"How long's it going to take?" he says as he sends his eyes down the hallway, the flickering of the light casting their shadows across the floor in a sickly haze.
"A minute," Monty replies quietly, his fingers still tapping at the keyboard.
Wells looks at Monty then, his eyes squinting in the dark, before he turns back to the door.
"You sure it's in here?" he asks.
"Yeah," Monty shrugs, a furrow finding its way across his brows. "I think," he finishes.
"And you think we can take it out?" he says.
And Monty takes a moment to think over his words as he continues typing before looking up at Wells.
"Murphy didn't get locked up again just for us to fail," he whispers. "It has to work."
"Yeah," and it comes quietly as Wells runs a finger over the welding torch. And, if he's honest with himself, if he's truthful. If what he's seen is real. And it has to be, then he thinks it must be worth the risks. "We'll get it done," he finishes, a determined grimace coming to settle across his lips.
"I've got it," Monty whispers as a click echoes across the walls.
"How long do we have?" Wells asks as he steps into the room while Monty quickly disconnects the keyboard and stashes it into the bag slung over his shoulder.
"We've got five minutes before the alarms go off," Monty whispers, "… if I didn't mess up."
And so Wells nods as he comes face to face with the large room they find themselves in. It stretches out before him, vats lining one side that hum and whirr and fill the space with the quiet buzzing of machinery that breathes along quietly. Wells hears the sound of the door sliding shut as Monty comes to stand by his side.
"We've got this," Wells says as their eyes meet.
It's slow.
That's the first thing Clarke notices.
She sees Echo slash the knife from the air, her own blade glinting in the candle light that flickers throughout the tent. Echo crouches low, her body snaking forward as her hand comes to slam down on Anya's arm as the other woman moves to draw her sword. And it's only a small second's interruption, but it's enough for Echo to drop to her knees under Anya and for Anya to roll over her.
At the same time she hears Ontari hiss out a curse as her arm punches out and strikes a Trikru guard that approaches, her still bandaged shoulder bringing pain across her face. Entani backs into Clarke too, a shout of warning that other Trikru move to circle them and Torvun moves forward, his arms spreading as he moves to stand before Clarke, his knife whipping out quickly.
Indra's eyes flash from Anya's outburst to Echo before snapping to Lexa, all within the blink of an eye before her hand moves to her sword, orders barking as other Trikru guards begin moving forward. Octavia and Lincoln both stare wide eyed for a moment at Lexa as she begins rising from her throne, her hand coming to rest against her knife as Gustus reaches out to grip her arm, already beginning to pull her behind his bulk.
All these moments flash past Clarke in the time it takes her to turn her head once from Echo and Anya then back to Lexa and she thinks their eyes meet in the moment just before Gustus blocks her view.
Clarke thinks she sees surprise flash across Lexa's eyes, she thinks she sees them widen for just a moment as Lexa's gaze settles upon Echo who now comes to crouch facing Anya as the Trikru warrior spins around. But Clarke thinks she sees Lexa break.
And maybe it's her imagination, maybe it's the shock of Anya's outburst or the dancing of the flames throughout the tent but Clarke thinks Lexa's eyes shine for just a moment as a realisation dawns upon her face. And if she looks close enough perhaps she sees a pain find its way across Lexa's eyes, a moment's sadness that lives within her gaze and a memory settle atop her shoulders.
And then Clarke's pushed back, Torvun's body blocking her view as he stands in front of her, threats being shouted out at the approaching Trikru. Ontari also begins shouting out, Entani replying with who moves behind them. Clarke's hand moves to her own knife, her fingers curling around the handle as her eyes flick to Echo and Anya as they eye each other for only a moment. And she sees Roan too, his eyes darting around him as his hands come to hover before him as he settles into a careful stance. Clarke's knife whips out then, the blade whistling through the air as she brings it befo—
Enough!
The word carries through the tent. And it's fierce. It's deep and rich. It's pained and tired. It comes with a timbre to it that breaks through the noise and the rustling of the air that fills the tent.
And the Trikru pause. Their eyes turning back to the voice. And Clarke follows the voice too, and her eyes settle on Lexa who stands upright, her eyes burning in the flickering of the orange of the candle light. Gustus stands by her side, his sword drawn as he stares down the Azgeda force before him.
"Enough," Lexa says it again, her eyes snapping to the Trikru guards that remain transfixed. She moves forward, her feet a measured pace that takes her to where Anya and Echo remain locked in a furious tangle of limbs and teeth and braided hair and cold metal.
"Stand down, Anya," Lexa says it as her eyes snap to Anya's, her fingers gripping the knife on her hip before her eyes turn to Echo once before flicking to Roan who still stands settled in a defensive crouch.
Lexa turns to face Torvun before her eyes turn to the other three Azgeda women. And it's only a moment where their eyes meet but Clarke thinks the pain she saw just moments past no longer lives freely, or perhaps, just maybe she imagined the pain. If only because all that remains is a cold, detached fury that settles around Lexa.
"The sins of the clans were abolished when the Coalition was formed," and Lexa's voice echoes throughout the tent, her gaze snapping to the Trikru guard Ontari had struck. "An unprovoked attack on one from another clan is punishable," she continues as her eyes snap back to Anya's. "You will be punished, Anya," and the words come impassive.
Clarke turns briefly to face Anya then, the Trikru woman's gaze cast downwards as she seethes quietly where she stands away from Echo. And as Anya hears the words Clarke thinks she sees just a small nod of her head as she accepts what will happen.
Lexa stalks forward, her coat undulating behind her as she moves through the tent. She comes to a stop before Echo. And it's a long pause, and as their eyes meet and as their gazes hold Clarke thinks she feels a conversation flow between them, and she thinks it unspoken, she thinks it emotionless, she thinks it something personal and bittersweet. She sees Echo blink a few short moments before looking away, her body turning from Lexa just a bit, but enough to carry a message that Lexa must read because the Commander nods once, her eyes snapping to Roan as she levels her chin his way.
"She is no longer welcome in this tent," and Clarke hears the coldness of Lexa's words.
And she sees Roan cast his own eyes downwards as he nods once before relaxing his stance, his hand gripping Echo around the upper arm as he begins pulling her back. Lexa turns to Torvun then, her eyes holding his as she comes to face him.
"You will leave now," is all Lexa says before turning to Ontari with a lifting of her chin.
And Clarke thinks she feels Ontari begin to stir, she thinks she feels Ontari's body quiver in a silent rage as she holds the Commander's eyes. But she remains silent and as Clarke reaches out with a hand and as she places it reassuringly upon Ontari's shoulder Lexa follows the motion. And perhaps it isn't so overt, isn't so noticeable. But Clarke thinks she feels it, she thinks she sense the way Lexa's eyes follow the gesture and the way Ontari relaxes into it.
But Lexa doesn't linger, she casts just one quick snap of her eyes towards the exit of the tent before she turns, already moving to her throne. The Azgeda understand her message though, and so they begin to turn away carefully, their motions measured and careful as the Trikru guards watch. And as they reach the entrance Clarke looks back once at Lexa who follows them with her own gaze from where she sits, and maybe she thinks the Commander looks back impassively, detached.
A heavy sigh leaves her lips as she settles back down into her throne as her eyes follow the retreating figures of the Azgeda, the guards still in the tent following their motions carefully, hands still upon swords. Clarke looks back then, their eyes meeting for a short moment and perhaps its the emotions that now stir within her, maybe it's the memories that now surface, and maybe if she's truthful, she thinks the memories feel too fresh, too raw. But perhaps she feels the tightening of her chest as the blue of Clarke's eyes shines gently in the candle light. But she thinks it over before it even began, if only because Clarke turns, her eyes lingering for only a moment before she recedes from her view, the tent flap swishing shut behind her.
She turns her gaze towards the guards that line the edges of her tent then, her eyes falling upon Octavia and Lincoln who stand close to Anya, their eyes uncertain as their feet dance awkwardly where they stand, a desperate shuffle to their feet as the silence stretches and builds and tightens within the tent.
"Leave us, warriors," Lexa calls out as she raises her fingers from where her hand rests upon the armrest of her throne.
The warriors murmur a soft Heda to her as they bow their heads before moving to the exit until all who remain are Anya, Octavia and Lincoln, still bloodied from the scouting of the tunnels and Gustus and Indra, ever present by her side.
"Anya," Lexa begins as she turns her gaze to the older woman whose eyes remain cast downwards as she stands silently seething, her memories coming to reside in the forefront of her mind.
But Lexa lets her voice linger in the silence until the woman looks up, her eyes coming to rest painfully upon Lexa's as her fingers clench tightly around the knife at her hip.
And it's just a moment's silence, but Lexa sees the break, sees the crumbling of Anya's rage.
"I am sorry, Heda," Anya whispers, her voice coming pained and broken.
It takes Lexa a long moment to find her voice, to settle her thoughts, but she swallows painfully before continuing.
"Tristan will command your warriors now," Lexa begins and she sees Anya's jaw clench painfully as she bites back her words. "Until you will learn to control your actions, Anya," Lexa says once more. "You will remain in this war camp and you will aid Gustus in preparing those who are here," Lexa finishes.
Anya bows her head then as her back straightens. And Lexa lets her gaze linger on her for a moment longer before turning to address Octavia and Lincoln.
"The tunnels," she prompts with a raising of her eyebrow.
"We found the entrance," Octavia begins, her eyes looking to Anya for only a moment. "We didn't approach it because we weren't sure if we'd be seen, but we saw it," she finishes.
"The reapers live in the tunnels, Heda," Lincoln adds. "There were many of them."
"And we think the tunnels connect this entrance directly to the dam," Octavia say again.
"Good," Lexa says after a moment's pause, her fingers coming to tap gently against the wood of her throne. "How many do you think would be able to move through the tunnels without being detected?"
Octavia pauses for a moment in thought as she looks upwards, her eyes shifting with her thoughts.
"Perhaps fifty," Octavia answers as she looks to Lincoln.
"Or more, Heda," Lincoln adds, "if they were well trained in stealth, if they could move quickly maybe almost a hundred."
"Anya?" Lexa asks as her gaze turns to the other woman who remains silent.
"They are correct, Heda," she answers. "If the army can hold the Mountain's attention then perhaps a hundred well trained warriors may be able to move through the tunnels, but if they were discovered the fighting would be hard with those numbers in such close proximity," and Anya pauses as she thinks over the problem for a moment. "I would not advise more than fifty. Too many and we risk losing the element of surprise. But too few and we will not be able to attack effectively once inside."
And so Lexa thinks over the words she has heard. But she thinks with Skaikru on their side the numbers will not matter once inside the Mountain, not with the tech they bring to the war they fight.
And so her eyes flick up to Octavia and Lincoln before turning to Indra who remains ever quiet by her side.
"Leave us," she says and so she meets Indra's nod with her own before turning to see Octavia and Lincoln bowing their heads before turning to exit the tent.
The silence falls upon them once more as Anya comes to stand before Lexa.
"The unmarked Azgeda, she was the one?" Lexa asks quietly as her gaze finds Anya's.
And Anya takes a moment to think, a moment to collect her thoughts and to control her breathing.
"Y—" and the word dies in Anya's throat as she looks away, as she closes her eyes tightly and clenches her jaw painfully. "Yes," she forces out in a broken breath.
"I absolved the wrongs of all clans, Anya," Lexa says quietly, her finger nail coming to pick at the worn wood of her throne. "You must control yourself better. As you taught me," Lexa finishes, but it doesn't come out harsh, and perhaps it's sad, perhaps it's gentle, comforting, maybe an acceptance. Or a sadness. Lexa isn't quite so sure anymore.
"How?" Anya asks as she looks back at Lexa. "How can you allow her to still live?"
And so Lexa lets the words linger within the tent, and she turns briefly to find Gustus standing quietly aside, his chest a quiet rumble to the memories that she is sure still linger within his own mind.
"The same way I allowed Nia and Azgeda into the Coalition without retaliation," Lexa answers eventually. "We must recognise that love is weakness," she adds, but as the words filter through her lips, as they sour her breath and poison the air between both women she thinks that maybe she wishes they weren't true. And isn't that why she repeats them now?
"It was my fault, Lexa," Anya whispers it as her eyes hold Lexa's gaze. "You should not forgive me so easily," she finishes.
"We were all victims of Nia's cruelty," Lexa answers, her own words coming out a gentle waver that drifts towards her former mentor.
And again the silence lingers in the tent as the three occupants lose themselves to their thoughts for a short while, but Lexa finds her gaze drawn towards the model of the Mountain that sits atop her war table.
"After the fall of the Mountain Azgeda will be different," she says aloud. "Clarke makes moves against Nia, even as we speak," she continues as her thoughts turn to the blonde.
"You would work with Clarke?" Anya questions.
"She is special," Lexa says. "I do not know her history with Nia, but I believe her when she says she wants Azgeda and the Coalition to exist together peacefully. That is why Roan is here. To help control Azgeda in this fight."
And she pauses as Anya thinks over her words.
"She wishes to use the Mountain?" Anya says after a moment. "For the Coalition?"
"Yes," and Lexa thinks ahead for a moment as she considers the actions and events she is sure will unfold in the days to come. "I believe she will try and control it peacefully. With the help of Skaikru and my support, and I believe she wishes for Roan to return to Azgeda. As a sign of good faith. But as a way for her to ensure Nia does not move to take control," Lexa says. "Roan would promote Coalition values within Azgeda."
"You think he will do so?" Gustus asks then.
"Clarke is persuasive," Lexa shrugs, and maybe she doesn't recognise the small smile that lingers within her eyes. And maybe she doesn't notice the way Anya's eyes narrow as she gazes upon her.
But Gustus grunts at her words, his arms coming to fold across his chest as a hand comes to scratch through his beard.
"I will watch her, Heda," Gustus says. "I do not trust her still."
"You do not trust anyone, Gustus," Lexa answers as she leans towards him, her hand coming to rest against his forearm for a moment.
It's not long until they make their way back to the Azgeda camp, Roan's presence having quickly spread in the last few days resulting in a number of awed Azgeda warriors greeting him, heads bowed and murmured words coming from stunned warriors. And as they make their way through the camp Clarke finds a larger tent in the centre of it being erected, a mishmash of colours, leathers all greys and browns and whites that are tied together. And so Roan is led away, a number of warriors taking it upon themselves to become his guard as they spread out around him, but as they retreat and as Echo stays close by his side Clarke thinks she feels the eyes of a number of Azgeda peering at her too, and as she casts her gaze around, as she meets the inquisitive looks of those that look upon her she thinks their heads bow slightly too, she thinks she hears the words they whisper and the way they shift their posture just a bit when she passes. And maybe she ignores it. Maybe she tries to argue that their reactions are merely those of politeness.
But perhaps she's lying to herself.
And so, as Ontari storms into their tent, her injured arm held close to her side as she kicks off her boots, Clarke herself ducks through and she finds an exhale leaving her lips as the eyes that follow her are cut off with a closing of the tent's entrance.
"What is going on?" Ontari says as she rounds on her, a hand on her hip as Entani ducks through the tent.
Clarke sighs then, a hand coming to rub at the bridge of her nose for a moment as she shrugs off her furs before sitting in the chair by the table.
"It's complicated," she begins as Entani lounges back on the bed, her fingers tugging at her braids.
"Explain," Ontari says, her eyes staring pointedly at Clarke.
And so Clarke takes a moment to think of her words, and as she looks away for a short while she thinks over how much to reveal once more.
"I'm taking the Mountain for Azgeda," she says eventually, and as she turns back to Ontari she holds her gaze, her own steady as the half truth sits comfortably around her. "I'm taking the Mountain for Azgeda. To help us," she continues. "That is why Prince Roan is here."
And as the words leave her mouth Entani sits up from the bed, her eyes darting to the entrance of the tent briefly.
"You would use it to attack the Coalition?" Entani whispers.
"No," Clarke answers carefully, her eyes turning only briefly to the other healer before finding Ontari's gaze again.
"What are you playing at, Clarke?" Ontari says, and the question comes quietly, it comes carefully.
"The Mountain will benefit us," she answers as Ontari looks at her with a small lingering doubt, and so Clarke sighs again before continuing. "Look at it this way. Azgeda is treated unfairly, right?" and she looks between both women in front of her and she waits until they both nod in agreement. "We trade with the other clans. And some provide us things that are useful. Others don't."
"I do not see how controlling the Mountain is beneficial other than taking its power and destroying the lesser clans," Ontari replies.
"It'll make it easier for us to create things. If we have the Mountain then our own supplies won't be so stretched. We won't have to work as hard," Clarke answers.
"I still do not understand why the Commander has freed Prince Roan," Ontari again says.
Clarke takes another steadying breath then, her mind turning quickly as thoughts are considered and dismissed.
"I threatened her," she begins after a moment, and Entani sits up fully from the bed, her fingers halfway through a messy braid.
"What?" and Ontari lets out a quiet gasp, her eyes narrowing carefully as she stares at Clarke from where she stands before her.
"I told her to give us Prince Roan or Azgeda would leave," Clarke continues as she looks up at Ontari. "She needs us. She needs me, specifically. Without me she loses the certainty of Skaikru. And we need them to get into the Mountain. So if Azgeda leaves then the Mountain doesn't fall."
"But why would she even agre—"
"It makes sense, Ontari," and Clarke's eyes turn to Entani as she cuts off Ontari mid sentence. "The Commander must agree to free Prince Roan, she would not give up such an advantage. And she can not kill Clarke. Because Azgeda would revolt," Entani finishes as she turns to Clarke. "But why did you even consider threatening the Commander?"
And so Clarke bites her lip for another moment in thought, her gaze turning to the furs under her feet as she thinks over Entani's question. And she knows she can't reveal the whole truth. She thinks Ontari would rage, she thinks the Coalition might even crumble if word were to spread.
And so Clarke settles for a half truth.
"I told her I didn't like her using me. I told her that she gives me what I want, she stops making Azgeda do everything or we leave," she finishes as she holds Ontari's gaze. "Trikru have shown us nothing but contempt," Clarke begins again, "they abandoned us when we first hunted reapers. They look at us like we are scum. And Anya attacks us just now," and she takes a steadying breath, her eyes beseeching as Ontari takes in the words she says. "Azgeda is finished being a pawn."
And so Ontari purses her lips for a moment as she considers the arguments Clarke has told her, the reasons for her actions.
"Ok," she says after a moment.
And so Clarke smiles gently, a small relief flooding her that for now Entani agrees with her and that Ontari seems placated.
"Let me look at your shoulder," Clarke says then as she rises from the chair, her hand lifting towards Ontari's shoulder.
Her eyes follow the arrow as it whistles through the air, and she traces the way it twists and spins and hangs for a moment as the air brushes against it before it strikes the target, a low thump singing through the trees. And so she rises, her eyes glancing around her as she slings her bow, her feet already beginning to take her towards the deer that now lies in the clearing.
Lincoln falls into step besides her, his eyes careful as he gazes out into the trees, Torvun close behind her as he shadows her movements.
"Why'd Anya attack Echo," Clarke asks as she reaches the deer, a roll of rope unwinding from her hip as she leans down.
"I do not know," Lincoln shrugs as he glances behind him, Octavia and the other members of their hunting party spreading out in the clearing.
"Is she always so aggressive?" Clarke says as she begins binding the deer's hind legs.
"Yes," and Lincoln scratches his scalp for a moment in thought as he ties off a knot. "Tristan, another Trikru general, is now in command of the warriors who scout this area," he continues with a grimace.
"I'm surprised," and Clarke thinks back to Azgeda and Nia for a moment. "In Azgeda she'd be punished further if she attacked someone like that.
"Perhaps," and Lincoln pauses again as he passes a wooden pole between the deers bound feet. "But she is the Commander's former First," and he shrugs once, "someone of her position losing command is more punishment than being beaten or imprisoned," he finishes. "It shows others that she can not even lead."
"Oh," and Clarke winces briefly as she lifts her end of the pole onto her shoulders before rising with Lincoln's movements. "Azgeda's harsher," she finishes lamely, her eyes flicking to Torvun for a moment as he grunts quietly, his eyes following their movements smoothly.
The walk back to the camp passes slowly, their ears ever tuned to the slight rustling of the trees and the wind that whispers past the trunks of the grand trees that spread out around them. The Trikru not with prey spread out too, their bows drawn halfway as they peer around the small hunting party, ever watchful of reapers that may attack. The Azgeda in turn stay close, their eyes ever careful of the Trikru and the surrounding forest. But Octavia moves towards them then, ignoring the small murmuring of the Azgeda as they part for her.
"We're going into the tunnels with you," Octavia begins quietly, her voice low as not to spread too far beyond the hunting party. "Lincoln and I, other Trikru, too," she finishes, her fingers brushing against the handle of her knife.
"I'm not surprised," Clarke answers. "I'm assuming you're going because you're Trikru's version of me? Able to mesh with the Skaikru and Trikru?" she muses, her gaze turning to Octavia as she takes in the younger woman.
"Yeah," Octavia shrugs. "I guess so," and Octavia lets the silence linger then, her thoughts happy to take a hold within her mind as they continue forward, the sun an ever constant presence that heats Clarke's shoulders too far for her comfort.
Octavia breaks the silence after a while again, her eyes peering cautiously at Clarke from where she walks.
"You aren't so bad, Clarke," she says with a small smile. "At least for Azgeda," and Clarke smiles at the joke Octavia tries to say.
"We aren't so different," she answers with a shrug, her free hand waving up and down both their bodies.
"Yeah," and Octavia pauses again in thought. "My friends call me O," she finishes, the corner of her mouth lifting sheepishly.
And so Clarke meets it with her own small smile. And as their eyes meet she thinks what she does is worth it. She thinks what she wishes to use the Mountain for is worth it.
"Nice to meet you, O."
They rest for midday, the sun hanging far too high in the blue above for Clarke's comfort and so she grumbles quietly as Torvun comes to rest besides her, his frame casting a welcomed shadow upon her.
"They caught another deer," he says as he pulls his knife free, a whetstone already in his other hand.
"That's three now," Clarke sighs as she brings a waterskin to her lips.
"Perhaps the reapers being captured and cured leaves more deer alive," Torvun suggests after a moment, the gentle humming of the sharpening of his blade swimming around them.
"Yeah, maybe," Clarke muses as she stretches her legs out.
And so she turns her gaze out to the Trikru that sit before her, their own hushed conversations barely carrying over the small distance between them and the Azgeda. But she turns back to Torvun, her eyes following the knife as it runs the length of the whetstone.
And she isn't so sure how long she follows his motions, she isn't so sure how long she lets her mind wander, but she finds herself thinking of Torvun, thinking of when she first met him at the Capital, of what Nia had said to her and of Torvun's own instructions.
She doesn't realise Torvun watches her too, and she doesn't realise his knife stills in its motions until a finger pokes her firmly in the shoulder, his eyes peering at her and his lips turned up slightly through his beard.
"You think of something," he says as he glances around them at the few Azgeda around, their own conversations occupying their attention.
"Yeah," Clarke answers carefully, her eyes squinting up at him through the sun shining upon his head.
"You wonder where my loyalties lie, do you not, Clarke?" and so she takes the time to consider his words.
"You're loyal to Azgeda," she begins carefully, her voice dropping to a low breath. "You're loyal to the royal family," and her eyebrow raises in question.
Torvun hums an affirmative, a hand coming to swipe away a bead of sweat that trickles over his head.
"Kwin Nia does what she thinks is best for Azgeda," he says, his eyes thoughtful as words come to him carefully. "But she can be cruel, and she is suspicious," he says.
"Yeah," and Clarke thinks she knew that much.
"What you plan doesn't betray the throne," Torvun replies. "Perhaps Prince Roan will be good for Azgeda," he says.
"Why?"
And Torvun eyes her for a moment in thought.
"Why?" he parrots her question.
"Why do you even let me speak so openly? Why do you not say something to Kwin Nia, to Echo?"
And Torvun scratches a finger through his beard as he looks at her, his eyes moving across her face steadily.
"Azgeda prospered when I was a child, long before Kwin Nia," he says. "Azgeda has prospered under Kwin Nia, and Azgeda has prospered under the Coalition," and he pauses for a moment's thought. "And Azgeda will continue to prosper in the Coalition if things do not change drastically, despite how unfair it may seem to others."
"So you'd back Prince Roan? You back my plan?" Clarke asks.
"I am a royal guard, Clarke," Torvun answers with a small shrug. "Guards do not like unknowns. We watch and we follow patterns. We must always be ready incase of attack or a surprise or a changing in a pattern because that may suggest that an attempt on who we guard may be made."
He pauses for Clarke to take in his words before continuing.
"We would prefer to disarm any who approach us, any who we think is a threat, or any who we know to be eager to violence. But if we cannot? If we cannot disarm those who approach us, if we cannot be certain of their future actions? Then we would ensure that a weapon is not within reach for them to take, for them to use," and as he trails off for a moment Clarke recognises the words he doesn't voice aloud.
"So," he says once more. "It is true that Kwin Nia can be violent. It is true that Kwin Nia would be dangerous. And I think that the Mountain under her control would introduce an unknown," he scratches his cheek for a moment. "I do not like unknowns," he finishes.
"What about Echo?" Clarke asks, her thoughts turning to the assassin Nia had sent, but she thinks her actions strange, she thinks the assassin untrustworthy.
"I think she would believe much of what I do," Torvun replies. "I think she was sent by Nia, but I think she also recognises the danger of the Mountain. I do not think she will ever reveal her intentions, but I suspect she wished for you to act to ensure that Nia did not succeed in the plan she had given Echo," he shrugs. "It would explain why she was so obvious."
And Clarke's eyebrow raises in question, and she thinks a doubt must colour her expression because Torvun smiles briefly.
"Did she not warn you of questioning Kwin Nia's actions further? Did she not threaten your death?" and he lets a small pause linger again. "I do not think Kwin Nia would have told her to be so obvious, and Echo herself would not have been so obvious if she did not wish for you to consider Kwin Nia's intentions more…" and he trails off as he thinks for a short drop of time. "More carefully," and he nods to himself. "You have considered Kwin Nia's actions carefully. And I believe you have found an alternative that allows you to remain loyal to Azgeda, but act against the Kwin's wishes."
"That sounds like a conspiracy," Clarke says as Torvun's words sink in slowly.
But he merely shrugs again.
"Many who serve directly under Kwin Nia are witness to her brutality and violence," he answers. "It is those that do not serve Kwin Nia so closely that are the most difficult to convince otherwise," and, as he finishes, Clarke can't help but to read into what he says, and she thinks she sees the small moment of sadness that lingers in his eyes.
And she thinks she knows he speaks of Entani, ever loyal to her duty as an Azgeda healer and warrior. And she thinks he speaks of Ontari, steadfast in her service to Kwin Nia.
The journey back to the war camp comes with a relief, the ache in her shoulder from the deer's weight an annoyance that buries itself into her muscles as she walks towards where the hunted animals are prepared. And so she lets a sigh of relief leave her lips as she drops the deer at her feet, Lincoln's half brought down more gingerly as he rolls his own shoulders as he comes to stand.
"I will see you next hunting trip," he says as he nods to her, Octavia waving to her briefly before they move to join the other Trikru moving towards where their part of the war camp lies.
"Clarke," and she turns at the calling of her name to find an Azgeda warrior jogging up to her, the warrior's face a sweaty sheen and her bronzed braids an unfurling mess that whips out behind her. "The Commander wishes to see you," she says as she comes to a stop, a hand coming to swipe away at her forehead. "Now," she finishes with a roll of her eyes before gesturing behind her.
And so Clarke grumbles as the scents from the meats already being cooked reach her nose. And as she passes the other woman they share a small smile before Torvun catches up in a few long strides.
It's not long until Clarke's making her way up the winding path, the torches ever present and the heat ever bordering just past uncomfortable, and as she takes another bend she finds Roan walking her way, Echo by his side and three other Azgeda warriors trailing close behind, their eyes careful as they peer out around them at the Trikru that linger.
"You have been summoned?" Roan says as they approach, his eyes only briefly acknowledging Torvun before coming back to Clarke.
"Yes," Clarke says, a hand coming to brush away a strand of hair. "I'm assuming you've just spoken with her?"
"Yes," and Roan pauses in thought for a short moment. "Perhaps she will want to discuss the incident," he finishes with a small quirking of his lips, his message clear for Clarke to understand.
And so Clarke nods once, her head bowing briefly before she continues her way up the winding path. It only takes her a few more quick turns before she comes to Lexa's tent then, and she finds Gustus standing guard outside, his eyes focusing in on her and Torvun as they approach and so his head tilts to the side in greeting before a hand is held up in front of him.
"Wait here," and it comes out gruffly as he ducks his head through the tent.
She turns to Torvun then, her eyes rolling as Gustus disappears inside the tent for a long while.
"Does Kwin Nia make people wait around this long?" and it comes out more of a joke but from the twitching of Torvun's lips and the small shine in his eyes she thinks this happenstance something he must have experienced often.
"Yes," he shrugs after a moment, his fingers resting evenly against his knife as his eyes move from face to face that moves around them.
Gustus ducks out the tent then, a nod sent Clarke's way, "you may enter," he finishes.
And so Clarke lets a sigh leave her lips, her hand coming up to pat Torvun's arm gently as she pushes into the tent, her eyes squinting at the darker interior.
She finds Lexa standing by a table, papers and maps rolled in front of her, one in her hand that she wraps tightly as her eyes trail over another map of the surrounding area. It takes Clarke only a few short steps until she finds her way to Lexa's side, her eyes trailing over the war paint that still lingers across Lexa's face as her brows furrow in thought, her body shifting with Clarke's presence that now moves closer to her.
"You sent for me?" Clarke says then, a hand coming to rest against the table.
And so Lexa turns, her eyes trailing up Clarke's body, settling upon her furs before lingering a level lower on her face before their eyes meet.
"Yes," and Lexa holds her gaze carefully. "Azgeda has nothing to fear from Anya," she continues with a swallow, her eyes careful as the candle light flickers against her cheek.
Lexa turns her gaze though, her eyes falling down to a place that lingers between her body and the table, and as Clarke eyes her, as she follows the braids that flow through Lexa's hair she thinks she feels the thoughts that war within the other woman's mind.
And it's a small twitching of her muscles, a small clenching of her jaw, but Clarke thinks she feels Lexa's body shift, she thinks she feels the tension build, and perhaps she recognises the turmoil that lingers within Lexa.
"I have been too lenient, I have allowed slights against Azgeda to go unpunished, Clarke," and Lexa turns back to Clarke their eyes meeting once more.
And it's not easy, Clarke thinks, for Lexa to admit her wrongs. But as she considers the woman before her she thinks the words she had said to her previously a truth, but also a difference. She thinks Lexa similar to Nia, she thinks them both ambitious, both proud and stubborn. But as Lexa's eyes waver, as her lips purse slightly Clarke thinks them different. She thinks Lexa strives for a different world. Or maybe Clarke thinks herself foolish, perhaps she imagines the thoughts she sees Lexa ponder. And maybe she thinks she's tired of games.
"I know how hard that is for you to admit," and Clarke lets herself lean just a bit closer in the space between them.
But Lexa must have more words she wishes to voice, Lexa must have more thoughts that linger for long moments within her mind because she swallows once more, her jaw clenching tightly as her chin levels out.
"You think I am harsh?" and it's a question Clarke feels Lexa need not answered. "You think I am unfeeling? That I do not care for those under my care? That I shut off my emotions?"
And Lexa trails off for a moment as she turns to face Clarke fully, her eyes glancing away briefly as she lets the next of her thoughts cement and clear in her mind.
And in the small silence that lingers, in the small moments where Lexa doesn't meet Clarke's eyes she thinks a moment is shared between them. A something that breathes through the space between them both and that lingers in the air.
"I know you felt something when the missile fell," Clarke says quietly, and Lexa pulls her eyes back to Clarke. "And Costia…" and Clarke lets her thoughts turn to the woman she knows little about. "I don't know much about her," and she pauses, her mind turning to Anya's reaction to Echo, to Echo's reaction to Costia's name. "I know it isn't my place but I know you still feel something for her," and Clarke pauses in thought, pauses long enough for Lexa to react, to end the conversation or to dismiss her entirely. "I think you do care," and Clarke lets a small lifting of her lips find its way across her face. "Maybe you're afraid to show it, maybe you believe that you need to hide it. But I know you care," and Clarke lets her voice trail off quietly.
"That is how we survive," and Lexa lets her eyes linger, lets her words drift freely between them.
But perhaps, after the years she's spent on the ground, after the times she's spent trying to survive the harshness of Azgeda, perhaps Clarke wishes for something different. And maybe she doesn't wish to be a fool in another's game any longer.
"Maybe life should be about more than just surviving."
And she says it slowly, the words coming out carefully, quietly, but Clarke thinks she believes them, or maybe she wishes for them to be a truth. And maybe she hopes that her life, the loss of her father, the year spent pacing back and forth in a cell and pressing her face to the cold bite of the metal walls, was not just hopeless and a waste, was not just a careless endeavour or an unkind mistress. And maybe she hopes it was not just a fool's errand.
And so she breathes quietly, her breath coming just a moment too uneven, just a moment too unsteady. And so the next words she voices give life to her worries.
"Don't we deserve better than that?"
And as the confession leaves her lips Clarke looks away, she lets her eyes fall to the table and she traces the scratches and the life that has lived in the wood. But maybe if she's truthful, if she's honest, then perhaps she notices the way Lexa's eyes follow her movements, maybe she feels the way Lexa shifts her body just a bit, just enough to be felt.
"Maybe we do."
And she feels it. She feels the breath Lexa takes, she feels the screaming of Lexa's mind as the woman's eyes flicker just once, just enough to speak of an uncertainty, before they steady, before they come to gaze upon her. And then Lexa reaches forward, and it's tentative, it's quiet and unsure and it's bold, it's warm and it's brazen. And maybe it's a careful pressure that finds its way against Clarke's neck as Lexa's hand comes to brush against her, as her thumb brushes against the line of her jaw for just a moment as Lexa's eyes glance just briefly to the scars that linger across Clarke's cheek.
And it's surprising, it's sudden and firm. But maybe it's not, maybe it's the moments when Lexa's gaze had lingered too long, the moment's when Lexa had asked for Clarke to remain, the moment's when Lexa had fought and killed and protected her.
And maybe it's the thoughts that Clarke thinks da—
And it's soft.
Lexa's lips brush against hers.
And it's a kiss.
It's a shared breath and a gentle caress.
But Clarke feels Lexa's lips linger as she pushes forward, just enough to speak of a want, of a wish, weak and unsteady enough for her to pull away, for her to retreat, to find safer ground and to flee. But she doesn't, she holds her ground and she pushes forward kindly. And it's a quiet push and pull, a gentle dance as Lexa's forehead brushes against hers for a moment. And so Clarke's hand comes up to steady herself, it comes up to hold Lexa firmly, and it comes up to rest at Lexa's waist as the kiss lingers.
And it surprises her to realise her eyes have closed, that her breath stills and her lungs burn. And it surprises her when Lexa's thumb brushes against the raised edges of her scars, as she softens them and smooths over them with a tenderness that quiets her racing heart. Lexa changes the angle then, her nose gentling across her own as her lips urge forward tentatively, as her breath brushes against her lips and as h—
But Clarke pulls away.
Her eyes open and she feels the space widen between them as Lexa breaks the kiss, as her hand falls away and as her eyes linger for a long moment.
"I'm sorry, I'm—"
I'm what? Afraid? Scared? Too eager? Too tentative?
Her thoughts leave her a moment too quiet, a moment too uncertain.
"I'm not ready," she finishes quietly as her eyes meet Lexa's, as she wets her lips and as she steadies her heart.
Not ready for what? To be with anyone? To be with Lexa? To feel? To deserve more than just surviving?
"Not yet," she finishes instead and she lets her eyes hold Lexa's gaze, lets her thoughts linger openly within the blue as they meet the green. And as Lexa nods quietly, as Lexa steadies her breathing and as she levels her chin and holds her gaze, Clarke thinks Lexa understands.
And so Lexa nods, her eyes lowering for a moment before rising once more, her silence all the answer Clarke thinks she needs, and so she smiles quietly, and it's just a small lifting of the corner of her lips but she thinks it enough.
And Lexa understands.