It's nearing dawn, the sky ever so slightly beginning to lighten as you sit in the shadow of your tent, your blue eyes scanning the dark forest for invisible enemies. It's only been a few hours since you left the commander's tent, after hours and hours of talking about stratagy and battle plans and sneak attacks and you had left Lexa bleary eyed, slumped on the edge of her sleeping furs, where she had sat for the last hour as you paced energetically around the war table. It had been all too familiar, turning away from the map to see the commander sitting on her cot, watching you intently as you tossed ideas back and forth, so you bid her goodnight as soon as that old familiar warmth begun to flare in your chest.
You couldn't have that. You didn't want that.
You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it hadn't all been so easy, with the way you had both snapped at each other, voices raised in argument as you planned. Except this time, unlike six years ago, it had been you that was pushing for the most violent plans of attack, while Lexa shot you down, time and time again. You had ended up accusing her of being too close to the enemy, which had turned into a near screaming match of it's own, leaving the two of you to lick your wounds in the thick silence that had followed.
You sigh quietly as you wrap your cloak tighter around your body, fighting off the shivers that are racing down your spine as the cool dawn air brushes against your exposed skin, painfully. It is a reminder that while the snow has finally begun to melt, winter is barely gone, still lingering in the air as frost covers the ground and the wind blows harshly through the trees, chilling you to the bone.
"Clarke," a voice speaks softly from behind you and you turn your head to give Indra a half smile as the older woman greets you with a slight incline of her head. "It was a quiet night."
You nod grimly at the other woman's words, taking notice of what she isn't saying as she comes to stand beside your seated form. It had been a very quiet night, especially after the large group of warriors from the Mountain clan had joined the camp, just before midnight. There hadn't been a single chirp of a cricket or the crunching of a leaf to disturb the stillness since.
"They're out there," you murmur, quietly enough that only Indra can hear, as the woman crouches down by your side. "There aren't many of them, but they're there."
"Yes." Indra whispers, her dark, sharp eyes gazing into the forest intently, flashing with a feral kind of hunger that you know all too well. "Dawn approaches, Clarke, but there is still time before the sun steals the shadows from the forest."
You smile darkly at the older woman's subtle suggestion, inclining your head in agreement, even as you silently slip a dagger out from the shealth at your side. You stand casually from your spot on the cold ground, stretching your muscles and wrapping your dark cloak around your lithe form, before you turn and follow Indra into the camp, winding through the closely packed tents gracefully. It's not until you reach the commander's tent in the middle of the camp that you duck low, slinking in the shadows and keeping your movements silent as you follow the leader of the trikru into the dark forest that surrounds the camp.
You meet Indra's gaze briefly at the edge of the tree line before you part ways, sharing a feral smile as you slip silently away, your fingers clenching tightly around the handle of your dagger as you begin to hunt.
The forest is silent in the quiet before dawn, that kind of unearthly quiet that lets you know that something is amiss, and it sends a trickle of adrenaline through your veins as you prepare yourself for a fight. Your steps are light on the forest floor, gliding between the trees like a ghost and carefully avoiding clumps of dead leaves and errant branches with ease. The forest is so dark that you can barely see, since the moon set long ago, and you're glad that your cloak is dark enough that you blend into the forest easily, just another shadow.
It's takes you barely a few minutes of searching before you find the first one, kneeling silently within the curved roots of a tree, watching the camp intently. You take note of the thick dark mud covering the white and grey furs and the azgeda tattoo inked into the man's temple as you slink up from behind him and he doesn't make a sound as you press your blade against his throat, dragging it smoothly from ear to ear, like a bloody grin. You lay his body down in the shadow of the tree, once it's stopped jerking, before continuing on.
You take down three more in complete silence and it's almost too easy; you should have guessed that your luck was about to run out as you laid the fourth man's body down carefully on the forest floor.
You hear them barely a second before they reach you and it's not enough time to turn around, let alone fight, as they grab you from behind. The blade that presses against your neck is so sharp that you bleed before you even feel the cut, and you think for a moment that this is it, this is how you finally end, and you are so relieved for a momentthat your eyes burn with tears as your body slumps defeatedly into your captor's arms.
But death doesn't come straight away; you're simply forced to stand on the precipice and wait for it, as you hear harsh breathing in your ear and feel a warm body press against your back.
"Well, well, well," a distinctly female voice breathes into your ear as your head is tilted to the side, showing your face to the person behind you. "If it isn't the mighty Wanheda. The god's must be smiling upon me this day."
The use of your most hated title is enough to push that fleeting relief from your mind, enough to make you want to kill this woman rather than let her take your life. The blade is pressing lightly against your neck and the woman's mistake is to be arrogant enough to even take a moment to address you before she slits your throat. If she'd been smart, she would have killed you as soon as she had the chance, but her confidence would be her downfall.
Never let yourself become arrogant, Luka's lesson rings briefly in your mind as you take a deep breath to prepare yourself. Arrogance is a warrior's worst enemy; always assume that your opponent is faster, stronger, more skilled. Never assume that you've won until you have.
The sting of the blade slicing into the side of your neck is nothing compared to the satisfaction you feel as your captor's breath is knocked from her chest as you jab your elbow deftly into her ribs. You spin around gracefully, ducking low as the dagger swings over your head, slamming your knuckles hard into the woman's thigh, hitting a pressure point that drops her to one knee. Your grin is feral as you slam your boot into the woman's chest, knocking her onto her back with a grunt of pain, where you leap ontop of her with a snarl.
You block a fist aimed at your throat, but you're not fast enough to avoid the dagger that buries itself into your thigh, causing a muffled hiss of pain to escape your lips. You slam the hilt of your own dagger down onto the woman's sternum, feeling the bone break beneath your blow before you flip the dagger in your hand and slam it into the woman's throat. The blood that sprays from the wound coats your face in a fine mist and leaves your hands coated in the thick substance as you continue to bury the knife deeper, until you feel the blade press against the ground.
You grit your teeth as you listen to the woman gurgle her last breath through the blood that is filling her windpipe before you wrap your fingers around the hilt of the dagger buried in your thigh. You squeeze your eyes closed as you pull it slowly free, unable to stop the whimper that escapes you at the flare of pain, before the feeling of relief floods through you and the pain loses some of it's sharpness. You roll off the woman's body, lying down on the cold forest ground, feeling your heart thumping in your chest as you attempt to catch your breath.
It's blissfully silent for a few moments, but you become instantly alert, your muscles tensing with anticipation, when you hear light footsteps approaching, but you relax almost instantly when you recognise Indra's shadowed face peek out from between the trees.
"Clarke," she whispers, taking in your blood covered form with wide eyes before she crosses the last bit of distance between you, dropping to her knees at your side. Her hands hover over your abdomen as her dark eyes search for a fatal wound, but you wave her off carelessly.
"It's not all mine," you say, referring to the blood that heavily stains your clothes and skin. The thought makes you shiver unpleasantly, but you ignore it.
"But some of it is," Indra responds as her gaze falls upon your thigh. She pulls a wad of cloth from the pouch at her hip and presses it against the wound, seeming to approve of the way you don't even flinch. "We need to get back to camp so that we can clean and stitch your wound. I do not want to have to explain a dead wanheda to the commander."
You roll your eyes as Indra wraps a makeshift bandage around your wound before taking the hand she offers you after only a moment of hesitation. She pulls you to your feet with ease, refusing to let go of your hand even as you glare at her with irritation. She merely stares back at you with a bored expression as she pulls your arm over her shoulders, wrapping her own muscular arm firmly around your waist before you begin the excruciating walk back to camp.
"Did we get them all?" You finally ask, after several minutes of silence, your eyes staring straight ahead as you clench your jaw against the harsh throbbing in your thigh. It pulses unmercilessly with pain with every step you take, but you refuse to acknowledge it in Indra's prescence.
"Yes," Indra answers, helping you carefully over the root of a tree that protrudes from the forest floor. "I will send out some of my warriors to dispose of the bodies once we reach camp."
Your nod your head in response, standing tall, (as tall as you possibly can with a limp) as you make the ten minute journey back to camp. The sun has finally begun to rise above the tree tops once you've returned, and warriors are packing up their tents as the grey sky lightens with a tinge of pink.
You've barely made it five steps into the camp before Lexa appears in the hustle and bustle of the breaking camp, her face a storm as her green eyes land on you.
"Shit," you murmur, resisting the urge to smile as Indra hums in agreement, as you move closer and closer where the commander stands. Lexa's fiery green eyes widen with every step that you take, her gaze roaming over your bloodstained clothes and the arm that is thrown casually over the trikru commanders shoulder, and for a split second, the commander of the twelve clans looks terrified.
"What happened?" Lexa hisses when you finally reach her, even as she turn around to usher you both hurriedly into her tent, away from curious eyes. You hear her call for a healer before she follows you inside, whirling around to face you with wide, worried eyes. Her hands hover awkwardly in the air, as if she wants to reach out and help you, but you wave her off as Indra lowers you carefully into a chair, where you sigh in relief as the weight finally lifts from your injured leg.
"Hunting party gone wrong," you say, earning a harsh glare from the commander at the understated explaination, her eyes never leaving yours, even as a healer rushes into the tent. The young woman takes one look at you and her eyes widen comically, though you barely pay her any attention as Lexa continues to stare at you with all that worry in her eyes. "I'm fine."
"You are covered in blood." Lexa snaps angrily, ignoring the healer who has finally gained the courage to approach you, gazing at you with hesistant brown eyes, even as you give her your most reassuring smile. "Indra, explain."
You unbutton your pants in silence, pushing yourself into a standing position with your arm braced against the table as Indra snaps to attention. You try to ignore the way Lexa's nostrils flare as you gesture for the healer to remove your pants, her green eyes focused on the way the womans fingers slip beneath your waistband carefully, before inching the fabric down your thighs.
"We detected azgeda spies in the woods," Indra is saying, even as you let out a hiss of pain as the removal of your pants irritates the wound on your thigh. Lexa's jaw clenches as she continues to blatently stare at you, her eyes darting in between your face, your naked thighs, and the healer kneeling on the ground before you. "Wanheda and I entered the forest to dispatch them, and Clarke was injured while taking down once of their warriors. Minor injuries, though she has lost a significant amount of blood from the wound on her thigh."
The healer keeps apologising as she finally inches the fabric down to your ankles, leaving you almost completely naked from the waist down and allowing you to sit back in your seat. You don't look at Lexa, who you know is still watching you, as you gaze with a patient smile at the healer who begins to clean your wound with careful hands.
"The next time that you decide to go on a hunting party, I want to be informed," Lexa finally says, her voice low and angry. Her next words are directed at you. "And you are not to go at all."
Your eyes widen with anger and disbelief at the commander's audacity and you can't help yourself as you snarl a reply, briefly forgetting every single lesson that Luna and Luka has bashed into your thick skull over the last four years. "I don't take orders from you, commander. If I wish to go hunting, I will do so, with or without your permission."
"You will not. We cannot afford for you to be taking such stupid, reckless risks at this time, Clarke," Lexa reponds furiously, her voice so condescending that you feel a furious rage building in your chest, just begging to explode. You are not a child, after all, or some bumbling seken. Lexa's shoulders are tense with anger as she stares back at you, though she conciously softens her tone, ignoring your scoff as she continues. "We march against azgeda, and I need every ally that I can get to win this war. I need you, Clarke."
"You need me?" You ask, with no small hint of bitterness lacing your words. "Or you need Wanheda?"
Bingo.
You know you have her when Lexa's jaw clenches at your words and you feel a humorless laugh bubble up at the commander's silence. You hadn't known Lexa's intentions for you, not for sure, but the expression of almost guilt on her face settles all the last pieces into place.
"Don't think that I'm so stupid," you say, unable to keep the bitterness and misery from your voice. "Don't think that I don't know why Luna sent me to Polis, specifically, and don't assume that I don't know why you need me. Azgeda have allies, almost as many as you, but you know that they won't stand against you with Wanheda at your side. Your people fear you, but they fear me more."
Lexa says nothing; simply stares back at you with wide eyes and you shake your head with a sad smile as you finally look away. You feel the tell tale burn of tears building in your eyes as you stare at the tent wall, but you blink them away and swallow the lump growing in your throat.
"You really haven't changed at all, have you." You murmur quietly, not a question, and Lexa's sharp intake of breath informs you that the commander heard the softly spoken words.
"Clarke," she says, her voice equally quiet, but only silence follows the quiet exhalation of your name and it's all the answer that you need.
You turn your gaze to the healer that kneels before you, watching you with a sympathetic expression as she holds up the needle that will stitch your wound back together.
"This will sting," the healer murmurs before you feel the needle prick your skin.
Yeah, it really does, you think, but it's not the needle that you're referring to.
/
As soon as the healer finishes bandaging your wound, you want to escape the stifling silence that has permeated the room since your arguement with the commander. Indra has left already, to order around the warriors that are packing up camp, and the healer had scuttled away as soon as she'd handed you a small pot of antiseptic paste to smear on your wound every day when changing your bandages. You stand up slowly from your seat, pulling your pants back up your legs with a grimace before testing out your newly stitched thigh. You will be walking with a limp for a few days, but the pain is much more bearable than before and it wouldn't hinder you too much in a fight. You'd faught with much worse, after all.
You turn to leave, but you barely manage a step before Lexa's soft voice stops you.
"Clarke," she murmurs, from where she stands by the war table, sounding as if she's talking to a cornered, wounded animal, which isn't too far from the truth. You pause, a few steps away from the door, but you don't turn around.
"What?" You ask, with barely restrained anger in your voice, feeling the tension curling in your stomach. It had only been minutes since you'd last been spitting angry words at the other woman and you were already rearing to go another round.
"I know you don't trust me," Lexa begins, ignoring your snort of contempt as she continues. "You've made your feelings clear since you entered Polis and I understand that. But whether you consider yourself floukru or skaikru still, you owe me respect, Clarke, and your allegiance-"
"I don't owe you anything," you hiss, cutting the commander off as you whirl around to face her. You open your mouth to spit more words at the other woman, but she stops your impending rant with a sharp wave of her hand.
"I am the commander of the thirteen clans, Clarke," Lexa says angrily, taking no notice of the way your eyes widen as takes a step towards you. You take a step backwards in reaction. "Whether you are skaikru or floukru, I am your heda."
"What?" You snap heatedly, even as your head spins. Thirteen clans? Thirteen? "Since when did the coalition gain a new clan?"
Lexa looks thrown by your question, her green eyes wide as she regards you warily. "Since Marcus Kane, the chancellor of the Sky People, bowed before me and took our mark, five years ago. Skaikru have been under my command ever since."
You have to fight to remain your composure, since while you knew of the continued alliance between the skaikru and the commander, you knew nothing of this. How had Luna kept this from you, for the last four years?
"Well," you finally say, straightening your spine as you hold the commander's gaze. It's a fight to keep your face emotionless, but you are proud of the way your voice holds strong. "It's lucky that I'm no longer skaikru. Or floukru for that matter."
If Lexa is taken aback by your reply, she doesn't show it. "Then who are you, Clarke?"
"No one," you say. "And I will never bow to you."
The commander says nothing as you turn and exit the tent.
You barely manage to cross the camp and slip inside your own tent before you fall to your knees and cry.