"Clarke," Lexa says, and Clarke smiles for only a moment as their eyes meet.
But Clarke knows an apprehension already begins to build in her mind as thoughts turn to what will happen in the moments to come. And so she holds up a hand, and she thinks she feels her fingers tremble slightly.
"There's someone you should meet," Clarke finds herself saying, and she feels Costia settle awkwardly behind her for a moment.
And so she steps aside.
And Clarke thinks she sees the moment Lexa breaks, she knows she sees the cracking of the facade that seems ever present, and Clarke knows she sees the pain and denial that bleeds into green eyes.
"Hello, Lexa," Costia says quietly, and Clarke sees her take a step forward, only for Lexa to step back, only for her to keep a distance between them.
Clarke even hears Anya gasp, she hears Anya curse and she sees the woman's eyes go wide, she sees her lips slacken. Her gaze turns back to Lexa and she sees the green eyes slam shut, and Clarke watches as her fists clench and she sees her head begin to shake before she snaps around on her heels and pushes through the Azgeda warriors as she begins moving back to her tent. Anya pauses for only a moment as she looks from Costia to Lexa and back before her eyes settle on Costia.
"Costia?" Anya whispers, her eyes still wide.
"It is me," Costia says, and Clarke sees Costia stare after Lexa's body as it disappears into her tent.
"How?" Anya says, disbelief and shock still clearly etched across her face.
"It is a long story," Costia says as she looks away, her eyes closing for a moment and Clarke thinks memories bust be surfacing that leave a bitter pain within her mind.
"Costia," Anya whispers though, and Clarke sees the woman's eyes trail over the scar on her cheek, Clarke sees her gaze trace the curls through her hair, the single braid that keeps them back and the rough furs that cover her body. "Costia," Anya whispers once more as her hand begins to reach out tentatively, unsure, and Clarke knows she sees the trembling of fingers.
"It is me," Costia repeats awkwardly.
And so Anya lunges forward and grasps Costia in a tight embrace, and Clarke thinks she hears quiet words muttered between them both, and she knows she sees tears begin to slip from Anya's eyes.
And Clarke thinks herself intruding on the moment and so she turns, she looks away, and she thinks she will have to reth—
Ontari comes crashing into her fiercely, arms hugging her with a desperation that Clarke feels stealing her breath.
"Clarke," Ontari whispers into her ear, and Clarke hears the muffled sounds of sobs as Ontari's arms begin to shake.
"I'm ok," Clarke smiles as she squeezes her own arms around Ontari, and she smiles as she sees Entani help Torvun forward, both hobbling together in their injured states.
"We were worried,"Entani says simply as she comes to a stand besides Clarke, but she looks away in thought, and Clarke thinks she senses the unspoken words that Entani doesn't wish to voice. Not yet anyway.
"It's true," Clarke preempts as she steps back from Ontari. "All of it," and she glances to Torvun to see him nodding, his arm still held close to his ribs.
"Why, Clarke?" Ontari whispers though.
"I didn't want to get you in trouble," she answers simply. Truthfully.
"Why did you not tell us? Why did you not share this?" Ontari questions.
"It's complicated," and Clarke looks away for a moment, and she tries to think of a simple explanation for her actions, something that would explain her treason, her refusal to do Nia's bidding. "She would have thrown Azgeda into chaos," Clarke says simply. "She was willing to work with the Mountain Men on the off chance that she could beat all the other clans in conflict," and Ontari's jaw clenches tightly, her gaze moving from Entani, to Torvun and then scanning over the bruises and cuts visible across Clarke's face. "I only did what I thought was best for Azgeda," Clarke continues quietly. "I'll explain everything later," and she reaches forward and squeezes Ontari's arm. "I promise."
And so Ontari holds her gaze for a long moment as Clarke's words begin to settle within her mind, and as Clarke watches her, she thinks that Ontari will need time to process, time to consider, to come to her own conclusions. But as Ontari's lips begin to smile once more, Clarke thinks that for now, Ontari is merely happy that her friends are safe.
"I am happy you are well," Ontari finishes.
"Hello, Lexa."
And Lexa stares. She stares and she feels her heart slam against her ribs, she feels her breath freeze and her lungs turn to stone and her mind begin to waver, begin to crumble and tear. Her eyes close and she squeezes them tight, she grits her teeth and digs her nails into her palms for a long, long, moment. But she hears Anya's gasp, she hears the intake of breath, she feels the woman tense and she feels the shock that rolls off her.
And if only because Anya reacts, if only because Clarke had looked at her cautiously, had held up a hand in warning, Lexa thinks her eyes not deceiving, not lying, not showing her a falsehood.
Lexa's eyes open cautiously, and she feels her lips slacken and her pulse scream through her veins. Costia stands before her, and Lexa can't help but stare at the scar that tears down her cheek, she can't help but to grimace as it contorts her lip slightly. And she knows she sees the signs of pain that covers Costia's skin, scars, blemishes and stories that speak of pain and anguish.
"It is me," Costia whispers as she smiles slightly, but Lexa can't quite let her voice sink in, can't quite acknowledge what stands before her. Who stands before her.
And it must be a lie, it must be a cruel, twisted, evil thing that Nia plays. Or perhaps Lexa has died, perhaps an assassin slipped a blade between her ribs while she slept, and what she lives now is punishment for the lives she has taken, for the lives she has ordered away. Maybe Clarke's safe return is merely the figment of mind as it tries to reconcile the wrongs, the lack of action she had taken to rescue Costia, to let Azgeda into her Coalition.
And so Lexa turns, she pushes past the Azgeda who still excite and smile and clasp each other in jovial celebration at the return of Wanheda and her daring escape.
Lexa's feet take her back to the tent and she feels her eyes begin to burn from lack of blinking, but she thinks if she closes her eyes, if she lets her eyelids shut that the last image she has of Costia will fade, will torment and laugh at her. Or perhaps it will remain, the only thing to remember her by being the scars and the pain and the hurt and uncertainty that she saw in once happy eyes.
Lexa pushes through her tent's entrance, and her feet take her into the centre of it and she pauses. Her feet shuffle awkwardly as she tries to reconcile what she has seen, what she has heard. But an anger comes roaring into existence, it comes crashing through her mind, and she feels the snarl that rips past her lips, that tears at her throat and so she draws her sword in one ferocious scream, and she feels the anger in her mind as she slices through a chair leg, as she slashes at her tabletop and as she punches fiercely into the pillar that holds the centre of her tent up.
Pain explodes across her knuckles though, and she knows she has damaged her hand, she knows she has weakened herself, has been foolish, has been stupid. She knows herself a fool to let her mind play tricks on her, to tease and torment. To laugh at a memory of what was once a—
"Lexa?" and she spins around to find Clarke standing at her entrance, her eyes taking in the damage, the destruction that Lexa caused in such little time. "It's real," Clarke says, and Lexa doesn't miss the way Clarke stays by the entrance, she doesn't miss the way Clarke doesn't quite meet her eyes, doesn't try to bridge the distance between them.
Lexa blinks, and she knows she feels the tears begin to well, begin to really take hold, to take root and bring a shuddering through her chest. But Clarke smiles once before she ducks out of the tent, and then Costia walks in cautiously, her eyes careful as she takes in the destruction, as she takes in the anger Lexa lets live freely within the fur and leather confines.
"Lexa," she whispers, and Lexa doesn't miss the way Costia pauses in the same place Clarke had once stood.
But still, Lexa takes in the richness of Costia's skin, the life that breathes past her lips, the way her hair frames her face, the curls ever unruly, a single messy braid all that keeps it back and out of her eyes. She gazes at the scar that stretches down her cheek, she looks into the hazel eyes that meet hers, and she takes in the way Costia's fingers shake just slightly despite the fisting of her hands by her side.
Lexa's head begins to shake, and she feels the pain that slips past her lips. And she falls to her knees, her eyes close and she fists her hands against her eyes, she presses hard, she tries to burn away the last image she ever saw of Costia, she tries to scrub the memory of torn flesh, the beheading brutal, slow, caused by a rusted weapon. She tries to tear the image of an eyeless face, of lips that had been torn, of a nose that had been broken beyond recognition, of cuts and bruises and blood and pus that had bled and smeared into her own clothes as she cradled the head to her chest in anguish.
"Costia," she croaks out, and she knows she must seem little more than a broken woman, little more than a shell of who she should be, of who she has been for years. "Costia," and her voice trembles, her mind refuses to accept, refuses to acknowledge.
It can't be. Not after all this time. Not after the days spent eagerly waiting for her return, not after the nights spent realising something had gone wrong, not after the weeks of pain and acceptance, not after the reports from scouts who had said nothing was found. Not after Nia had been accepted into the Coalition. And not after her head had been placed in front of her.
But yet,
"Lexa," and Costia's voice comes out quiet, comes out close, and Lexa feels the memories begin to trickle into existence. And she thinks she feels the ghosting of hands against her cheek, she thinks she even feels her mind play with her, tell her that the presence that kneels before her is real, that the warmth of her skin is real, that the blood that flows through her veins is real.
"You are not real," Lexa whispers, her eyes still held shut, her chest shuddering, her voice cracking. "You are not real," she repeats.
"I am," Costia says quietly, and Lexa hears no hurt, she hears no pain, no anger in her voice. Only acceptance and understanding. "Feel me," Costia whispers as she brushes a thumb against her cheek. "I am real."
And so Lexa looks, and she stares with wide eyes at the face that meets her gaze.
"Costia?" and Lexa's voice comes out quiet, disbelieving, but yet she reaches out with her uninjured hand, her fingers tentative as they brush against the woman's cheek, as they begin to familiarise the curve of her jaw, the line of her nose. "Costia?" Lexa thinks her words come out a question, come out awkward and lame and timid.
But Costia's hand closes around hers and pulls it from her face tenderly before she leans back a space, just enough so that breath is created between them, so that distance is given.
"It is me," she smiles sadly.
"You were dead," Lexa whispers. "I saw, I—" and Lexa looks away as memories come crashing back once more, as the pain and the anger burns in her mind. "Your eyes," and Lexa raises a trembling finger as it brushes against Costia's closed eyes before her fingertips trail down her cheek. "Your nose," and she feathers her finger across Costia's nose before she brings it down to brush against the cut etched into Costia's lip, "this," and Lexa's voice trembles, but as her finger continues to feel the warmth of Costia's flesh, she thinks Costia must let the contact remain, she thinks Costia senses her need for this moment. "They were gone," Lexa whispers. "You were dead."
"I am sorry, Lexa," Costia says quietly.
"How?" Lexa questions though, disbelief still clouding her thoughts.
"Nia is cruel," Costia answers simply. "I tried to escape," and Lexa watches as Costia looks away for a moment. "I tried, but I was caught every time."
Lexa's eyes begin to take in the years of pain etched into Costia's flesh, the scars that cut into her body.
"It is my fault," Lexa whispers as realisation dawns on her. "I should have tried to rescue you. I should have looked," and she feels the regret and anger begin to burn anew. "I should have searched. I shoulder ha—"
"You should not have done anything," Costia says simply. "I do not blame you, Lexa."
"How?"and Lexa shakes her head. "How can you not blame me? How can you forgive me for leaving you to suffer?"
"Because," and Costia takes a breath, she takes a pause as her eyes turn thoughtful for a moment. "I do not blame you because you are you," and she shrugs. "I am proud of you, Lexa," Costia continues, but Lexa shakes her head, she refuses to accept Costia's words. "You accomplished so much," and Costia squeezes her hand for a moment, and she lets their gazes meet before she continues. "I am proud of what you have done."
Lexa takes a moment longer to let Costia's presence sink in, to let the warmth under her finger tips bleed into her mind, she takes the time to replace the image of a bloodied, mutilated, contorted head. And then she nods once.
"You are live," Lexa whispers, and the truth begins to sink in. "You are alive," and Lexa thinks she feels a smile tug at her lips. "You are alive," and she reaches out and grasps Costia in her arms, holds her close and feels the beat of a heart she had thought stilled long ago.
Clarke can't help but to think over what must be happening inside Lexa's tent in this moment. She thinks over the destruction she had seen, she thinks over the noises she had heard before she had entered. And she thinks over the quiet that settles now. She thinks she's never been a jealous person, never even really been someone to worry and pine over another. But perhaps in this moment she feels a regret that she had never quite discussed what had existed between them both, never quiet addressed what feelings had lingered between them both. She thinks that even now Lexa might not know how to react in this moment, and Clarke thinks she couldn't begrudge Lexa, couldn't deny Lexa the time to accept a lost love that now lives.
But as Clarke sighs she knows she feels a slight tremble in her lips, a slight ache in her heart at what she thinks may come to an end before it even really had a chance to settle.
Clarke looks up at the sound of approaching feet though, and she sees Ontari walking up to her carefully, her eyes glancing from the tent and then back to her as she stands awkwardly outside.
"I spoke to Echo," Ontari begins awkwardly.
"Yeah?" Clarke asks.
"I spoke to Echo about her," Ontari stresses with a careful tilting of her head towards Lexa's tent.
"Oh," and Clarke looks away for a moment.
"Do you wish to talk?" Ontari asks carefully, her eyes slightly guarded as she tries to peer through the leathers and furs that hide whatever happens inside Lexa's tent.
"Maybe later," Clarke answers as she worries her lip. "It's complicated," she shrugs.
"It is," and Ontari nods slightly. "Come, Clarke," and she reaches forward and grasps Clarke's hand, but she gasps loudly as she sees Clarke's missing nails, the nail beds still raw and bloodied, though the cold, Clarke has found, helps with the pain. "Clarke," Ontari hisses as she stares at her fingers.
"It's ok," Clarke says quickly. "They don't hurt so much at the moment," and she winces as Ontari squeezes more harshly as she pulls her hand up to her face to inspect the wounds. "I promise they're ok," and she sees Ontari eye them for a long moment.
But Clarke thinks she senses a shifting of Ontari's emotions, and as she watches the woman she knows she feels a darkening of her mood, and a hardening of her eyes.
"Hey," and she nudges Ontari's shoulder.
"Sorry," Ontari mutters as her eyes soften slightly. "I do not like it," she says simply. "Come," and she tugs on Clarke's wrist tentatively as she begins to walk towards the camp fire.
And so Clarke lets herself be pulled from Lexa's tent, but perhaps, if only for the times she has spent with Lexa, the nights spent together on the side of the Mountain, the moments of quiet, and even the moments where she wishes Lexa wasn't so stubborn, so evasive and unwilling to open up, she glances over her shoulder and lets her gaze linger on the tent.
The silence stretches out between them for a while, and as Lexa lets her eyes relearn Costia's face she feels the slight settling of her heart, the slight easing of the tension that had built in her mind.
"You have broken things," Costia says quietly as she glances around the tent, and Lexa feels herself wince as she, too, takes in the damage, the scattered plates and broken chair leg and hacked table top.
"Yes," she says simply.
Costia looks around herself for a moment then, and Lexa watches as thoughts sift and linger and settle within the other woman's mind.
"I know of you and Clarke," Costia begins after a pause, her eyes careful as she meets Lexa's gaze.
And perhaps Lexa was a fool to think this conversation could be avoided, perhaps she was naive to think the awkwardness and the frustration could be pushed aside.
And so Lexa's mouth opens to reply, to say something, to try to explain how long she had waited, how long she had spent alone, had spent shielding herself from weakness. But Costia shakes her head, smiles at her for a moment and squeezes her hand.
"It is ok," she says, and Lexa watches as Costia takes in a steadying breath. "I am happy for you," she finishes.
"No one could replace you, Co—"
But Costia shakes her head.
"No," and Costia's eyes harden slightly. "I will not allow you to throw Clarke aside," and Costia's voice hardens too, but only slightly, only enough that Lexa feels the words as admonishment and as careful warning.
"Bu—"
"No, Lexa," and Costia shakes her head more forcefully. "You care for her," and Costia softens her gaze. "I saw it in the way you looked at her when we returned," and Lexa watches as Costia's gaze moves across her face. "And I know Clarke cares for you, too. She would not have let me in here, she would not have so selflessly stepped aside if she did not," and Costia shakes her head once more. "You did not break the Coalition because of me. And I will not allow you to break Clarke's heart because of me, either."
But as Costia's words reach her ears, Lexa feels herself cracking once more, she feels the guilt, the anger and the fury that she thinks had always lingered in the back of her mind.
"Why do you not hate me?" Lexa whispers, and she knows her eyes begin to tear up, begin to wet and break. "Why do you not resent my actions?"
"Because I know you, Lexa," and Costia smiles, and the motion comes watery, too, it comes sadly and tiredly.
Lexa meets Costia's gaze, and as the moment stretches, she thinks words will have to be shared, she knows wrongs will have to be righted, and reassurances will have to be made. But perhaps for now she allows herself to be weak. To be selfish.
"Ok," Lexa says, and she nods once, and she lets her hand fall from Costia's careful grasp.
"Did you know?" Roan hisses, his eyes staring at Silence who kneels before him.
"Yes, Prince Roan," Silence says, and Roan's gaze moves to Echo who stands close by, her hand grasping a knife as she eyes Silence.
"And you did not see fit to inform me that Costia still lived?" Roan continues, his voice gruff and coarse.
"I did not have the opportunity to speak to you since the fall of the Mountain," Silence says.
"You did not even try?" Roan snarls as he rises from his chair and comes to stand before Silence.
"I did not," Silence says simply.
"Explain," and Roan stares at the man.
"I did not know if Costia had been turned, Prince Roan," Silence says. "If she had been then would it not be better for me to have killed her without word of her existence escaping? Of influencing how things were already progressing?" and Silence raises his head as he meets Roan's icy stare.
"I do not like it either, Prince Roan," Echo says. "But it makes sense," and Echo looks away as whatever memories that linger in her mind begin to surface. "It would have been bad if the Commander had known of her existence only for Silence to kill her."
Roan takes in a deep breath then, and he thinks over what both assassins say.
"If you keep things from me again, Silence, I will have you punished," he says as he meets the assassin's gaze. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Prince Roan," Silence says as he bows his head once more.
"You may leave," Roan finishes with a jerking of his chin towards his tent's exit.
Echo waits until Silence slips from the tent before her hand falls from the hilt of her knife.
"You do not trust him?" she asks.
"Silence is no fool," Roan sighs. "He wishes the best for Azgeda, so for now he will abide by my law. But in the months to come he may become a problem," and Roan shrugs as he takes a seat back in his chair.
"I can kill him," Echo says simply.
"Not yet," and Roan smirks slightly. "Perhaps never. He has served Azgeda loyally for years. He will continue to do so as long as he thinks Azgeda is not being drawn into a dire situation."
Echo takes a moment to think over his words before she relaxes somewhat, and Roan watches as she sighs before leaning against the edge of the table, a hand brushing over her hair for a moment.
"The Commander will be angry," Echo begins.
"She will," Roan answers.
"She will demand answer," Echo continues.
"She will," he repeats.
"You are not worried?" Echo asks, an eyebrow raising slightly.
"No," Roan says, his thoughts already turning to the future. "We had no knowledge of Costia's existence. We have nothing to fear."
"But if the Commander does not believe us?"
"She will," and he laughs quietly as Echo merely rolls her eyes.
Echo's head turns at the sounds of approaching feet though, and so she pushes off from the table and ducks out of the tent. Roan hears Jenma's voice carry over the wind, and he thinks he even hears a ripple go through the small camp before Echo pokes her head back into the tent.
"Hotun has returned," Echo begins. "He has a prisoner."
"Bring them," Roan says.
And so Echo nods once before retreating back outside, and Roan waits. It only takes Echo a short amount of time before she pushes into the tent once more, Hotun following close behind her as Jenma and Bronat push a hooded figure in behind them.
"Thank you," Roan says as he inclines his head to Jenma and Bronat who both nod once before ducking back outside. "Hotun," he finishes with a nod of his head at the warrior who had volunteered to help free Clarke.
"Prince Roan," the man says, and Roan takes a moment to take in his dishevelled furs, the sweat that clings to his body despite the cold, and the blood that smears his cheek.
"Kenma?" Roan asks.
"He did not arrive at the rendezvous," Hotun says as his eyes turn mournful for a moment.
Roan curses quietly before he breathes in for a moment, the cool air settling his raising temper.
"Thank you, Hotun," Roan begins once his thoughts ease. "You may leave."
And Hotun bows once before he eyes the prisoner cautiously before ducking back out of the tent.
And so Roan's eyes fall to the prisoner, and as he takes in the stark white fur that lines the man's collar, the scar that peeks up his neck and the blood that dirties his shoulder, Roan thinks he feels his lips pull up slightly, and he knows Echo smirks just a bit.
"It is a risk," Roan begins as he continues to eye the hooded man, "to be so brazen in your approach," and Roan sees the man shrug exaggeratedly, and he hears a muffled grunt of assertion. "Remove his hood," Roan says to Echo.
And so Echo steps forward and pulls the hood from the man's face.
"Teril," Roan says evenly, his eyes quickly taking in a fresh cut on his cheek.
"Prince Roan," Teril answers as he glances over his shoulder to Echo.
"Do you know what happened to Kenma?" Roan begins.
"I do not," Teril says. "He went east and warriors chased him, I was with those that chased Hotun."
"And what did Hotun say when you surrendered?"
"He gave me this," and Teril turns his face to show the cut down his cheek.
"They do not suspect?" Roan says.
"I do not believe so," Teril shrugs awkwardly with his uninjured shoulder.
"And my mother?" Roan asks.
"She has returned to the capital," and Teril rolls his shoulders to lessen the tightness in them, his arms bound behind his back.
"Why were you left behind at the village?" Roan questions.
"I volunteered," Teril answered.
"She does does not suspect?" Roan presses though, his thoughts turning to what his mother may be planning in the Azgeda capital.
"I made it seem as though the Northern Azgeda who disappeared, who she suspected of siding with you, had infuriated me," Teril answers. "I told her that I wanted to atone for their sins by getting information from Wanheda personally."
"You were the one to torture her?" Roan asks, an eyebrow raising.
"I ensured she was not conscious for most of it," Teril says stiffly.
"You are lucky she is not aware of your presence then," Roan says simply. "I would not be surprised if she called for your head."
"It was my duty," Teril answers.
Roan takes a moment to think over what Teril says, and he sees Echo step forward with a flask before lifting it to Teril's lips.
"Thank you," Teril says once she pulls the flask away.
"You are welcome," Echo replies.
"Things will move quickly now," Roan says as Echo takes a step back, and he sees Teril nod in understanding.
"I understand the risks."
"We may not be able to rescue you if things go wrong," Roan counters, but he sees Teril shrug once more.
"It is my duty, Prince Roan."
"Very well," and Roan gestures to Echo who takes a step forward. "Echo will need to make you look like a prisoner that escaped," and Roan feels the remorse that colours his tone.
"I understand," Teril says simply. "We all have a part to play."
"We will leave you a horse once we break camp," Roan says as he rises and begins heading to the exit. "Continue to feed my mother any information that Echo sends you," he finishes as he begins pulling back the tent flap.
"Prince Roan," Teril calls out quietly, and Roan pauses and turns to face the wounded guard who looks over his shoulder at him. "If I am unable to do so, please tell Wanheda that I am sorry for causing her pain."
"I will tell her if it comes to it," Roan says as he meets the man's eyes for a long moment.