harm.

But Clarke sees the strike, she slips forward, flips her grip on her knife so that the blade rests against her forearm, and Clarke strikes out, the blades ringing out shrilly as they connect. And Lexa pushes forward, she kicks out with her foot, the blow striking Clarke on the inside of her ankle in an attempt to trip her, but Clarke must see it coming because she drops her weight, her foot only skidding across the ground slightly as she slides with the force of the blow before her elbow snakes out and strikes Lexa across the face with a low thump.

Lexa's head whips around, and as she pulls back, as she readies her sword, and as she eyes Clarke, she knows the blonde smirks behind the skull.

And so Lexa lets her own smirk spread more openly now.

And she attacks. Lexa lunges forward, her sword whipping out, and she cant quite help but to laugh lowly as she sees Clarke's eyes widen in shock at the swiftness of her strike, and as Clarke back peddles, Lexa follows her, her blows coming rapidly, quickly, softly, the strikes more speed and sound than force.

But Clarke blocks each one with a quick dash in and out of her range, with a ducking and a shifting of her body, a twisting of her blade and a spinning of her heels.

And Lexa sees it almost too late, Clarke manages to slip through a strike, Lexa's pattern perhaps too predictable, and then Lexa feels Clarke's face crash against her cheek, the blow more push than strike, but Lexa moves with it, she lets her body stumble backwards only slightly, and Clarke grabs her by the collar before returning the throw as she sends Lexa onto the ground to the cheers and roars of the Azgeda warriors.

Lexa ends the throw with a roll over her shoulder though, her hand throwing up dirt as she comes to a low crouch, her sword raised horizontally before her as she eyes Clarke who begins to circle her now, a smirk on her lips, her eyes holding a mirth that Lexa thinks must be reflected in her own.

And so Lexa sees Clarke lunge. Clarke's knife whips out once, twice, the attacks more speed, more blur, than strike, Clarke flips the blade in the air just as Lexa's sword catches it, and Lexa can't help but to feel a thrill run through her as Clarke spins once as she breaks from the assault fast enough to snare her knife from the air before flipping it once more as she reaches around Lexa's sword and grasps it in front of her face before slashing out, the edge only just missing Lexa's shoulder.

Lexa's hand snakes out quickly, her blow catching Clarke in the bicep, the strike enough to pause Clarke in her advance, and so Lexa pushes her back with an open handed strike across her chest, and then she lunges, her eyes track Clarke's motions as the blonde begins to focus on her swings, on the pattern Lexa lets live in her movements, and as Lexa advances further and further Clarke begins to circle, her eyes shifting from opening to guarded stance to advancing strike.

Lexa backs Clarke up further until the blonde stands before the Azgeda warriors gathered, and Lexa knows her eyes catch the quiet observation of Torvun, Clarke's ever present guard, as he takes in the careful dance she is sure he knows they play. Her gaze shifts to Ontari, the Azgeda warrior glaring a ferocious, anger fuelled worry at her, fist clenched on her own knife as her eyes follow Lexa's sword as it sings through the air. And Lexa eyes Entani for a brief second, the Azgeda healer's torso strapped in a thick brace of leathers and straps, but she recognises the quiet study in the healer's eyes, the way her head cocks to the side and the way her eyes track Lexa's own predictable pattern. Lexa turns back once to Clarke to see the blonde's eyes roll as Lexa continues to advance and Lexa feels the smile that tugs at her lips, and she thinks after this fight Clarke will berate her for showing off, for showing too much bravado.

Lexa's gaze moves quickly to the other Azgeda though, and she knows she sees worry in some eyes, hate in others, but she thinks she sees acceptance in all gazes, the fight she and Clarke participate in enough to convince all that watch. Her gaze moves to an Azgeda warrior though, the dark curls of her hair a familiar swaying in the light breeze. Lexa's eyes take in the barely there covering of white warpaint that only just masks her features, the other Azgeda all deathly pale in comparison. Lexa's eyes widen as she registers the familiarity, the way hazel eyes stare into her own eyes, the way lips part slightly, and the way the dark of her skin shines in the sunlight.

Confusion comes next, and as Lexa falters for a moment she knows Clarke mistakes it for an invitation. But Lexa doesn't quite register Clarke as she advances, her gaze merely staring wide eyed at the woman who stands in the crowd, she tracks the scar that mars her cheek, that dips into her lip. And Lexa feels it. She feels Clarke's blade slash into her thigh, she feels Clarke's hand as it tries to jerk backwards too late, and she feels the impact as Clarke curses out quietly as the blow travels through Lexa and sends her leg backwards.

And then Clarke crashes into her.

Clarke's eyes roll as she continues to memorise the pattern Lexa swings her sword with as she advances, the blade slashing out at her in quick intervals, the flourishes a show of skill for those that watch and a pattern for Clarke to recognise. Clarke backs up further, her eyes moving from Lexa's feet to the blade that dances before her eyes before once settling on Lexa's face.

And she sees Lexa's eyes shift slightly to those behind her, and Clarke knows Lexa must be taking in the Azgeda at her back, must be assessing whether the fight seems real, seems deadly.

But she sees Lexa falter, she sees the small change in pace, in pattern, and Clarke knows it for what it is. And so she lunges. Clarke feels the smile spread once more as she begins to slip past Lexa's sword, and she prepares for Lexa to move back, to avoid her lowered strike, to block it and to retaliate.

But Lexa doesn't.

Clarke senses the hesitation, the confusion and the falter in Lexa's concentration. Clarke sees her own knife snake forward in slow motion, the point sharp and glinting in the sun light as it strikes low at Lexa's leg.

And Clarke thinks it too late to pause her attack, too late to redirect the strike, and her eyes widen as she sees the edge sink into the flesh of Lexa's thigh, as blood begins to pool and spurt around the edges.

And then Clarke crashes against Lexa, her momentum too strong for her to halt. Clarke curses out as Lexa falls to the ground with a grunt of pain. Clarke falls on top of her before rolling with the momentum as she comes to her knees, her eyes wide as she glances from the red of her knife and then down to Lexa who grimaces, a hand covering her thigh as she begins to rise.

"What do I do, Lexa," Clarke hisses as she begins moving to stand above Lexa whose gaze looks around wildly, her eyes searching the crowd of Azgeda warriors that stand behind Clarke. "Lexa," Clarke hisses once more.

Clarke hears the crowd deaden, she feels the crowd still, their eyes focused on the bloody knife she holds in her hands. And she knows what it must look like to those that watch. She knows it must look like she recognised a pattern, a weakness in the Commander's attack, that she took a chance, took a daring rush that succeeded in wounding the Commander. And Clarke knows that in this moment she must look a conquerer standing before the vanquished, the pause she takes merely to allow fear to build in her wounded foe.

"Kill her," Nia's voice rings out over the silence, and Clarke looks up to see Nia standing, her eyes furious as she looks down at Lexa whose gaze slowly begins to harden, to return to the present. "Kill the Commander and honour your clan," Nia hisses, her voice carrying out, and Clarke hears the murmurs of the Azgeda behind her, she knows she feels the anticipation they must be experiencing, she knows they must be eager for the death of the Commander in this moment. "Kill her," Nia's voice comes more loudly now.

And Clarke looks down at Lexa once more, and she knows Lexa's mind still not so focused, not so certain of what happens. Clarke knows the pause is too long though, she knows she must act, must do something to avoid Lexa's death.

Nia steps forward, her feet taking her closer and closer to the edge of the platform until she stops, her body casting a shadow that stretches out before her.

"Kill her," Nia says, her eyes furious as she lets her lips turn into a snarl, her teeth barred and the scars on her face contorting, twisting savagely. "Or you dishonour your Kwin. You dishonour your clan. You dishonour Azgeda."

Clarke doesn't miss Ontari's voice that whispers loudly for her to kill the Commander, she doesn't miss the panic that laces Ontari's voice as Ontari's gaze must move from Nia's furious stare and back to Clarke.

And Clarke doesn't miss the shifting of Anya in the corner of her vision, the woman looking from her to Lexa to Nia, she doesn't miss Gustus begin to move subtly, his eyes focused on Teril who begins to approach the edge of the platform. She doesn't miss Titus who stares shocked and confused at her before his gaze moves to Lexa and then into the crowd as he follows the wounded woman's gaze.

"Kill her," Nia says, her eyes holding Clarke's gaze for a long, measured beat, her voice low, the snarl slowly fading from her lips. But as Nia's eyes hold hers, Clarke thinks Nia talks not of Lexa. And Clarke knows that her time is up, that her pause was too long, that her reluctance to take Lexa's life too obvious.

And so Teril drops from the platform, and Clarke watches as more Azgeda royal guards move forward too, their voices shouting at the Polis guards to step back, but Anya begins to draw her sword as she pushes forward, and Clarke sees Gustus draw his knife as he moves. Trikru warriors begin moving too, their eyes darting from Nia who stands on the platform, and then to the Azgeda royal guards, some stalking towards Clarke, others moving to intercept the Polis and Trikru guards.

And Clarke hears commotion behind her, and she turns to see the Azgeda who stand behind her drawing their swords and their knives, uncertainty in their eyes as they begin to move forward as one.

Teril reaches her in the confusion, Azgeda warriors already swarming her position as they meet the Trikru. And as Clarke's gaze meets Teril's, she finds his eyes hidden behind a blankness she thinks unfamiliar to the usual mirth ever present in his gaze. Teril's hand grips her harshly by the shoulder as he kicks her legs out from under her, his hand falling to the knife at his ribs. And then she feels his arm wrap around her throat from behind as he begins dragging back and through the Azgeda warriors who swarm around her as they meet the advancing Trikru, and Clarke thinks she sees Ontari's stunned face, the horror and the panic clear for any to see as she stands in the middle of the Azgeda, her gaze following Clarke as she fades into the Azgeda masses.

And so the last thing Clarke sees before Teril slips a hood over eyes and slams the hilt of his knife against the side of her head to knock her unconscious is Nia's servant who slips away from the slowly unravelling crowd, two Azgeda guards escorting her, one's eyes glancing back the way they came, another with his hand gripping the woman's upper arm tightly.

Anya stares wide eyed for only a fraction of a moment and then she moves. She barks out for the Trikru with her to move forward, and she hears them drawing weapons as the Azgeda begin to meet their movements with their own. Her gaze snaps to where Clarke had been standing, but she finds her gone and Anya thinks her lips turn into a snarl as her eyes dart to Lexa who begins to rise, her eyes shifting slightly as she gazes into the sea of Azgeda before her as she comes to a stand.

Nia stays on the platform though, Azgeda guards standing close by as their hands rest on their swords or knives. And Anya begins to move forward, her steps even as she begins counting the warriors that face her, and her eyes focus on the nearest Azgeda to her, the man large, his face weathered, older than those around him, and she knows him to be a survivor, for surely one who has survived to his age must be skilled and relentless.

Anya's gaze moves to the Ambassadors briefly to find some sitting stunned, not quite sure how to react to Azgeda reacting so violently, so aggressively within Polis walls. And Anya's gaze moves back to the Polis guards, their colours blurring together as they begin massing between the Trikru and Azgeda warriors.

"Enough!" and Anya's gaze snaps back to Lexa who stands in the midst of the commotion now, her eyes searching just once for Clarke before settling on the nearest of the warriors. "You will lower your weapons," Lexa snarls as she meets the Azgeda warriors who pause in their advance. And Anya watches as Lexa raises her chin defiantly as she grips her sword, her eyes daring any Azgeda to take a step further. "And Trikru," Lexa calls out as she turns, as she faces the Trikru warriors who gather behind Anya. "You will stand down."

Lexa's fury seems to lessen the initial aggression that seeps from the Trikru and Azgeda warriors, and as Lexa casts her gaze around her once more, Anya sees warriors from both clans begin to lower weapons, the Polis guards pushing them back harshly, their hands still firmly clasped around their own weapons.

But Anya sees Titus stand and walk to the edge of the platform, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, and it is only now that Anya realises the the Polis people gathered remain shocked, remain silent, uncertainty of what has just transpired clearly written across faces young and old.

"The Azgeda champion has submitted," Titus calls out, and Anya feels the anger burn within the Azgeda who still stand together, anger and uncertainty and disbelief colouring their outbursts as Titus lets his voice rise in volume.

Anya sees Lexa's eyes flash to the Azgeda though, and she sees the younger woman search the faces she sees, and Anya knows Lexa must search for Clarke now, must be trying to find her in the sea of white faces.

"What of Wanheda?" one of the Azgeda shouts, his expression confused as he meets Nia's gaze as she continues to stand at the edge of the platform.

"Wanheda has dishonoured Azgeda," she sneers, her voice lifting loudly. "She will be returned to Azgeda where she will be punished accordingly."

Anya doesn't miss the clenching in Lexa's jaw, and as she glances briefly at the Azgeda, she sees Ontari punch the Azgeda warrior who had raised the question before Torvun grabs her and forces her further into the Azgeda masses.

And so Titus clears his throat loudly, his hand raised once more as he lets his voice raise over the noises of chatter that begin to spread through the gathered crowd.

"So be it," and Anya watches as Titus lowers his hand steadily. "The challenge has ended."

Anya feels Gustus begin to move from where she stands though, and as her eyes dart out once more to the Azgeda she reaches out and pulls him closer to her.

"Where is Clarke?" Anya hisses.

And she sees Gustus scan the Azgeda around them for a moment.

"I do not know," he answers, his gaze falling to Lexa who stares at the sea of Azgeda who slowly begin to move as one towards the Azgeda sector.

Her gaze lands on Clarke's unconscious body for a long moment.

"They are ready," the man says quietly as he steps besides her.

"You remember where to meet?" she asks.

"Yes, Kwin Nia," he replies.

"Good," Nia says, her eyes landing on the first of the women who steps out from the shadows. "They will not know which one is truly Wanheda," and Nia smiles as five women duck out of the small room, their hair blonde and braided a similar pattern, their clothes and furs the same, each with a knife strapped to their thigh.

Lexa's eyes follow the thread that Nyko pulls through her wound, the flickering of a candle and the scents of healing paste wafting through her room.

"She cut you," Anya says. "You allowed her to defeat you. I did not realise that was the plan."

"It was not," Lexa answers tersely, her thoughts turning to Clarke for a moment.

"We will find her," Anya says and Lexa thinks Anya must read her thoughts as the older woman continues, "Shana already searches Polis. She must still be within Polis walls."

But Lexa grunts out in frustration, her fist clenching tightly as she continues to stare at the thread and the slowly closing slash to her thigh.

"How?" Anya says, her arms crossing over her chest.

And as Lexa thinks of what had distracted her, she thinks it a facade, a ploy, a game Nia plays, ever constant as she taunts and leers so strongly in her actions.

"It does not matter," Lexa says, her teeth grinding as long gone memories begin to surface of a deep richness to skin, bronzed from the sun, and the dark curls and the hazel of kind eyes, cunning and expressive in motion.

Lexa's head looks up at the sounds of feet slapping against stone though, and Nyko pauses in his suturing, his eyes glancing to the door to her quarters, and Anya moves to intercept whoever arrives, whoever rushes through Polis tower.

"Heda," and Lexa recognises Shana's breathless voice as she knocks on the door rapidly. And Lexa thinks her heart stills, she thinks her mind freezes, her thoughts already knowing what Shana will say.

And so Shana opens the door, strand of her hair clinging to her forehead as she takes in a lungful of air.

"Azgeda forces leave Polis," and Shana coughs once as her lungs continue to fight for air. "They have separated. We can not follow all of them."

And Lexa feels her heart freeze, she feels her mind dent and fracture to the thoughts that race through her mind.

Clarke.

Clarke wakes to a throbbing ache in her head and a splitting pain through her skull. It takes her a moment longer to realise that she is blindfolded and that she rides atop a horse and that her body is pressed back into another person. And as memories come flooding through her mind Clarke remembers the challenge, she remembers slicing at Lexa's thigh, she remembers the wound that had caused Lexa to stumble and fall to the ground. And Clarke remembers Nia's furious words, her demands for Clarke to kill Lexa, that she dishonoured Azgeda.

The horse she rides on comes to a stop then, and as she feels the person pull on the reins she feels her body lurch forward awkwardly, and as she tries to steady herself she registers that her hands are tied in front of her.

"You are awake," the voice says, and as the person dismounts she feels strong hands pull her off roughly. The blindfold is removed then, and she comes face to face with Teril who pushes her to her knees before him.

"Where am I?" Clarke asks as her eyes blink in the dark, the moon the only source of light she sees.

"You are returning to Azgeda," Teril says simply.

"Why?" and Clarke glares up at the man.

"You disobeyed Nia's orders," he answers. "You did not strike down Heda when you were granted the opportunity to do so," and he shrugs as he turns her around and pushes her into the ground before bending to tie her feet together.

"You are a fool," he snorts. "To try to plot against Nia, to try to remove her from power," and Clarke feels the thrumming of her pulse.

"So you're just going to kill me?" Clarke winces as she feels the rope cut into her ankles.

"No," Teril says simply. "Your stunt gave Nia little choice but to have you smuggled out of the city before Heda realised what was happening," and Teril lifts her once more before marching her awkwardly to a tree. "Other Azgeda will meet us in the morning."

"So that's it?" Clarke winces as she feels the bark bite into her shoulders as Teril slides her down the tree. "You're just going to let me be imprisoned? Killed?"

"I do my duty," Teril answers simply.

Clarke wakes to rough hands shaking her shoulders and noise that spreads out quietly around her. Her eyes open to find three tents now springing up around her, camp fires burning and warriors standing close. But what gives her pause are the unmarked faces of the warriors she sees, their eyes harsh in the light of a slowly rising sun.

"You are awake," Teril says simply as he kneels down before her. "Eat," he says simply as he pushes a small slice of bread to her lips.

And so Clarke takes it in with a grimace, her mind not quite certain of what situation she will walk in to, but if only by the scarless faces, she thinks herself in trouble, she thinks herself backed into a corner, and she hopes that wherever Lexa is, or even wherever Roan is, that they may be able to help.

As the last of the bread passes her lips Teril pulls out his knife, the blade cutting through the ropes that bind her to the tree.

"Your presence is required," he says simply as he lifts her, hand gripping her by the back of the neck as he urges her towards one of the three tents.

And so, as Clarke enters, she finds the tent sparsely decorated, merely a bed, a small table and two chairs in the centre. But what steals her attention is Nia who sits in one chair, her eyes hard in the dim light as she takes in Clarke's blinking gaze.

"Sit," Nia says simply.

Teril pushes Clarke into a chair then, and she feels him hardly step back, his presence much closer to her than she is used to.

"You think you would fool me, Clarke?" Nia begins quickly. "You think you could plot to overthrow me? To remove me from power? To throw Azgeda into chaos?"

Clarke swallows roughly, her eyes blinking back the sleep for a moment as she begins to think and let her mind turn over what she knows.

"No," Clarke says simply.

But Nia smiles once before she leans forward, the scars across her face glinting in the dim light once more.

"You lie," Nia says. "I know of you and Lexa, I know you refused to take the Mountain for Azgeda. I know you work with Roan."

But Clarke remains quiet, and despite the truth to many of Nia's words, she finds herself remaining mute, a glare slowly beginning to form across her face.

"You do not wish to confess your treason," and Nia's head tilts. "Understandable," she says simply. "We return to Azgeda," and Nia's finger taps against the table twice in thought. "Lexa will try to find you, she may even chase after the Azgeda that return," and Clarke shifts slightly in her chair, the wood biting into her leg for a moment. "She will not find you," and Nia looks into her eyes for a long moment, and as Clarke holds her gaze she sees Nia smile once more. "Perhaps you will be the one to talk."