It's a steady, frantic pace that her horse moves, and the world flashes past in blurs of greens and browns that bleed into each other, that sway in the wind and stream past her, ribbons of frantic noise. And her breaths come pained, they come desperate and they come hopeless. And she curses the Mountain, she curses whoever lives in it, whoever steals her people, whoever kills them and turns them into reapers. And she screams out her frustration at those from the sky that had joined them, that seem content to stand by and to let life be brutalised for their own survival.
Her eyes turn upwards, the darkening sky barely breaking through the canopy of branches and leaves that block out the setting sun. And she thinks she spies the faint wisps of clouds that linger, that dance lazily through the sky without a care or a thought to what must soon be coming.
And it isn't until her horse breathes raggedly under her that she realises that she has left the other Azgeda and Trikru at Arkadia, that she hasn't even told them of what Wells had warned. But she continues to ride, she continues to push the horse forward all in the hopes of warning Ton DC, of warning the warriors that linger in destruction's path.
And she knows she is almost there when the sun lowers over the horizon, when the light bleeds into the sky in one last defiant flash of colour. And she knows, and she hopes that she won't be too late. And perhaps she thinks she has time, if only because the land around her still breathes listlessly.
She thinks she hears the nearing of noises, the clanging of people moving and of life still living. But she doesn't slow and she doesn't pause and she doesn't stop. She thinks she spies the eyes of a Trikru scout in the trees, or maybe she feels the eyes watch her carefully. Or maybe she imagines it the eyes of the Mountain, lingering, waiting for the destruction that will soon settle around her.
And she nears the war camp. She thinks she sees the fires and the people and the warriors that linger. And she comes to the camp's edge.
"Where's the Commander?" she calls out to the first scout she finds, the woman's soft yellow clothing a gentle colour in the waning light.
"Ton DC," the woman replies with a shrug.
And so Clarke curses her luck, curses her arrival and she turns her horse to the left as she urges it forward.
The trees begin to group together just a moment too close, too crowded and so she curses her horse as she leaps from the saddle, and a wince finds its way across her lips for just a moment as her feet hit the ground and so she rolls with the fall before she rises, her feet already taking her forward, already pushing her further.
She breaks through the trees then, Trikru guards already eyeing her, their hands on their weapons.
"Where's the Commander?" she gasps out, her hands coming to rest against her knees as her chest heaves.
And she is pointed in the direction, their eyes following her as she once more starts her tired pace. And it isn't long until she spots Gustus outside a building, his gaze ever constant as he eyes those that pass and she sees his head turn quickly at her approach.
"I need to see the Commander," and she goes to push past him, goes to barge her way through but his hand comes out, it grabs her around the shoulder and hurls her back.
"Step. Back," he says, his eyes narrowing as his free hand comes to rest against his knife.
And so Clarke growls, her frustrations beginning to boil over.
"Commander! I know you're in there, I need to see you," she calls out through the door.
And so she glares up Gustus in anger.
"It's urgent," Clarke says again.
And it's only a moment but it feels an age, and at every moment she thinks she feels the approaching missile that must be coming, that must be nearing the village.
"Enter, Clarke."
And so she pushes past Gustus, and she rushes into the building. And she takes it in for only a moment, and she sees candles burning against the walls, rolls and parchments in shelves, and a large table sitting in the centre. And her eyes fall upon Lexa who looks up at her entrance from across the table.
"There's a missile coming. We need to tell everyone to get out. Now," and it comes rushed and breathless.
And Lexa eyes her for only a second. For only long enough that the words reach her ears.
"No," and Lexa's eyes harden, her eyes turn to the table just once.
"What do you mean no, Lexa?" and the words leave Clarke surprised and they give her pause.
"If we warn anyone, if we evacuate Ton DC or the war camp then the Mountain will know we have someone inside," she says as she begins moving away, as her fingers grasp around a cloth that rests across the back of a chair.
"What's the point of having an inside man if we can't act on what he tells us?" Clarke gapes at her, disbelief colouring her tone.
"Is the acid fog disabled? Is the map of the Mountain in our possession?" Lexa challenges, her chin rising in defiance as she steps into a ray of light.
And Clarke looks away for just a moment, the truth of Lexa's words sinking in slowly, cruelly.
"Then our inside man's job is not done," Lexa continues. "Without him we can't win this war," and she holds Clarke's gaze, her eyes hardening.
"So what are you saying? We just do nothing?" and as the words leave her mouth, as they cross the distance between them, perhaps Clarke already knows the answer, perhaps she already feels the actions she will allow to take place. "Let them bomb us?"
"It will be a blow. But our army will be safe inside the woods," Lexa counters, her eyes turning back to the table briefly in thought. "It will inspire them."
And Clarke hates the way her heart beats and the way her mind screams out at her in this moment.
"And what about us?" Clarke asks. But maybe she already knows.
"We slip away. Right now," and Lexa looks down at the cloth in her hands for only a short moment. "Put this on."
And so Clarke takes the fabric and she lets her mind hate her actions and she lets the fabric burn against her skin. And so she meets Lexa's gaze once more.
"This is wrong," and the words come out quiet, they come out defeated.
"It is also our only choice," and Lexa steps closer, close enough that Clarke feels the air sway against her, close enough for Lexa's whispered words to brush against her cheek. "And you know it," Lexa finishes, her hands pulling her own loose fabric over her head.
And then she turns.
It's quiet and It's a cold chill that runs through her body, the cloak she holds around herself dark and warm to the cool of the night's air. And she follows Lexa through the trees as she leads them further and further from Ton Dc. And she isn't sure how long it's been. She isn't sure how long they have. But she knows it must be soon, must be any moment.
And she hears it faintly at first. Perhaps it sounds like thunder that rolls across the land, that rocks through the trees. But she thinks it nears, she thinks it grows louder, stronger and more determined as the seconds tick by.
And she sees it.
It's a streak of brilliant light through the night's sky that illuminates a path, a smoking trail billowing out behind it. And it's loud, it's certain and sure and it's deafening. And she thinks she hears Lexa gasp just slightly as the missile flies overhead. And she knows she stares horrified as the missile slips over the trees, as it angles down and then there's only a moment's silence when Ton DC lights up, when there's a fireball of reds that explode out an angry scream, and she stares as oranges and yellows paint the sky an ugly bleeding mess. And then the sound hits her. And it's suffocating and deafening and it shakes her bones and rattles her mind.
And she knows.
The explosion rips through the air, debris is thrown, carried by a wave of air that crushes against her chest and that throws Clarke back, that lifts her off her feet and smashes her into the ground.
And she gasps and chokes and coughs as her lungs wheeze painfully for long moments.
And it takes her a moment, her ears still ringing, her eyes tearing up from the burn of smoke that begins to billow up into the night's sky, but she feels hands grip her shoulders, she feels a presence loom over her and she thinks she hears the muffled words of someone shouting her name through the ringing in her ears.
She blinks for a long moment, her eyes slowly focusing on the person in front of her.
And she sees Lexa crouching low in the forest, her fingers gripping her shoulders tightly.
"Clarke," Lexa says. "Clarke," she repeats, "Clarke, you need to listen to me. We have to move. We have to stay hidden."
"Wh—" and she brings a hand to her cheek and she is sure it begins bleeding anew. "We— I. We need to go back," she stammers out. "The danger's over," and she looks around herself. "I need to help the injured," she begins and she thinks she hears the sounds of voices, screaming and crying and shouting out into the night as her ears clear slowly. "We need to go back," she repeats.
"No, Clarke," and Lexa grips her shoulders again, shakes her roughly. "We must remain hidden. That missile was aimed at killing the important people there, if we are seen, if the Mountain knows either one of us still lives they will use another missile. They will bomb us again," and Lexa's eyes turn pleading, they turn just a moment desperate in the light of a raging fire.
"We can not go back, Clarke," Lexa says. "Not yet."
They walk for an age, long enough that her mind ceases its frantic turmoil, long enough that her eyes burn from sleep and the smoke that still lingers in the air even this far from Ton DC. But Lexa stops in her walking, she pauses and looks around her for just a moment before she takes a seat on the ground, the green of the moss coating the fallen tree trunks and branches that litter the small clearing they find themselves in.
"What are you doing?" Clarke asks as her eyes follow Lexa's movements.
"We must remain in the forest until daybreak, Clarke," she says. "We will return in time. But for now we must let the Mountain think we have died."
"So what? We're just going to camp here for the night?"
"Yes," Lexa replies.
They build a fire quickly, and despite the events Clarke can't help but to enjoy the warmth the open flame brings her and so she raises her hands, lets the heat seep into her fingers and warm her tired body.
And she thinks over what has happened. She thinks over the people who have surely died, who must now still be suffering, who must be trapped under rubble, crushed to death by the buildings that have collapsed on them.
And she thinks of Azgeda. She thinks of any of her people who may have been too close to Ton DC, who may have been in the healer's building. Who may have died.
And so her eyes turn up and she looks across the flame to Lexa, and her eyes trace the way the fire dances against her skin, the way her hair glows dimly in the dark of the night and the way the green of her eyes linger and swim with the moss that surrounds them.
"It was our only choice," Lexa say, her eyes seeing the emotions that must live freely across Clarke's face. "You know it, Clarke."
And Clarke looks away, and she knows a glare lingers across her face when Lexa continues her words.
"You could have warned everyone out there, but you didn't. You said nothing. Not even to your own people," she finishes, her eyes hard in the fire light. "This is war, Clarke. People die," and Lexa lets the words sink in, she lets them linger and she lets them find a hold within Clarke's mind. "You showed true strength today, Clarke," she says it softly, gently. "Don't let your emotions stop you now," and Clarke thinks she hears just a hint of supplication in her tone.
But she knows she hates it. She knows she hates that maybe, even just for a moment, she can understand what Lexa is saying.
And as the words wind their way through her mind, as she thinks them over and as she considers what Lexa says, Clarke can't help but to think them true. If only because they are at war. If only because she can understand Lexa's reasoning. But maybe she's a fool. Maybe she thinks herself a fool to think she could survive this war without losing herself.
"Sleep, Clarke," Lexa finishes, her eyes closing slowly as she lets her own mind wander.
Sleep clings to her fitfully, she is sure she turns and shifts as her mind wanders and her body aches. But she wakes with a start, and she sits up, her eyes coming to scan around her for a moment.
"You're safe," and she turns to find Lexa eyeing her carefully before she peers out around them, the dark of a sunless sky giving giving way to the rising of a fresh morning.
And so Clarke nods just once, a slow thing, a confused thing as their eyes meet across the burning embers of the dying flame.
But Clarke's head turns again at the sound that must have woken her.
And she hears the crack that rolls off the trees. And she knows it to be a gunshot.
"Sniper," she whispers as the realisation dawns on her that the Mountain still terrorises those at Ton DC. "We have to stop him."
She follows the sounds of the gunfire, the occasional shot echoing out around them. And she pauses at the edge of a clearing that rises up into a rolling hill before her. And she thinks she even sees movement ahead as the sniper takes another shot down into the ruins of Ton DC. She feels Lexa crouch down next to her, and so she eyes her carefully.
"We do this my way," Clarke whispers, a challenge in her eyes and so Lexa merely nods once, her hand coming to rest against her own knife.
And so they creep forward, it's a low crouch that carries them through the tall vegetation. Another loud shot echoes around them and Clarke can't help but to wince as her ears ring from the gunshot.
And she pauses, she waits until another shot echoes around them and then she sneaks forward, the furs on her boots muffling the steps she makes and she spares Lexa only a second's glance over her shoulder before she moves forward. She hears another shot ring out and she sees the dirt kick up from where the sniper lies and so she pauses, lets her eyes find what she thinks must be the Mountain Man and then she takes a deep breath.
And she waits. She waits until one last shot rings out, and she sees his fingers move as he cycles the bolt.
And then she lunges. And it's a quick, powerful lunge, her legs driving her forward. But her enemy hears the movements, hears her approach and so the barrel of the rifle swings in a long arc and just before it levels out at Clarke's chest she collides with him. She feels the impact of it crashing against her ribs before she rolls, her elbow coming up and smashing against his face. And then she feels his rifle smash into her knee, the pain splintering down her leg enough for him to drive a hand out and bring it against her throat painfully and so she topples back with a choked wretched gasp, far enough that he can once more bring the rifle to point at her face. And she sees the sneer on the man's lips.
But Lexa rushes forward then, a snarl coming from her as her knife slashes out, as it catches him across the arm, his shot passing Clarke's face by a mere breath, the bullet zipping past her, and she blinks painfully, the flash of the shot blinding her for a long moment. But she hears Lexa engage with the man, she hears his cursed cry of pain and she hears the scrape of metal against metal and so she struggles to her feet, a hand coming to rub against her eyes painfully for just a moment.
And she turns to Lexa, sees the man kick out, his foot colliding with Lexa's thigh painfully, but she grimaces just once, her body already moving with the force of the blow before she spins, her heel coming out with a sharp snap as it collides with the man's chin and it connects. It crashes against his face and he grunts out painfully before Lexa pounces, her knee driving into his sternum, a whoosh of air forced from his lungs all Clarke hears before Lexa drives her fist into his nose, a sickening crunch echoing out in the space around them before the man topples back, Lexa coming to straddle his torso with her knife poised at his throat.
"How do you breathe the air, Mountain Man?" Lexa hisses into his face, her knife digging into the flesh of his neck.
But he grimaces just briefly, the blood from his nose spilling over his lips.
"Answer me," she snarls once more.
But Clarke sees a smile form across his lips, his eyes only briefly turning to Clarke's before he holds Lexa's gaze once more.
"Answer me and I will grant you a painless death," Lexa continues, her tone dripping into an icy contempt.
But he only sneers, his lips lifting into a bloodied smirk before he spits out the blood in his mouth, some of it flecking across Lexa's cheek.
"Carl Emerson," he hisses, "Mount Weather Security Detail."
And so Lexa growls out once more before she brings her blade across his throat and all Clarke hears is the pained gurgle of blood that spills over the slit Lexa cleaves, his muscles twitching for a long moment as life bleeds from his body.
"We could have questioned him," Clarke hisses as she struggles to her feet, a hand coming to tender the sore flesh of her throat.
"He would not have answered, Clarke," Lexa shrugs, her knife wiping across the man's clothes before she returns it to her sheath.
"You don't know that," Clarke replies, her eyes falling to the lifeless Mountain Man.
"But I do."
And so Clarke sighs angrily, a cough passing her lips as she turns back to face down the hill, the smouldering remains of Ton DC and the smoke and fires that still burn easy for her to see. Lexa comes to stand by Clarke's side then, her eyes also turning to Ton DC and so Clarke eyes her carefully, and she sees Lexa's gaze soften, she thinks she even sees a regret, or at least an emotion more than cool detachment live for a short moment in the Commander's eyes.
"We should return, Clarke," Lexa says, her eyes turning to meet her gaze for a moment before they flit over her face, glancing down to her throat before lingering in the space between her bruised neck and her eyes.
The walk back to Ton DC is tense, her eyes always moving, always constant in search of danger. But they near Ton DC and they hear the commotion of people yelling, of pained whimpers and frantic pleas for help and so, as they break through the foliage and the trees Clarke can't help but feel a cruel tugging in the back of her mind and a heaviness in the pit of her stomach as she sees what Ton DC has become.
Buildings that once existed lie flattened, their walls rubble, houses now ruins of broken, splintered wood. And she sees villagers and warriors alike moving through the rubble, dust coating their bodies, many bleeding from wounds. She sees a woman helping carry a man, his arm a broken, bloodied mess, and she sees others carrying wounded on stretchers, their wounds too severe for them to walk on their own.
And so she spares Lexa one last glance, her mind an angry, bitter thing as their eyes meet.
"Is this what you wanted?" Clarke asks. But maybe she isn't asking Lexa, and maybe she doesn't need an answer.
And so she turns, Lexa's answer fading away into the chaos that Clarke now finds herself in. And so she follows the trail of wounded.
And maybe she can lessen their suffering.
Because she is a healer.
Because she is responsible.
A number of warriors come from the war camp come to Ton DC to help in rescuing those still trapped by the rubble, many others spreading out into the surrounding forest in case of reaper attack and so Clarke loses herself to the work in the healer's building. She finds her day spent bloodied and surrounded by pain and suffering but as she works, as she continues to suture, bandage, set arms and splint broken bones she can't help but avoid their eyes, can't help but to avert her gaze and to let her eyes lose themselves in the work she does.
The other Trikru and Skaikru from Arkadia arrive sometime at mid day and so Clarke smiles for a moment as Entani kneels down besides her, the other healer's own fingers taking over the motions of bandaging, whispered words for Clarke to take a break reaching her ears.
And so she rises with a quiet word of thanks before she passes the many rows of beds, all occupied by wounded villagers and warriors, the stench of death and blood seeping into her nose and resting in her furs.
But she exits into a cloudless, blue afternoon, the sun hanging dutifully in the sky and Torvun resting against the side of the entrance, a pile of bandages at his feet that he folds.
"Where's Ontari?" Clarke asks as their eyes meet.
"She is helping find those still trapped," Torvun replies with a quiet sigh.
And so Clarke begins the slow walk back to the most destroyed area of Ton DC, her feet tired and her mind reeling.
It's late, the sun having already set by the time she finds herself back in the war camp, and so her feet take her through the ranks of Azgeda still milling about, her thoughts elsewhere, her eyes perhaps just a moment more dazed, more anguished that earlier. But she feels the guilt that lingers within her mind. And she feels the burn of Lexa's eyes as they stare at her, as they look at her and she feels the words Lexa had said. But most of all, she thinks the thing that ruins her the most, through all this suffering is that she is responsible.
And so she kicks forcefully at a stick that lies in her path, just a whispered apology falling from her lips as it skitters into the path of a warrior resting against a supply chest.
She comes to her tent then, Torvun her ever present shadow coming to sit by the entrance as she ducks through.
She finds Ontari sitting in the tent, Entani already packing another supply bag.
"Rest, Clarke," Entani says as she catches her gaze. "I will continue to work but you look tired," she finishes.
And so Clarke nods just once as she pulls the furs from her shoulders and she loosens the leathers around her collar.
"Need a hand with that?" Clarke asks then as she turns to find Ontari struggling to remove her own top, her shoulder still a painful nuisance.
And Ontari looks up, light from a candle that burns on the table enough to glow against her cheek for a moment as it flickers quietly. And so she shrugs once in answer before wincing painfully.
"You shouldn't have been using it today," Clarke says as she moves to sit besides Ontari on the bed, her fingers coming to pull away the furs around the woman's shoulders.
"I wished to help" Ontari replies softly and Clarke smiles at that. But her fingers still in their motions as her mind turns back to her involvement.
"Even help the Trikru?" Clarke tries to joke, but maybe her words come out tainted, tinged with a slight sickening of thought.
"It was not your fault, Clarke," Ontari says as she faces her. "The Skaikru woman said that a missile was coming and that you came as fast as you could," Ontari continues. "You tried to warn them. It is not your fault you could not make it in time," she finishes quietly.
And it hurts. The words bleed into her mind and they crash against her thoughts. And so she closes her eyes and she holds them tight for a long moment.
"I'm still responsible though, Ontari," Clarke whispers out. But maybe what anguishes her most, more than being responsible for the deaths that now weigh upon her shoulders, is that she understands why Lexa made the decision—why they made the decision.
And Lexa's words echo in her mind softly. They ring out and they taunt her from afar.
We all must make sacrifices in order to survive.
And maybe her words are true.
"Turn around," she says then, her mind shaking Lexa's words away forcefully.
And so Ontari turns, her back coming to face Clarke where they sit on the bed.
"This might hurt a bit," Clarke whispers as her fingers go to Ontari's collar before she begins peeling it down to expose her shoulder.
Her fingers move carefully as she traces the bandage for a moment as she searches for the knot that is tucked away. And so she lets her fingers ghost over the edge as she pulls gently, the knot unravelling in a slow, careful unfurling.
"Does it hurt?" she asks, her eyes peering at Ontari's shoulder, the swelling just a little less than days prior, the bruising still lingering.
"Not much," Ontari answers.
They fall into a quiet silence then, Clarke's fingers remain steady as she re-bandages Ontari's shoulder. And she lets her fingers slow, lets the warmth of the tent comfort her tired mind and she lets her eyes fall to the braids that spread messily through Ontari's hair.
And it's only a quiet breath she takes before she reaches up, her fingers moving through Ontari's hair for a moment before she begins unbraiding. And so she lets a smile linger across her lips as Ontari sighs, as she relaxes and as she settles for the long moment that it will take for her braids to be mended.
And maybe it's tentative at first, maybe it's just a small uncertainty that lingers. Maybe it's a small moment of calm, or a stronger moment of thought that lingers, but as Clarke brushes Ontari's hair over a shoulder, as she traces the scars that litter her body, small ones that glow quietly in the candle light, she can't help but to lean forward, can't help but to rest her head against Ontari's shoulder.
And maybe she isn't quite sure what she does in this moment.
"Is this alright?" she asks, her heart beating gently in her chest.
And Ontari hums a response, and it's careful, it's sure, and maybe it's a moment's hesitation.
And so Clarke lets her breath ghost against Ontari's neck as she leans closer.
"Is this ok?" she whispers into Ontari's ear and she feels Ontari nod for a moment, and it's just a small thing, just a quiet thing that lingers in the space around them.
And so Clarke lets her lips brush against Ontari's neck.
"Is this ok?" she whispers again, and she smiles for a moment as Ontari lets a small breath escape her.
And so Clarke lets her lips linger, and she presses a kiss to Ontari's neck. And she whispers Ontari's name once more as her lips wander, as they rise slowly, lazily until they brush against the shell of her ear.
"Tell me what you want," she whispers it to Ontari, her legs coming to rest on either side of her as she brushes a hand against the side of Ontari's neck.
And she thinks she feels Ontari smile for a moment, she thinks she feels her relax into her for a while. And then Ontari turns carefully, her arm held to her chest for a moment before she brings it away with a wince, her shoulder still a moment too raw. But as her arm settles by her side her top falls to her waist, her chest binding all she wears underneath.
And Ontari leans forward, a hand coming to card through Clarke's own hair before she presses herself to her, rests their foreheads together and places a delicate kiss to her cheek. And Ontari lets her lips linger, she lets them brush against Clarke's scars before she kisses up along the length of them. Her lips begin brushing against the side of her face before coming to rest against her forehead. And it's a tender motion, a careful motion. Something that might seem out of place, might seem strange, perverted or abstracted in some odd, ritualised manner. But Clarke thinks it quiet and careful. And so she smiles as Ontari's lips move along the scar etched against her forehead before moving to her other cheek, and Clarke leans into it as Ontari's lips press against the two scars that rest there.
And then Ontari smiles just once more as her lips meet Clarke's. And it's a soft push from Ontari, a careful pressure, something that lingers and hesitates for a long moment that quiets for too short a time.
But then Ontari breaks the quiet silence that sits around them.
"Clarke," and Ontari whispers her name, her uninjured arm coming to rest against the beating of Clarke's chest. "We can not, Clarke," Ontari whispers once more, her eyes opening to gaze steadily into Clarke's own.
But Clarke holds her gaze. And maybe it's her anger at the day's event. Maybe it's her guilt that still lingers in the back of her mind. Maybe it's the thrill of Ontari's body pressed against hers and the rise of her bosom and the beat Clarke can feel in Ontari's own chest.
And so she smiles a small thing.
"Just for tonight," and it comes out quiet, but it carries in the space between them. "Tomorrow we can go back to being just Azgeda. To not being distracted," and it comes out a promise.
Ontari eyes her carefully, and it's a small moment that she pauses, an uncertainty living within her gaze. But she smiles, and it's small, it's gentle and it dances in the softening of the candle light.
"Ok."
And so Clarke lets a smile live freely across her face as Ontari brings their lips together once more, and Clarke finds a whimper escaping her lips as Ontari's hand gentles downwards, as it wanders and as it settles within her.
Her feet take her forward, the moon lingering lonesome in the night's sky, and her eyes trace a barely there wisp of a cloud dancing with the breeze as it wanders across the blackness that rests over the war camp.
She feels Torvun quietly pad his way besides her, the torches that wind up the hill giving light to where her feet take her. And she eyes the few Trikru that still linger, she eyes those that meet her gaze, that hold it, and within some she thinks she sees something else. And maybe it takes her a moment to recognise the now quiet awe that sits upon their faces. And maybe she can't quite place the feeling that lingers within her mind.
But maybe they stare, maybe their eyes linger because she wears the white of Azgeda war paint, maybe it is because the furs she wears shine brightly in the light of the flames that flicker and flow around her.
And so she comes to a stop before Lexa's war tent, Gustus standing guard outside.
"I want to see the Commander," she says, her eyes meeting his, and she sees them move from her to Torvun before settling back on her with a guarded narrowing.
"Wait here," he says before ducking inside.
And it only takes a moment, but in the time that she stands by the entrance she thinks of what she is about to do, she thinks of the things she is about to say. And maybe she'll regret them, maybe she'll wish she never even thought of this idea. But just for tonight she feels a little less like being a pawn.
Gustus ducks out the tent then, his eyes shifting to Torvun briefly.
"You may enter, Clarke Kom Azgeda. Torvun must remain," and so Clarke nods her acceptance before she ducks through the entrance.
She finds Lexa standing by her throne, her clothes a softer thing that clings to her just a little less. The heavier leathers gone, replaced by gentler cloth and lighter leathers that breathe more easily in the night's air.
"You say you are different than Nia," Clarke begins. "You say you care about those under your command," and she pauses to let the words reach Lexa.
"What I've seen these last few days?" Clarke continues and she sees Lexa's eyes narrow. "We do things my way now," and she pauses once more, lets the words settle within Lexa's mind. "I will tell Nia that you knew about the missile."
And she sees Lexa's fingers twitch to the knife by her thigh and she sees Lexa's eye flash to the stark white of the paint that clings to her face.
"Unless?" Lexa questions.
"Unless you give me Prince Roan."