Chapter 39:

Clarke's legs were sore. They had already travelled another day. She didn't speak to anyone.

Bellamy had given her a coat that had a fur sewn into it, as a grounder winter jacket. Clarke put it on over her leathers and armour before Bellamy retied her bindings on her wrists. Oddly he strapped pack and her scabbard from Lexa to her back again. Clarke didn't question it. He had finally decided to make her walk as well. He had left her bindings off her legs when he found she had cut them again in the night. She knew he also kept his mouth shut about her cutting the bindings. Clarke could only assume he was feeling guilty for holding her captive. They had been walking since daylight. She had stumbled and fallen a few times as the terrain got increasingly more difficult to travel on as they got further North. She shrugged Bellamy off whenever he attempted to help her up.

He stayed quiet since their conversation the other night. Clarke didn't fail to notice that he was staying close. He was never more than a few feet ahead or a few feet behind her. She wasn't sure what his motives were but she was sure Pike had told him to keep an eye on her. They walked right through to dusk when she began to see warriors. First archers then more men the farther they walked. They all wore furs and white war paint. Clarke's breath hitched when she noticed detailed scars like Roan had had etched into their faces.

Two large men approached Pike and a man at his side. They spoke in hushed tones before motioning the group further. Pike and his men began walking, they all kept their weapons ready but pointed down.

Clarke heard murmurs as they passed into the Ice Nation camp. Nothing more than whispers but she knew she had heard 'Wanheda' more than once. She hung her head, her past coming back once again to bite her in the ass. She was now being dragged by Bellamy as her feet were struggling to move forward. She didn't want to go any further. She didn't want to admit it but she was afraid. Her determination was wavering with every step.

Clarke didn't know how she was going to get loose to follow through on her plan. She started to wish she had escaped in the night instead of going along with this foolish idea. She thought back to Lexa. She missed her, she needed her, she wanted to see her alive and well but she knew it was useless. Even if Lexa was alive there was no way she would come to get her. Lexa had been through this before, for the good of their people she wouldn't come to rescue Clarke. She's dead. Clarke shivered as the voice in her head spoke up. For two days it had gone back and forth from giving her hope to giving her a crushing weight of defeat. It made her feel dead inside.

Despair was now choking her, her breathing was ragged. Bellamy pulled her along, keeping her on her feet. She let him guide her along, she let him help her up when she fell. She was lost in her thoughts, the scene around her disappearing the more she thought about Lexa. She saw her face, she saw the soft shape of her brow, the sharp lines of her jaw and elegant neck. The image looked like a painting in her minds eye, the beauty making Clarke's heart race. Clarke opened her eyes. That's why she had come. That's why she hand't escaped when she had her chance. She was doing this for Lexa. She felt her determination come back, she felt the pain in her legs lessen as the adrenaline began to course through her veins.

The came closer to what looked like a camp to Clarke. There were fires layed out sporadically, but burning bright and large as dusk was falling quickly. More and more people were coming out of tents to view the party entering their camp. They were led deeper into the folds before coming to a halt outside a large tent. It looked like Lexa's except for the white Azgeda hand prints caking its outside. Clarke watched as Pike and his men argued outside the tent with the two grounder guards. Finally the one pulled a blade and stabbed the man beside Pike in the heart letting him fall to the ground. Pike looked at the man who killed his buddy before turning to face the rest of the group. "Guns down people, we enter without weapons," he said loudly.

Clarke shook her head, fools, she thought.

Three men in Pike's group laid their weapons down outside the tent and followed him in. The others kept their weapons and were ushered to one of the closer fires to get warm. Bellamy placed his weapon down next reluctantly all the while keeping his grip on Clarke. It was tight and painful but Clarke couldn't ignore his worried glances. Good, she thought, you should be worried.

She shot him a serious look, one that said be on your guard. She breathed out heavily as he nodded in response. He understood.

She was ushered in behind him and shoved to the front of the group before the man kicked her knees from behind and she fell to the ground painfully.

And then she saw her.

A chill ran through Clarke as she rose her head to take in the woman before her. Clarke felt her steel grey eyes piercing her, raking over her body as the woman smirked and stood like royalty. She wore grey clothes adorned with furs, she had what appeared to be crown made of bones on her head. Clarke saw the deep scars on her forehead but they seemed to add to her beauty. The woman was terrifying but beautiful.

"So this," Nia looked away from Clarke briefly and set her eyes on the tent as she spoke and silence surrounded them, "is the Mountain slayer." She looked back at Clarke with a disgusted smirk, "this," she gestured with a wave of her hand, "is the powerful Wanheda…The Commander of Death." The surrounding camp laughed loudly mocking Clarke and her grounder title, she lowered her head, she couldn't see how she could get free and make any moves.

Clarke kept her head down, refusing to look at the woman again. She felt a solid fist strike her in the face.

"You will look at her when she speaks to you!" the man who cracked her said.

Clarke gritted her teeth. The fist from the man had knocked sense back into her; she was stubborn and she would find a way… She raised her chin defiantly, refusing to let it lessen her, instead deciding to take pride in her title. She found herself slowly rising to her feet again. Today, she would command death.