His steps echo through the halls, the concrete beneath his feet a cool blanket that settles around him and so he meets the eyes of a man who walks past, a smile shared between them before he continues forward.
It doesn't take him long, just a short walk down a hall, two flights of stairs and then he turns down a corridor, a few others he passes nodding in greeting.
He enters the lift then and smiles to the man he finds, his finger pressing against a button as the doors slide shut.
"Did you hear about Emerson?" the other man asks then, his eyes just a bit mournful in the light.
"Yeah," he says, a small sadness colouring his tone, and despite Emerson's actions he thinks the sadness just a bit truthful, if only because Emerson's son has lost a father.
He exits the lift as the doors slide open, a quiet goodbye sent to the other man before he makes his way down the corridor. He comes to the doors then and he lets his fingers brush against the small lump in his pocket, a careful pat to reassure his frantic mind before his knuckles knock against the door.
And it opens quickly, and he meets the quiet smile he sees with his own before stepping inside, just one last look behind himself.
"Took your time," the person says then, the door locking behind him quietly.
"I had to be careful," he shrugs before handing over a small computer ship. "You think you can send it?" he asks.
"Yeah, Wells," comes the shrug. "We don't really have a choice," and he trails off in thought.
And so Wells reaches out, squeezes the boy's shoulder, a reassuring smile across his lips as their eyes meet.
"Thanks, Monty."
It's a long pause as Lexa holds her gaze, as her demand is thought through, and as her words are pondered. And Clarke is sure Lexa considers her options. And maybe Clarke isn't so sure she made the right choice, maybe she made a mistake, maybe she made an error in judgement. But perhaps, as Lexa's fingers still in their motions to reach her knife, as Lexa steps from her throne and as she crosses the space between them, she thinks she doesn't care for the consequences. Not now. Not when being a pawn to a game played by others is all she has been for the last two years.
And so she steps forward, meets Lexa half way and levels her chin. And maybe for a moment she curses the realisation that Lexa stands just a breath taller, forcing her to look up into Lexa's gaze. And she knows Lexa sees it too. If only by the twitching of an eye, by the small rising of an eyebrow and a quiet lifting of a lip.
"What if I kill you, Clarke? What if I take your life. Right now?" but as Clarke hears the words she doesn't think them a threat, not fully.
"You need me," she counters. "If you kill me Azgeda will revolt. You know that."
And she pauses and she watches as Lexa considers her words.
"You will lose Skaikru support too," she continues. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But in a year from now? In two? In ten? They won't ever trust you without me. You need me to smooth things over between Skaikru and the Coalition."
And she sees Lexa's eyes roam her face, she sees the white of her warpaint reflected against the bronzed skin upon Lexa's face.
"But most of all, Lexa?" Clarke pushes. "You need me. Right now," and she smirks as she echoes Lexa's own words. "You need me to destroy the Mountain. You need me to lead Azgeda and Skaikru."
"So you would use Roan to gain support in Azgeda? To gain power?" Lexa says, her eyes ghosting across Clarke's scars.
"I don't care about that," and she pauses, she thinks of how much she wishes to reveal, how much she wishes to share. "I don't like being lied to. I don't like being a pawn in someone else's game."
And Lexa's eyes roll for just a moment, for just enough that Clarke can't help but to feel a small tinging of frustration creep into her mind.
"I don't care what vendetta Nia has against you. I don't care what vendetta you have against her. All I want is Roan."
"And if I don't give you Roan? And if you tell Nia?" Lexa asks, but from her tone, from the way her eyes soften just a bit Clarke thinks that maybe Lexa sees her plan, sees her wish.
Maybe.
"We can work together, Lexa. I'm offering you the chance to work with me. But it doesn't really matter who I work with," Clarke shrugs. "I tell Nia? That weakens you, that gives Nia leverage. That's good for Azgeda. That's good for my people and I can work with that. But if you give me Roan? That's good for my people and for you," Clarke says. "But I'd rather work with you, Lexa. I know where Nia stands. And I think you know where she stands too. And you say you're different than her, you say you care for your people, for the Coalition…This is your chance to prove it to me," and Clarke trails off, her words lingering between both of them for a long moment. "You aren't stupid, Lexa," she finishes quietly.
Clarke steps forward again, her eyes beseeching in the dark of Lexa's tent as their bodies near. And so Clarke takes another steadying breath. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Lexa."
And she meets Lexa's gaze for a long moment.
"And are you enemy or friend?" Lexa challenges quietly.
Clarke shrugs once, her gaze turning to the map and the model of the Mountain that rests atop Lexa's war table.
"That's for you to decide," she finishes with a shrug, her eyes turning back to Lexa.
And so she watches as thoughts wage a quiet battle within the Commander's mind. And she thinks she sees them linger and flash and sift in her eyes.
But Lexa looks up, her head tilts just a bit. Just enough that it falls into a shadow that lingers somewhere over her shoulder.
"You will have Prince Roan."
The walk back to the war camp is a quiet moment and Clarke finds her thoughts moving quickly as she thinks over the conversation and the threats she had issued Lexa. And maybe she's isn't even really sure why she wants Roan. Perhaps she's made an error. If only because she knows not what Roan is like. But she thinks it will at least be good to have an ally. Or at least someone who owes her his freedom.
And so a sigh leaves lips as she continues forward, her mind happy to wander for the short walk back to where Azgeda has made camp. And her feet take her forward, Torvun ever present by her side, his eyes careful in the still dark of the night as he watches her curiously.
She eyes Entani moving to the tent then, a messy bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a frayed mess but the healer waves at Clarke before ducking into the tent, sleep her clear wish.
It's not long until Clarke ducks through as well, Torvun taking his usual place by the entrance, and so Clarke wipes away the face paint she had applied, the damp cloth being discarded into the pile by the table. Her eyes meet Entani's then, the other woman already shrugging off her clothes before slipping into the furs.
"I had to speak to the Commander," Clarke offers, a small smile finding its way onto her lips as Entani mimes a gag.
Clarke slips out of her own clothes as she eases her way into the bed, Entani happy to roll into her side as Ontari moves closer in her own sleep. And so Clarke lets sleep take hold as her breaths even out and as her mind settles for what remains of her night.
The following daybreak brings with it a gentle warmth that lingers around them and settles upon her shoulders and so Clarke groans for only a short moment before her eyes open to the wisps of daylight creeping in through the tent. And as she rises, as she casts her gaze around the tent she finds Entani already gone, her usual healer's pack missing and so Clarke stifles a yawn as she stretches out for a moment.
Her hand brushes against Ontari then, and her eyes turn to find the woman waking slowly too, her hair a braided mess that fans out around the furs her head lies on.
And their eyes meet for only a moment before they share a smile. And it's just a flash that lingers in Ontari's eyes that Clarke sees, but she lets it linger in her mind. And so she smiles just once more, and it's a happy thing, a content thing.
It's not long before Clarke ducks out of the tent with Ontari, the sun shining against the ground in its blinding intensity for a moment before her hand comes to shade her gaze.
And she finds Echo staring cooly at Torvun, her eyes careful as she takes in his figure, as she eyes the way he stands between her and Clarke. But her eyes flit past him then and they hold Clarke's own gaze for just a short moment.
"I wish to talk with you," is all Echo says.
And so it's a sigh that leaves her lips before she grumbles her assent, a quick nod sent to Ontari as she begins ducking back into the tent, Torvun's gaze trailing after Echo suspiciously.
Clarke makes her way through the tent before coming to a stop by the side of the bed and so she turns, her eyes following the movements the spy takes. Echo pauses at the small table, her fingers trailing over the edge before she turns back to Clarke, her face falling into a shadow as she leans back against the table edge.
"You spoke with the Commander last night," Echo begins, her words coming out measured and careful.
And so Clarke shrugs once, her eyes still keeping Echo's gaze.
"Yeah."
And Echo holds her gaze, she lets the silence linger for a long moment as she measures Clarke, as she takes her in and as she lets thoughts live behind her eyes.
"What did you discuss?" Echo questions then, her arms coming to fold in front of her.
And so Clarke stills her face, and she thinks back to the interactions she has had of Nia, of Echo. And she thinks back to when Nia had told her that she would be accompanying the warriors in the fight against the Mountain. She thinks back to the threat that she is sure had lingered in Nia's words.
And you will return to Azgeda.
And she thinks of what Nia has reveals to her. And she thinks it not much, she thinks it little. She thinks it nothing.
And she thinks of what Echo has told her. She thinks of the things Echo has revealed of Nia, of Costia, of Nia's plan. And she thinks it too much.
And so she lets her gaze narrow, she lets her hand relax against her side and she lets her fingers edge just a bit to the knife against her thigh.
"Who sent you?" Clarke asks carefully, her tone just a quiet whisper, her eyes gazing briefly towards the entrance where she is sure Torvun waits fretfully.
"Nia," Echo says again, her eyes hardening in the light.
But Clarke thinks that a lie.
Or a half truth.
"I don't believe you," she says gently.
And so Echo's hands come away, and one comes to rest against her hip, her fingers just a breath away from the hilt of her knife.
"And why would you not?" Echo says, and Clarke is sure her next few words will be a shifting of the scale that is her life and she thinks it will be a saving grace or a mistimed stab in the dark.
"You say Nia is cunning," Clarke begins carefully. "That is true," she shrugs for a moment, Echo's eyes following the rising of her shoulder. "You say Nia sent you here," and Clarke lets her voice turn up at the words, just a small hint of mistrust colouring her tone. "You say you are here to help in the fight against the Mountain."
"Yes," Echo replies cooly.
"You serve Azgeda," Clarke continues, her eyes pointedly holding Echo's gaze.
And Echo's eyebrow raises for a moment in thought.
"Yes."
And it's a single word that leaves her lips. But as Clarke thinks them over, as she eyes the woman before her and as she recalls the exchanges they have shared, she thinks that perhaps Echo is not so dissimilar to herself.
And so Clarke says carefully. "I serve Azgeda as well," and she lets her words linger on the statement.
And Echo once more lets the silence linger as she considers Clarke's words. And perhaps from the silence, perhaps from the careful tilting of Echo's head or the way her eyes shift slightly, Clarke thinks there is a more to what they discuss.
"I served Prince Roan during the forming of the Coalition," Echo begins, her hand coming to rest against the knife at her hip.
And so Clarke finds her own fingers brushing against the hilt of her blade.
"I look forward to meeting Prince Roan," and she takes a measured breath as Echo's eyes follow her movements.
"And you expect to meet Prince Roan one day?" she questions.
"Yes," Clarke answers.
The day is perhaps warmer than usual, and she thinks that summer must soon be upon these lands fully. And so she lets a sigh fall from her lips as she tugs at the furs around her shoulders and as she brings a space between her collar and her neck, the cool air biting into her exposed chest for a moment.
And as she casts her gaze around herself lazily she finds Ontari eyeing her for a long moment and so she smiles as their eyes meet, and she smirks and rolls her eyes as she sees Ontari glance lower briefly before her eyes snap back up to Clarke's, a smile upon the other woman's lips.
And Clarke thinks herself happy. She thinks herself content, if only because there is no awkward lingering moments between them both. But perhaps she lets a smile spread just a bit more freely across her lips at the memories of the night together. Only because they were interesting. And she thinks it good that she knows where Ontari and her stand now, and so she lets a quiet exhale leave her as she focuses back on the path her horse winds, the swaying of it a soothing rhythm to her thoughts.
Her eyes flick ahead then, her gaze falling on the steady trot of Lexa's own horse, the swaying of her coat and the flowing of her braided hair a shining beacon in the late morning sun.
Much work still remains to be done at Ton DC, the missile having landed 3 days prior. And she lets a grimace fall across her lips at the recollection of the pyres that still burn dully, that still smoke and bring forth a sadness from within. And as her eyes continue to follow Lexa's swaying form she can't help but think that the other woman calculating, too easily able to hide away what thoughts and wants and wishes she must have. If only because… If only because what? And so Clarke shakes her head, a scowl falling across her lips at the direction in which her thoughts travel.
She casts her gaze away from Lexa then, her mind pushing to the trees that stand around them, the green moss a soft thing that blankets the trunks, and the bark and wood a calming tone of vibrant life.
She turns to Torvun briefly, his horse riding besides her and as she meets his eyes she can't help but to think he eyes her carefully, she can't help but to think he gazes upon her with a scrutiny that speaks of something more than a desire to protect from harm. And so she smiles gently, and he nods his head in return.
They stop for midday, the sun hanging high in the blue of the sky above their heads and so Clarke stretches for a moment as her feet touch the ground.
"We stop for only enough time to eat and feed our horses," Lexa calls out, the many warriors fanning out quickly.
And so Clarke moves to the bag tied to her saddle, her mind turning to the cured reapers at Arkadia and she finds herself hoping that more have been cured, that more have been saved.
And she looks up as a shadow falls across her to find Torvun standing close, his eyes turning around them quickly.
"You play a dangerous game, Clarke," he says then, his voice low as his eyes gaze steadily upon her.
She looks up at his words, surprise flitting across her face for only one beat of her heart before she schools her expression.
"I don't know what you're talking of," she answers carefully, but she curses herself for failing to recall Torvun's hearing.
"Do not lie," he sighs before shrugging briefly. "I have good hearing," he continues, his eyes careful in their reproach.
And so her fingers still in their motions and her body tenses for what she thinks will come next.
"Peace, Clarke," Torvun says as her hand comes to rest against the knife on her thigh. "I will not harm you," he says it quietly, his eyes shining as the sun falls across his face for a moment.
"Why?" she whispers it out, as her feet widen beneath her, eyes careful as she eyes the towering man.
And Torvun shrugs once.
"I am a Royal Guard. I serve the throne," he says, his eyes careful as he takes in her stance. "And you have not betrayed the throne. Yet."
And so Clarke stills in her movements, her eyes careful as she looks up at Torvun.
"What are you going to do?" she says, her eyes glancing behind him for a moment.
He gazes at her for a long moment then, his eyes thoughtful and probing.
"You wish for Prince Roan to be free," he starts, "all Azgeda would wish it," he continues. "Kwin Nia is cunning but she can be cruel. She does what she thinks is best for Azgeda," and again he pauses for a long moment. "Kwin Nia wishes to use you in the fight against the Mountain to give Azgeda an advantage, but there are many things that can give Azgeda an advantage," and he pauses, his eyes careful as he looks at her.
"What are you going to do?" Clarke says again.
"Nothing yet, Clarke," Torvun replies. "I will wait. My orders are to protect you. To keep you alive. You play a dangerous game and you speak ill of Kwin Nia. But for now you do not betray the throne," he pauses. "So I will continue to do as I have been told until I am instructed otherwise by a member of the royal family."
And his words aren't lost on Clarke.
"I have no intention of betraying the throne," Clarke replies, her words coming out hushed as she glances around them once more.
"Many people do not intend to do things that they eventually find themselves doing," Torvun replies cooly. "You would be wise to guard your actions."
It still feels unusual and strange to walk the halls of what was once the Ark, the metal plating echoing their footsteps as they make their way to the med bay. Clarke follows close behind Lexa, Torvun ever present by her side, their shared conversation weighing down her thoughts as her feet take her forward. More healers have come this time too, a number from Azgeda, Trikru and the other clans, word of the reapers having been cured spreading quickly. And maybe Clarke thinks she feels the lingering looks some healers give her too, even some of the warriors that accompany them let their eyes linger upon her.
They arrive at the med bay, Ark guards standing outside the sliding doors who send a careful nod their way before Lexa steps inside, her eyes turning in a long arc as she takes in those that have been cured, and the injured Trikru and Azgeda that still remain.
"See to the injured," Lexa says then, her voice carrying out to the healers behind her before she makes her way to Abby, the doctor looking up from where she inspects the Azgeda warrior who had lost her leg.
"Commander," Abby greets then, a small nod of her head all she sends before she begins detailing the progress of the cured reapers.
And so Clarke moves to the injured Azgeda, her healer's bag already being unslung from her shoulders as she goes to inspect the progress they have made.
She walks the perimeter of Arkadia's walls, her shoulders just a small ache from the hours she spent hunched over patients and so she cranes her head back, rolls her shoulders and swings her arms out for a while as she lets her mind wander.
She comes to a small clearing then, a few logs spread around a campfire, similar to the one she had rested at when word of the missile had reached her and so she grimaces for only a moment before sitting against a log, her legs stretched out before her as her fingers come to loosen the furs around her collar. She feels Torvun's gaze and presence too, his constant lingering never too far, his watchful eyes always a small comfort ever since Quint's attack.
And she hear's the call then, a quiet hooting that lingers for a quick moment and she knows what Torvun announces and so she doesn't turn at the presence she feels closing with her and she doesn't shift her gaze from where it lingers on the clouds that drift overhead.
"You have cured the reapers," Lexa says from where she stands a short distance from Clarke.
And so she shrugs once, her eyes turning to the woman who stands away from her.
"It was a group effort," she replies, her eyes squinting for a moment as the sun touches her gaze.
"The healers say you alone brought life back to the reaper," Lexa counters, her eyebrow lifting pointedly. "The warriors who were there say the same," she finishes.
And so Clarke shrugs again and she takes Lexa in, and she eyes the lack of the red sash and the lack of the large pauldron that usually sits atop her shoulder.
"What do we do now?" Clarke asks. "We just wait until the acid fog goes down?" and her mind turns to Wells, and she thinks they both will have many things to discuss once this war has ended.
"Yes, Clarke," Lexa says from where she stands. "Now we wait. The reapers can be cured, the Mountain thinks us weakened. The Mountain thinks us leaderless," Lexa finishes as she follows Clarke's gaze across her figure.
"What if it fails?" Clarke muses quietly, her thoughts turning worried for only a moment.
"You should rest your mind, Clarke," Lexa says then as she moves to stand in front of Clarke. "Tiring yourself with questions out of your control is a waste of energy."
Clarke snorts quietly in response, her eyes following Lexa's movements.
"What's it like?" she asks and she sees Lexa's eyebrow rise in question. "Being able to not worry? To shut off whatever part of your brain that lets you feel?" and maybe she means for it to come out biting, maybe she means for it to come out cold and uncaring. But she thinks the words more quiet than intended, more muted, more soft. More caring.
Lexa pauses for a long moment then, her eyes careful as she studies Clarke.
"You could be a leader, Clarke," and she looks away in thought for just a moment, a conversation warring in her mind that Clarke thinks she sees for just a moment as it lingers in Lexa's eyes.
"You could be a leader your people look to, Clarke," Lexa finishes.
And so Clarke thinks the words over, she thinks over who her people really are. She doesn't realise she traces the scars along her cheek until she feels the smooth edges against her finger tips and so she stills her movements and she casts her gaze to the wall that sits not far from where she sits.
"I never asked for that," she says it quietly, her mind turning to her life in space. "I'm just trying to keep everyone alive," she finishes.
"There are many things we never ask for," Lexa counters. "But there are all things we must do to survive," and she shrugs her answer.
"Like not caring? Like recognising love is weakness?" Clarke challenges, but she knows it comes out just a small moment less mocking and with less bite than she had intended.
"Yes," Lexa once more replies, her gaze shifting in the sunlight for a short while.
"Heda!" and their heads turn to find Octavia walking towards them, her gaze flicking only for a moment to Torvun who stands not far from Gustus, their own eyes moving from Lexa and Clarke back to Octavia as she approaches.
"Word comes from the Mountain," Octavia finishes from across the distance.
"Wells just sent a message," Raven begins from where she eyes the computer screen, her fingers moving over the keys quickly.
"Do you know what it says?" Clarke asks as her eyes move from the screen to Raven.
"Hold on."
And Clarke looks up to see Abby standing close, her hands balled into fists by her sides as worry lives openly across her face. Lexa stands close too, Gustus by her side as Octavia hangs back by the door, her arms folded across her chest as she takes in the tense moment in the room the group of people find themselves in.
"It's schematics," Raven begins as the image on the screen flickers and changes. "Blueprints, a map" she finishes with a smile as she turns to face those gathered behind her.
"You are sure?" Lexa asks as her eyes focus on the blueprints.
"Yes," Raven replies as the light of the screen reflects against her face.
"Good," Lexa says before she turns to those present in the room. "We return to Ton DC," she finishes.
"All we're waiting on is the acid fog to be destroyed," Clarke says to Ontari who rides besides her.
"Then the Mountain will fall," Ontari smiles, a thrill running through her as Clarke is sure her thoughts turn violent.
"Yeah," she laughs quietly.
"You are too eager, Ontari," and Clarke turns at Entani's words, the other healer rolling her eyes at Ontari's scoff of annoyance.
"It is not my fault I am eager to be rid of the Mountain," Ontari replies as she turns in her saddle to face Entani.
And so Clarke follows the back and forth of the two women, but as their conversation spirals she finds her thoughts turning to what she hopes will happen in the days to come and so a sigh leaves her lips and as she looks up she meets Torvun's gaze as he eyes her carefully from where he rides.
It's a warm night, the furs around her just a touch too warm for her body and so she rolls away from Entani, the other healer's leg already hanging over the side of the bed in search of the cool of the night air. She finds herself against Ontari then, the sleeping woman's breath brushing against her face, her hair fanning out messily on the pillow they share and so Clarke sighs quietly as she pulls the furs from her waist.
She loosens the collar of her sleep shirt then, the air breathing through it a moment nicer, and she welcomes the cool of the air that lingers against her skin, but she finds herself cursing Trikru lands and she finds herself missing the cool bite of Azgeda winds, and maybe she even wishes she had the carefully controlled climate that she lived in on the Ark, if only because days were never too hot.
And so a sigh leaves her lips once more and she resigns herself to a sleepless night.
But she stills at the careful breath she hears in the tent. And she listens for only a moment longer to confirm that another lingers near her and so her eyes roll again, thoughts turning to Echo who she thinks must be sitting in the chair and so she sits up, her eyes opening to the shadows of a tent and the night still much too dark for her eyes.
And it only takes her a moment to find the figure that lounges in the chair, the barely there glow of the moon shining dully upon a shoulder before Echo's body fades back into the shadows.
"You get used to the heat."
She hears the voice.
But it comes out deeper.
It comes out rougher, a gravel to it that sends a chill down her spine.
And she knows it isn't Echo.