Chapter Text
“Clarke.” Lexa inclines her head ever so slightly, acknowledging the blonde’s sudden appearance with a knife to her throat without additional comment.
“Lexa,” Clarke responds, the name hissing out of her lips with contempt and anger as she holds the blade tightly to Lexa’s neck.
Lexa looks down slightly from her taller vantage point, examining Clarke’s face. Something has changed in her blue eyes. No longer does Lexa see hope and the belief of something better than survival reflected there. Lexa sees a feral cat, a soul with no thoughts of the next day, only images of the kill before them. Her eyes are icy blue, cold, and calculating.
She is too skinny, Lexa notes. He hair is ragged and red in color, and she has dark circles beneath her bloodshot eyes. She wears grounder clothing, and the knife she holds at Lexa’s throat is crude, if effectively sharp.
As Clarke returns her gaze, something flickers, and Lexa sees a flash of the old Clarke, a flash of confusion and hurt and pain as she looks into Lexa’s eyes. But too soon, Clarke’s eyes return to those of one hunted, and one who hunts in return. Lexa sighs in resignation.
“You are a strong leader, but a foolish one,” Lexa admonishes her, annoyingly calm beneath Clarke’s blade.
Clarke, keeping the knife at Lexa’s neck, shoves her backwards towards a table. Lexa allows herself to be pushed.
“You are finished with giving me advice, Lexa. You are finished, period,” Clarke states with vehemence as Lexa bumps into the table.
“Clarke, you know better than most that hesitation in battle can kill you,” Lexa says quietly, eyes burning with a fire Clarke can’t place.
And before Clarke can respond, Lexa is in motion. She disarms Clarke in a flash, grabbing Clarke’s arm and twisting. As her knife drops to the ground, she pulls on Clarke’s arm and spins, flipping the diminutive blonde to the ground on her back.
“Branwada seintaim en taim set yu daun.” Even a fool knows when to surrender, Lexa murmurs quietly.
Clarke looks up at her from the ground, “I’m no fool. Just a wuskripa.” Monster.
Lexa’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Clarke then spins on her back, attempting to knock Lexa’s feet out from under her. But Lexa is too fast, avoiding the swipe of Clarke’s legs.
“Zorin! Komba raun hir!” Zorin! Come here!, Lexa raises her voice to say as Clarke rolls to the side and kneels to get up.
Before Clarke is able to fully stand, Lexa is before her, and with a short exhalation, Lexa punches Clarke in the gut, doubling her over. Zorin, the guard Lexa had called, enters the tent, eyes bulging in surprise at the sight of Clarke.
“Heda,” Commander, the grounder says, readying to apologize for Clarke’s intrusion into Lexa’s tent.
“Leida, Zorin. Teik em we nau.” Later, Zorin. Take her away. Lexa’s voice is that of the Commander. She will accept no excuses.
“Sha, Heda.” Yes, Commander. He bows his head and walks over to Clarke.
Clarke, still struggling to catch her breath, tries to fight Zorin off. But the grounder warrior is twice her size, and his grip on her wrist is strong.
“I will see you soon, Clarke,” Lexa says, voice still annoyingly calm, “When you have had time to calm down.”
Clarke’s only response is a growl and a newly energized attempt to escape from Zorin’s hold. Zorin struggles mightily with the catamount in his grasp. Clarke claws and bites and does everything she can to be free.
Zorin manages to remove Clarke from the Commander’s presence, calling for another guard to assist him. Together, they half carry Clarke to the back of camp to an empty tent. She fights them the whole way, managing to kick the new guard in the shin and give Zorin a solid punch to the face. Despite her efforts, however, they tie Clarke’s wrists behind her around the center pole of the tent. Without saying another word, and wanting to escape the demon that came to slay their commander, they exit.
Clarke struggles against her bound hands, pulling and twisting and stretching to escape. But her bonds are tight, and what adrenaline she had from her fight with Lexa and with the guards is quickly draining from her limbs. She drops to the floor, leaning against the pole with her legs splayed in front of her.
“Some assassination attempt,” she mutters irritably, and leans back to heavily thud her head against the pole.