Honey, you're familiar like my mirror, years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry feel on its sword,

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me, I should know

I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door..

From Eden – Hozier

Ascension Day.

The wooden throne is hard and unyielding at her back, blood stained hands gripping the intricately carved armrests to hide the tremors that are still wracking her body, leaving bloody fingerprints upon the polished wood. Her armour feels unimaginably heavy on her exhausted form, the new added weight of the pauldron on her shoulder like a boulder, weighing her down. In her peripheral vision, she catches sight of the commander's sash that is now draped over her shoulder, flowing down her side like a crimson river of blood, barely discernible from the actual blood that coats her form in abundance. It covers every inch of her skin and is embedded beneath her fingernails; droplets splattered over her face like the newly painted kohl that drips down from her eyes like black tear tracks; the commander's war paint.

And that is who she is now: the commander.

Her heart is still hammering in her chest, thumping fast against her ribcage in an effort to crack her body wide open, fuelled by adrenaline and shock as she gazes around the throne room, green eyes flickering over the faces that are packed into every available space. (she avoids looking at the small, lifeless figures that are slumped upon the ground before her throne, her final test, nine marks to be tattooed across her spine at the first available opportunity) Her eyes pass over the varying emotions on the faces of the clan leaders (fear, respect, anger, disappointment, awe) lingering on her mentor, Onya's, satisfied smirk and Gustos's proud smile, before stopping on the one face she wishes so desperately to see.

Kostia's smile is brighter than the summer sun that shines in through the windows, her relief almost palpable even from the distance between them, as she gazes up at her new heda with hazel eyes that shine with pure joy and pride. Her expression of happiness is enough to reinvigorate Leksa's aching body and she straightens further in her seat when her lover shoots her an encouraging smile.

With infinite reluctance, she tears her gaze away from her lover's, to cast her eyes over the rest of the room, hardening her expression as the flame keeper, Titus, steps up to her shoulder.

"Kneel before your commander, heda Leksa kom trikru," Titus calls, unable to repress the pride in his voice as a roar of approval echoes throughout the room. Leksa watches as her people fall to their knees before her, her eyes softening as she watches Kostia kneel, head dipping gracefully until her forehead almost touches the floor. Her heart swells at the almost overwhelming show of devotion and she nearly misses the singular form towards the back of the room, who continues to hold their ground.

"Azgeda will kneel before the commander." Titus's voice brings Leksa back to the present, fast enough for her to see Kwin Nia kom Azgedakru still on her feet, a thoughtful expression on her face as her cold eyes focus on the opposite side of the room. Icy blue eyes turn to focus on Leksa and she feels her entire body stiffen at the cruelty in Nia's gaze, as the older woman cocks her head to the side with a frightening smile that pulls at the scars that mar her features. It is several long moments before the woman rigidly drops to her knees, a brief flash of pain crossing her face at the action, though it is swiftly hidden when the woman reluctantly bows her head.

Leksa feels a cold tendril of something like fear race down her spine, as she thinks of the woman's expression, but it is quickly forgotten when she turns her head to find Kostia looking up at her with utter adoration. The corners of her lips quirk up in a small smile in return, unseen by most of the room whose heads are still bowed in deference, a small show of affection meant for Kostia's eyes alone.

A small show of weakness; an opening in her otherwise infallible guard, and unknown to her, the beginning of a war that would last for years to come.

At the back of the room, Queen Nia smiles.

Present. (2,651 days post ascension)

The map is rough and tattered, edges beginning to fray from overuse and the simple markings smudged from aggravated fingers and years of mistreatment. Beneath the candle light, the parchment is a warm golden brown, with a basic depiction of the northern most territories of trikru land scrawled over the paper in faded ink, drawn by a careless hand (her mentor, Onya) years before. It is spread over the rough bark of a fallen tree on the edge of a bustling camp, and two women crouch together to study it intently, talking quietly between themselves.

"Our scouts have tracked them here," one woman says, her almond coloured eyes flickering with barely repressed violence as they glance between the map and her companion. The light from the candle highlights her angular profile whilst throwing half of her face into shadow; a flicker of a predatory grin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut skin. Rough, calloused fingers press down upon the map outside of a small, crudely sketched village, surrounded by rolling hills and dense forests, right on the edge of azgeda territory. "We have estimated three hundred warriors inside the village, including the natrona Roan and the natblida Ontari. Guards walk the perimeter, but they are few and arrogant, typical Ice Nation warriors-"

"I care not for the traitors, Onya." The other woman interrupts coldly, her forest green eyes never leaving the map, though the skin around her eyes tightens with anticipation. Her full pink lips part in an angry snarl, a glimpse of emotion in an otherwise impassive face. "What of her?"

A vicious grin spreads across Onya's face, sharp white teeth glittering in the light from the candle as she taps her index finger upon the map. "She is there."

"Are you sure?" The green eyed woman persists, gaze finally lifting from the parchment to meet her general's stare. The candlelight burnishes her skin to a deep bronze, flickering pleasantly over sharp cheekbones and a sculpted jawline that is tense with frustration. "We cannot afford to waste time on a possibility, Onya, not so close to azgeda territory."

"I am sure, heda," Onya responds firmly, barely batting an eye at the cold fury that swirls in the depths of her companion's gaze. She has become accustomed to seeing such emotion from her former seken in the past several years, though she would never admit how much the sight pains her, even now. She comforts herself with the knowledge that it could be worse. (she tries not to think about those early days, when there was nothing in those green eyes at all, but sorrow and pain.) "Indra confirmed her arrival in the village at noon, before she retired to her tent with her body slave. She has not been seen since, though her presence can still be accounted for if only from the noise."

The green eyed woman's face flickers with confusion for a brief moment before her expression crumples in a disgusted grimace at the unwanted knowledge of her enemy's appetite. Onya nudges her companion's shoulder in a rough show of affection, even as she smirks with amusement, and though the action does not bring a smile to the younger woman's face, it is enough to smooth the lines from her forehead if only for a moment, as she shakes her head in not so mock horror.

"We cannot afford any mistakes," the younger woman murmurs after several moments of silence between the pair, her expression hard as her eyes trace over the map, following the long path from Polis to the border of azgeda territory. She reaches out to trace a slender finger along the border, dangerously close to the small village that the Ice Queen is currently inhabiting, less than a day's ride away. "If Nia is allowed to disappear behind the border, we will have no chance of finding her again; not until she arrives at the gates of Polis with half of the coalition at her back."

Even the brief mention of the coalition is enough to make both the commander and her general grimace. It has long since passed since the once promising coalition between the twelve clans shattered beneath the weight of hatred and revenge.

(shattered in a single moment, with a refusal given in the form of a severed head.)

(shattered in a single moment, along with a heart that had once been so full of hope.)

(love is weakness.)

"She will not get away, not this time, Leksa," Onya says reassuringly. "Blood will have blood," here, the general pauses thoughtfully, before offering a small shrug of her shoulders. "And if not, then at least Luna's supply of wine will have arrived in the city by the time we return. We can spend our days in a drunken stupor before everything really goes to skrish."

A small smile pulls at the commander's lips, but it does not reach her eyes as the general gently bumps their shoulders together. "I appreciate your optimism, fos."

"Of course," Onya replies, the smirk dropping from her lips as she turns her gaze back to the map, expression once more coldly calculating. "Shall I inform the warriors?"

"Yes," the commander murmurs absently, eyes focused intently upon the roughly drawn village, slender fingers tracing over a cluster of trees to the west. "Inform Indra and Ryder; we attack the village at dawn."

Onya nods obediently, laying her hand briefly on her commander's shoulder before disappearing into the night, leaving the younger woman to study the map alone. Green eyes gaze down at the parchment without focus, fingers clasped tightly around the hilt of the dagger that is sheathed at her hip, thumb rubbing unconsciously against the smooth surface.

She thinks about midnight curls and hazel eyes and blood owed until the candle gutters out, leaving her in darkness.

421 Days Post Ascension.

Beams of moon light filter in through the curtains that cover the open window, fabric fluttering with the warm breeze that brushes soothingly over bare skin. Droplets of sweat have beaded upon the two lithe bodies that are wrapped so tightly together on the bed that it is difficult to know where one ends and the other begins, foreheads pressed together and fingers intertwined. The room is quiet, save for the rustling of sheets and the soft glide of skin on skin, that pulls gentles sighs from the depths of Leksa's chest, as teasing fingertips slide up the inside of her thigh.

Soft, musical laughter echoes in her ears as her entire body shudders at the teasing touch, thighs shaking as her fingertips dig imploringly into her lover's hips. She can feel Kostia's smile against her pulse point, lips hovering over the too fast beat of her heart, soft kisses pressing into her skin at irregular intervals. Slender fingers finally dip into molten heat and her hips buck involuntarily, causing Kostia to pull away with a teasing grin, hazel eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"You're enjoying this too much," Leksa gasps, smiling despite herself at her lover's cocky grin, as calloused fingertips drag tauntingly over her clit before disappearing, wrenching a shuddering breath from the depths of her chest. "You are cruel, my love."

"I am simply taking my time," Kostia replies, much too innocently, at contrast with the mischievous smirk that pulls at the edges of her lips. "I wish to savour every second of this moment, before I must return you to your people."

Leksa groans as the tip of her lover's finger finally, finally, dips inside, pushing past her entrance to drag against her inner walls, before it suddenly disappears. A sound half way between a whimper and a growl tears from her lips as her hips rise insistently off the bed, searching, before dropping back down with a grunt. She curls her fingers through the hair at the base of Kostia's neck and pulls her down until she can brush their lips together, even as she mumbles, "You are my people."

"Yes," Kostia breathes against her mouth, lips quirking up in a smile as she dips back inside of her lover, crooking her fingers to pull a moan from Leksa's lips that turns into a blissful sigh as she starts up a steady rhythm. "But you are my only, so forgive me if I wish to keep you to myself for a little longer."

"I am yours," Leksa manages to say, in between gasps and shuddering moans. The feeling of Kostia inside of her is enough to turn her into a blubbering mess, but she forces the words past shaking lips in an attempt to reassure her lover. "Always, my love. We will always be together."

"Yes," Kostia agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to her lover's flushed cheek, to be rewarded with bright green eyes looking up at her in wonder and adoration. It brings a smile to her lips, which gains an amused tilt as she regards her companion. "I will not allow these negotiations for the coalition to take you from me, no matter how hard the clan leaders try to tear us apart."

Leksa grins, her lips spreading in a completely unreserved smile as she tugs gently at her partner's hair, pulling her down to press their lips together in a kiss. "Never," she swears.

(blissfully unaware of how very wrong she is.)

Present. (2,652 days post ascension)

The stars fade out, one by one, as the sun begins to rise above the horizon, pushing back the darkness to slowly spread light across the secluded valley. In the center of the peaceful dell, surrounded by rolling fields and dense woods, a small village, no more than a smattering of old decrepit huts and worn tents, continues to slumber despite the fast approaching dawn. The early morning dew begins to evaporate beneath the sun's warmth, causing a thick fog to rise up from the earth, adding to the picturesque scene as it curls lazily around the sleepy village.

To the west, hidden in the shadows of the woods, a lithe figure lies in wait, forest green eyes focused intently upon the quiet village and the guards who wander around it's edges with reckless arrogance. A gentle mist swirls along the forest floor, curling around the warrior's still and silent form and flowing over slender, calloused hands that are clenched upon the ground, leaving drops of moisture along sun kissed skin scattered with pale scars. Intense green eyes study the field with cool intelligence, surrounded by dark smudges of kohl, applied carefully over sharp, angular cheekbones, in a strikingly attractive feminine face.

The woman watches as the azgeda warriors begin to tire from the night spent on watch, weapons lowering with exhaustion as guards are dropped with the coming of dawn and the false sense of security that it brings. Pale pink lips part in a feral grin as the woman feels her heart begin to pound in her chest, a war drum beating for her ears alone.

"Gyon au." An order, hissed out from between tightly clenched teeth, followed by shadows detaching themselves from the forest floor in a flurry of silent motion.

The woman watches as a dozen warriors slip from the safety of the woods, stalking silently across the open field in dark cloaks and furs, while they slide their daggers from their sheaths with barely a whisper of sound as they hunt their oblivious prey. Her eyes focus on one of her warriors in particular, her general, Onya, who moves across the ground with a feline grace, all dangerous sinuous motion, directing her small kru into position even as she stalks up behind one of the guards with deadly intent. The azgeda warrior is oblivious to his impending death, tired eyes focused upon the sun rising above the mountains in the east, sword held loosely at his side when a rough hand clasps over his mouth, muffling his cry of surprise as a dagger is expertly dragged over his throat, sending a spray of blood over the ground in a wide arc. Onya holds the jerking body of the guard tightly, his fingers scrambling at her strong forearm until the movement stops and his body goes limp in her arms, before she slowly lowers the lifeless form to the ground, a vicious grin, visible even from this distance, spreading across her angular features as she turns back to the forest to raise a bloodstained fist in the air.

"Indra," the green eyed woman murmurs to the warrior kneeling on the ground beside her, though her gaze continues to focus on Onya, who is positioning her warriors around the village with a calculated expression. "Na teik em gonas kamp raun emo hodgeda. Hod op em ai flashen-de."

"Sha, heda," Indra mutters respectfully before turning around and gesturing to a small group of warriors, who slip from their positions and follow her at a run along the tree line, disappearing within moments. Onya makes a sharp, irritated hand signal from where she is hidden behind a small mountain of rubble on the edge of the village and the green eyed woman raises her hand in response and motions for her to wait.

We're running out of time, Commander, Onya signs back impatiently, but Leksa ignores her, focusing her gaze on the rustling grass on the opposite side of the valley, where Indra is moving her warriors into position to surround the village on all sides. She waits until the motion stops, taking a slow, deep breath before she raises her hand into the air and clenches it into a tight fist; the final signal.

"Jomp em op." The commander orders, as her hand reaches over her shoulder for her sword, fingers wrapping around the familiar leather hilt that warms almost instantly beneath her touch. The woods explode in a flurry of silent motion as warriors spring from their hiding places and begin a silent charge on the sleepy village, footsteps barely making a sound as they rush across the grass and begin to disappear into the village streets. The commander follows them at a much slower pace, eyes wandering over the field as she casually twirls her sword in a slow figure eight, a small feral grin pulling at the corner of her lips as the first scream pierces the peaceful dawn air, shattering the calm façade.

She steps into the village, feeling a savage rush of satisfaction as she takes in the chaotic streets, filled with the cloaked forms of her warriors that are dragging their opponents out from their tents to cut them down. She grins at the horrified expressions of surprise on the azgeda warriors faces as they are pulled from their beds, unable to organise their forces in the confusion of the sudden ambush. Her first opponent is a man twice her size, who stumbles out from his tent with wide surprised eyes, sword half drawn, and she splits his expression of shock in half with the edge of her blade, burying it deep into skull with a satisfying crunch before yanking it out with an explosion of blood and bone fragments.

"Frag em op!" She roars as she stalks further into the village, watching with bright eyes as the azgeda forces attempt to push her people back to no avail, falling beneath trikru blades one by one. "Frag emo op!"

The heady smell of blood invades her senses, along with the thick scent of smoke as a fire breaks out on the opposite end of the village. She watches as an ornate tent goes up in flames, black tendrils of smoke curling up into the sky to block out the rising sun and her heart hammers inside her chest as she thinks of the woman hidden inside.

She can taste victory on the tip of her tongue, sharp and metallic and so, so sweet. It tastes like blood and ash and revenge and she takes a moment in the middle of the battlefield to simply revel in it.

I'm coming for you, you azgeda bitch, she thinks, as she stalks towards the burning tent with deadly intent, blood dripping from the end of her sword to soak into the earth. Your fight is over.

854 Days Post Ascension.

"It has only been three weeks, heda," Titus says calmly, folding his hands before his robed form as he watches the woman in question pace the floor of her bedroom, bare feet making barely a whisper of sound on the stone floor. "It is a twelve day ride to azgeda territory, even in the mildest of seasons."

"I received word from Blue Cliff a week ago," Leksa snaps in response, her eyes dark slits as her upper lip lifts in a snarl. "And Luna rode to Polis to meet with me personally."

"And neither clan has to brave the difficult roads through Mounon territory," Titus answers, his face an expressionless mask, not even batting an eye when the commander whirls around to direct him with an angry glare. "Not to mention the invaders that are swarming their territory."

"The bulk of the invaders landed in trikru territory and you know it, Titus," the commander scoffs, waving his excuse away with a dismissive hand. "And they have been dealt with efficiently by Onya. There is naught left but elders and children to be sold now. If the Ice Nation is having problems with them, it is only because of their own incompetence."

"Is it the Ice Nation that you fret over, truly?" Titus asks, his dark eyes piercing the commander unrelentingly. "Or Kostia?"

"Watch your tongue," Leksa snarls, though her response pulls nothing from Titus save for a pained grimace, more accusation than anything. "I worry not for Kostia; she is delivering medicine to tondisi and will return to me as she always does. It is a response from the Ice Nation that I await and I do not appreciate your implications that I am unable to separate my feelings from duty. I will not speak with you any further on this matter."

Titus simply sighs, averting his gaze to the window as Leksa resumes her pacing, only for her to stumble when there is a sudden knock on the door. She whirls around, eyes narrowed and lips parting in a snarl as the door opens, only to pause when she takes in the dishevelled form of her former mentor. "Onya?"

"Hei, heda," the other woman says, dipping her head in a respectful nod as she steps inside the room, eyes flicking over Titus's looming form before dismissing him with a less than subtle lift of her upper lip. Her dirty blonde hair is windswept from riding and her clothing is dirty and tattered, but otherwise the general seems unharmed, save for a glimpse of a bandage visible beneath her shirt, but Leksa knows instinctively that those wounds were self-made. It does not stop her from crossing the room to inspect the damage with her own eyes.

"How many?" She asks absently as she peels the shirt away from her former fos's shoulder, ignoring the scowl directed at her from close range.

"Fifteen," Onya replies with a wolfish smile, grin only widening at Leksa's wide eyes. "There would have been more, if they hadn't spent so much time killing their own kind when they first landed, but that is a story for another time. You have a visitor, heda."

Leksa raises an eyebrow, watching as her general steps away to regard the still open door with a barely concealed sneer and only then does she notice the man still standing in the doorway, flanked by Gustos and one of her guards. He is dressed in the furs of the Ice Nation, his face marked with dark tattoos and scars, that twist sinisterly with the smile that pulls at his lips. She waves him inside with a scowl, feeling naked without her armour and nothing to arm her but the dagger sheathed at her hip, a gift from Kostia shortly after her ascension.

"Ice Nation finally honours Polis with their presence," Leksa says, unable to keep the disdain from her voice as she regards the messenger with narrowed eyes. "Do you bring word from your Queen?"

"I do," the man replies, his smile widening as he holds her gaze, and Leksa only notices the roughly made sack that he holds in his hands when he opens the lip to reach inside. Both the guard and Gustos tense at the action and Onya steps in front of her commander without hesitation, but Leksa's eyes are focused completely on the bag. "Queen Nia sends her regards and a gift for you, heda."

"Queen Nia rejects your rule and your coalition-" is the last thing she hears, as her eyes catch a glimpse of midnight curls and ebony skin and her entire world shatters.

Present (2,652 days post ascension)

The sky is soaked in crimson from the slowly setting sun, half obscured by the copious amount of black smoke that rises from the half burnt village at her back, matching the thick red substance that coats her hands in abundance. Slick, slender fingers twitch around the hilt of a sword still gripped tightly in her hand, red rivulets of blood sliding down the length of the blade to drip upon the earth as her eyes wander over the battlefield.

Or more truthfully, the graveyard.

The huts inside the village had been cramped excessively with warriors in an attempt to escape the night's chill, filling the village with more people than she had originally estimated. More than four hundred azgeda warriors had fallen beneath the blades of the trikru, but the commander's people had not been left unscathed, despite the surprise attack, and the field before her was grim evidence of that.

Spread out upon the grass, dozens of her warriors lay in stoic silence as they wait for their wounds to be attended to by the healers, while others have already been covered with blood soaked sheets and furs, never to return to their homes and loved ones. Leksa's green eyes linger on the still and silent forms, her heart heavy in her chest as she watches more and more bodies being added to their number of causalities, faceless warriors who she has never met, but who had followed her to this backwater village and died for her, without hesitation.

(she thinks about how many people have died for her, in this war that she could have stopped before it started, years ago, if only she hadn't been so blinded by her pain.)

(love is weakness.)

The commander walks amongst the wounded, her heavy boots squelching in the churned up grass, more blood than dirt and earth at this point. She lets her gaze wander over the many faces that stare up at her in a heady mixture of pain and worship as she passes, calling out her title like a prayer. She comes to a stop by the body of one of her scouts, taking in the gaping wound in his abdomen, his skin already paling with blood loss, before meeting his dark eyes that are grim with the knowledge of his fate. She kneels slowly by his side, ignoring the eyes that watch her as she lays her sword down on the bloodstained grass and reaches out to cup the back of his head in her strong hand.

"Heda," he murmurs reverently, blood bubbling around his lips as he stares up at her. His awe filled gaze makes bile rise up in her throat, but she forces a smile as she meets his gaze steadily.

"Ste yuj," she whispers gently as she probes the base of his skull with careful fingers, while her other hand moves unseen by the warrior's wide, adoring eyes. The sound of her dagger sliding from its sheath is loud in the sudden silence and she watches as the scout's eyes flutter closed gratefully as he relaxes in her hold. "Rest, now."

The blade penetrates skin, slipping between the scout's vertebrae and severing his spinal cord, causing the warrior's body to go completely limp as his last breath stills in his chest with a choked gasp. She pulls the dagger slowly from the back of his neck, wiping the blood off on the grass before returning it to the sheath at her hip as she brushes a piece of hair away from his face, feeling his skin already cooling beneath her fingertips. "Yu gonplei ste oden, gona."

The quiet moment is broken by the sound of approaching footsteps and Leksa's expression hardens as she carefully places the warrior's limp body upon the ground, with a tenderness that contrasts with her cold expression.

"Indra." She greets without turning around, recognizing the sound of the trikru leader's footsteps. She wipes her hands off on her thighs before pushing herself to her feet, her muscles aching from the hard fought battle. She wishes for nothing more than a bath to wipe the blood and gore from her skin, but she knows that she must wait until her people have been attended to. Her people come first, always.

"Heda," Indra responds, and there is something in her voice that causes Leksa to turn around, glimpsing an uncharacteristic flicker of worry that crosses the older woman's face before it disappears beneath an indifferent expression. The woman opens her mouth to speak but Leksa waves her words away dismissively, feeling a spark of apprehension twist with cold anger in her chest.

"Where is she?" The commander asks emotionlessly, green eyes searching the trikru leader's face with intent. A flicker of Indra's dark eyes gives away the answer and the commander feels the spark in her chest erupt into something cold and dark that spreads through her veins like liquid fire. "Where is she?"

"She is not here, heda," Indra finally answers after several long moments of tense silence, her posture rigid as her eyes search her commander's face. A hint of fear flashes in the older woman's eyes and Leksa can only imagine how her own expression must have changed to produce such emotion in the normally fierce warrior. If it is anything like how she feels inside, the sight must be terrifying. "The warriors we have captured told us that she left under the cover of darkness, mere hours before we arrived. She did not tell her people why, though I assume it is because she knew we had found her and did not want to alert us by moving her warriors with her. She left everything behind, save for the natblida Ontari; all her personal items were left in her tent, even her body slave was left behind."

The commander lets her eyes fall briefly shut at this unwelcome information, clenching her jaw against the overwhelming urge to scream. They had been chasing the azgeda kwin for the last moon, as she met with rebels throughout the twelve clans and incited resistance along her path, but they were always one step behind her. She had been so sure that they had her this time, after speaking with her spies and tracking her to this village, only for Nia to once again escape justice, slipping away to who knew where behind the Ice Nation border.

They were on the edge of azgeda territory, dangerously close to the Mounon's hunting grounds and she was aware of the unsafe position they were currently in. Despite their recent victory, this village's inhabitants hadn't even been a small portion of the Ice Queen's army and they could be attacked at any moment, close as they were to the azgeda border.

As if she could read her heda's thoughts, the older woman spoke, though she kept her voice low. "Pyres are being built, heda, as well as pallets for the wounded, and Onya is overseeing the execution of those we captured. We will be ready to move out by nightfall, though it is your will as to which direction in which we shall go."

Leksa turns away from the trikru leader, her eyes gazing out over the wounded who are being readied for travel, back to tondisi where they can recover from their wounds. She already knows that her remaining force is much too small to journey into Nia's lands, but her instincts are urging her to follow the azgeda kwin, before she can regroup and return with an even larger army.

The warrior inside her wants to fight, but it is her duty as heda to protect her people, to place their lives and needs above her own and so her choice is already made, though it makes the words no easier to speak.

"Ready our people," she manages to grit out from between clenched teeth. "We march for Polis at nightfall."

854 Days Post Ascension.

There is so much blood.

The metallic smell permeates the room, so thick that she can taste it in the back of her throat, invading her senses until all she can see is red. She glances at the walls with bloodshot green eyes, which are splattered liberally with crimson arcs, bare feet shifting in the furs that cover the stone floor, that are drenched in the same coppery substance that seeps in between her toes, staining her skin. Blood drips from her fingers that are still wrapped white knuckled around a blood burnished dagger that gleams sinisterly in the early morning sunlight.

There is so much blood, but it is not enough, not even close.

The afternoon sunlight seeps in through the window to splash across the lifeless body of the azgeda messenger, eyes wide and unseeing in a face ruined beyond recognition. His death brings her no relief from the agony that continues to rip through her body as she stares down at his spread eagle form with dispassionate eyes. His white and grey furs are unrecognisable beneath the crimson stains that have matted the previously soft fabric, blood from the many gashes in his chest and abdomen, (each wound was not life threatening on its own, but the pain each one had caused had no doubt been excruciating) and his death had been slow, but it is still not enough.

She is sure that no amount of blood or pain inflicted will ever be enough to soothe the wreckage that now resides in her chest. Her heart is a shattered mess and her eyes burn with unshed tears, unable to be released in this room full of watchful eyes. Since the moment her lover's head had been thrown carelessly across the room to land by her feet, dark curls splaying across the stone floor, it felt as if her chest has been torn right open, and the pain only worsens with each breath that she takes.

(she remembers those same midnight locks, spread across a joint pillow, as dreams and secrets were shared in the dark of night, with her chest so full of overwhelming love that she could scarcely contain it. The memory makes her want to scream and scream.)

In all her eighteen years of life, she has never felt pain like this.

"Send out the messengers," she finally whispers into the silent room, save from her harsh breathing and the steady drip, drip of blood falling from the tip of her knife to splash at her feet. She gazes into Titus's accusing eyes and acknowledges the disappointment she finds there. She can practically hear his unspoken words; love is weakness, and in this moment, she knows the flame keeper to have spoken true on this account. Love is weakness, for surely it has ruined her. "The proposal for the Ice Nation to join the coalition of the twelve clans has been withdrawn. We are now at war with azgeda and all those that stand with them. Blood must have blood."

"Jus drien jus daun," is repeated back at her from half a dozen mouths, the tones and passion behind each voice ranging over a spectrum of different emotions. Disappointment from Titus, sadness from Gustos, anger from Onya. She cares not.

Blood must have blood, but she knows that it will never be enough.

Present (2,652 days post ascension)

Once the pyres have been lit, the sound of wood crackling loud in the silence of the night and the smell of burning flesh permeating the air, the trikru warriors begin their march back down the half hidden path within the woods, leaving the destroyed village behind. The scouts jog ahead, disappearing into the trees until they are nothing more than shadows, while heda leads the rest of her warriors from atop her white mare, it's bright coat a beacon in the darkness of the forest. Some warriors hold up their injured brothers and sisters as they walk, while others carry makeshift pallets for the more heavily wounded and a small group of warriors guards them from the back, led by an alert Indra.

They march as quickly as they can with their wounded, to put as much distance between themselves and the azgeda border as possible, uncomfortably aware of the hostile nation at their backs. Leksa's sharp green eyes scan the forest constantly, peering into the shadows in search of movement, but the path remains clear throughout the night, nothing but the sound of animals rustling in the bushes and the distant hoot of an owl to disrupt the stillness of the woods.

The night passes unbearably slow and Leksa is relieved to reach kalgonasa at the grey light of dawn, the large village becoming visible through the woods that surrounds the bustling town of warriors. At the sound of their arrival, the village inhabitants hurry out to greet them on the road with expressions of excitement and worry, rushing to help with the wounded whilst simultaneously attempting to catch a glimpse of their heda as she slides gracefully from her saddle. A stable hand runs over to take her reigns to her horse and she releases them after a brief moment of hesitation, patting the beast's neck before watching as the mare is led away to the stables. She patiently greets the village leader, who graciously offers them a place to rest, and after looking at the faces of her warriors, wounded and weary, she accepts despite wishing otherwise.

She knows that it is folly to spend the day recovering in the village, since each moment they waste is more time for Nia to regroup, but the expressions of relief on her people's faces are enough to calm the voices in her head, if only for a moment as they stumble into the village on the arms of their companions.

After settling her wounded warriors in the healer's tent, she leaves her people to retire to the village leader's hut that had been vacated for her despite her half-hearted protests. She slips inside the entrance with a heavy sense of relief, feeling the warmth of the brazier brush against her skin as she closes the door behind her and simply basks in a moment of stillness. Her green eyes scan over the room as she leans back against the door, taking in the worn but well cared for furniture with approval before her gaze stills on the wooden tub in the corner, filled to the brim with steaming water.

Her entire body sags with utter relief and her tired fingers fumble with the blood crusted buckles of her armour as she crosses the room with all the haste she can muster, though she barely manages a few steps before there is a knock on the door.

"Jok," the commander hisses under her breath, jaw rigid with frustration as her green eyes gaze longingly at the bath before she lets her hands drop pitifully to her sides, stained armour still firmly in place. "Chon yu gaf?"

The door cracks open to reveal a glimpse Onya's dirty blonde hair and Leksa allows the tension to slowly leak from her muscles at the general's unexpected appearance, allowing a frown to furrow her brow as the woman slips through the open doorway. She hadn't spoken to her general since before the battle and had only caught brief glimpses of her during the aftermath and she finds herself curious as to where the older woman had been. "Onya, chit yu gaf?"

Onya steps further inside, giving a sharp tug on the piece of rope that she holds in her hands, until a dishevelled figure stumbles into the room behind her. Leksa eyes the bound form with weary curiosity, a frown pulling at her lips as she takes in the bloodstained clothes that hang off the woman's painfully thin form. The girl's head is bowed, her face hidden beneath her strange blonde hair (like the summer sun) that is matted with dried blood and gore. Onya gives the girl a harsh glare and tugs insistently on the rope, but the blonde continues to look down at the floor, refusing to meet their gazes.

"Azgeda na spek yo daun gon yo Heda," Onya sneers derisively, giving another sharp tug on the rope, but her words receive no response, other than the noticeable shaking of the woman's bound hands. Leksa is surprised when Onya simply snorts at the lack of obedience, offering a small frustrated shrug at the commander puzzled gaze. "Seintaim seimbeda sleng kom baga, I don."

Onya presses her foot to the back of the girl's calf with uncharacteristic gentleness, pushing her down until she is kneeling upon the floor, before offering the rope to the commander with a smirk. "Gon yu, heda."

Leksa takes the rope with more than a hint of hesitation, giving it an experimental tug that causes the blonde to finally glance up from the ground, shadowed blue eyes peeked out from between tangled locks of hair. The girl's pale skin is smudged with dirt and blood and ash, but it does nothing to detract from her surprising beauty, with her soft rounded cheeks and her pale pink bottom lip that is caught between her teeth, and Leksa finds herself unexpectedly caught in the slave's regard. She feels her heart stutter unexpectedly in her chest as she holds the girl's gaze, taking in the different shades of blue in her eyes.

The moment is thankfully broken by Onya's amused huff of laughter, the general's almond coloured eyes twinkling with mirth as she glances between the slave and her commander.

"No surprise as to why Nia kept her, no?" Onya says with a rakish grin as she gazes down at the slave appreciatively, reaching out to brush her thumb against the girl's cheek, smudging blood and dirt across her soft looking skin. "She must have been in a hurry to leave such a prize behind."

"This is Nia's body slave?" Leksa asks curiously, receiving a short nod in return as she returns her gaze to the slave in question, who is now glancing between the commander and her general with wide eyes. She tilts her head as she studies the girl, and that is what she is truly, barely out of adolesence if Leksa had to guess, and takes notice of the curious surprise in the girl's blue eyes as she listens.

"I questioned her the entire way here, but she is either mute or exceptionally well trained for a slave. I decided to bring her to you before I used a more...painful way of extraction," Onya says with a wicked grin, looking down at the slave who ducks her head beneath the general's gaze, staring down at the floor. "I do not believe her silence is due to mere loyalty, since she looked more relieved than anything when we found her in Nia's tent. She was chained to the bed, would have burnt alive had we arrived only a few moments later."

The commander can only imagine the ways in which the blonde has been used by the Ice Queen, who is notorious for such cruelty. The girl is just a slave, but she feels bile rise in her throat at the thought of her being brutalized by Nia's hands, and it is not long before his discomfort morphs into anger.

She thinks of dark skin and warm hands and a head delivered to her bed and her fingers tighten on the rope until her knuckles are white.

"Bants au," Leksa mutters darkly to Onya, who is now gazing at her with barely concealed concern, noticeably wary of the commander's suddenly harsh expression. The trikru general hesitates briefly, glancing between the commander and the slave before finally nodding her head and backing out from the room, the door clicking closed behind her. Leksa sighs as she returns her gaze to the slave, who is still staring obediently down at the floor, though she flinches at the sound of the commander sliding the dagger from her belt. The sight makes Leksa cringe sympathetically.

"Ai nou bash op yu," Leksa murmurs gently as she bends down to cut the rope around the slave's wrists, though her words unsurprisingly receive no response. She sighs as the rope finally severs beneath the edge of her blade, causing the slave to glance up at her with wide eyes, but Leksa has no words for the confusion she finds swimming in those blue depths.

The girl probably wouldn't understand her even if she tried.

She leaves the girl where she continues to kneel in the middle of the room, turning around to face the tub which is still thankfully steaming. She begins to remove her armor with tired hands, unbuckling each strap with impatient fingers as she crosses the room to stop beside the wooden tub. Once again lost in her desire to be clean, she almost falls into the water head first when her hands are gently moved away to be replaced by another's.

"Chon-" She barks at the unexpected touch, whirling around with one hand already reaching for her dagger, only to stop suddenly when she is faced with the slave, who is staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. Leksa's heart is thumping painfully in her chest and she assumes that her expression displays the same mask of shock that the slave shares, as her hand subtly drops from the dagger at her hip. "Ai-"

The silence lengthens for several long awkward moments, where they continue to hold each other's gaze, unsure of what to do next. Leksa feels the overwhelming urge to apologize rise up in her throat, but she swallows it down as she studies the slave's anxious expression. Once it seems that the slave is not about to be struck, the woman once again raises her hands, though she moves much more hesitantly beneath the commander's wary eyes. Her fingers slowly begin to unbuckle the commander's shoulder armor and Leksa allows herself to slowly relax beneath the surprisingly gentle touch, now that the slave's intent becomes apparent. She feels immeasurably foolish for her reaction, as she has handmaidens in her tower in Polis who help her bathe and change her clothes when asked, but that is a rare commodity and it has been a long time since she'd felt another's hands on her bare skin.

She cannot help but watch the slave's face as the woman removes her armor with an expression of intense concentration. Her hands are unexpectedly gentle as she works and surprisingly soft when her fingers brush over bare skin and the commander has to resist the urge to shiver beneath the touch as the girl peels the bloodstained leather from her body.

"Chit yu biliak?" Leksa asks the woman quietly, causing the girl to glance up at her face with a tiny frown before returning her fingers to the buttons of the commander's shirt. Leksa tilts her head in thought before repeating the question in azgedasleng, which makes the girl pauses for a significant moment, fingertips brushing over Leksa's collarbone as she bites down on her bottom lip in concentration.

"Klark."

Leksa blinks with surprise at the harshly spoken word and the rough voice that spoke it, having half expected for the girl not to answer her. She rolls the name around in her head as the slave resumes her movements, pursing her lips as she considers it. "Klark."

The girl glances up at her as she pushes the shirt from Leksa's shoulders, leaving her upper body bare. Leksa finds herself feeling unexpectedly vulnerable in her state of undress before the slave, but the girl barely offers her naked torso a glance, her expression remaining indifferent at the full display of scars, new and old, that are scattered over Leksa's bare skin. A tiny, almost pout is pulling insistently at the girl's mouth as she studies Leksa's face for a few short moments, her expression thoughtful, though her shadowed eyes seem to clear momentarily when she meets the commander's gaze.

"Clarke." The slave murmurs huskily, the name sounding softer and smoother this time, rolling off the girl's tongue with ease. The commander nods with approval at the difference, earning a small, almost smile from the slave, who has knelt to pull the leather leggings down the commander's strong thighs.

"Clarke," Leksa repeats softly, liking the way the name tastes as it rolls off her tongue, clicking the k sharply. She blinks as she feels nimble fingers pull away her under wraps, her ribs expanding sharply with her gasp at the unexpected, intimate touch and she almost bites her tongue at the undignified noises she makes when she catches a glimpse of the slave's wide eyes. She works her face into an impassive expression when the slave regains her feet, turning her back on the girl with only a moment of hesitation as she steps into the bath, releasing a soft sigh as the warm water brushes against her skin.

She immerses herself into the water, sliding completely beneath the edge of the tub to soak her hair before she emerges with a sigh of relief. Droplets of water drip from her hair as she runs her fingers through the dark locks, less surprised this time when deft fingers begin removing the intricate braids that are scattered throughout her hair. She slowly allows herself to relax against the edge of the tub, feeling no immediate danger from the slave at her back as she begins to wash her arms with a piece of soap, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of gentle fingers massaging her scalp.

She cannot help the way her body tenses when those fingers slide down the back of her neck, to begin kneading the muscles there with soothing hands. She bites her lip at the feeling, unseen by the slave, since the warm touch is so expectedly nice that she cannot help but relax into it, almost pushing back into the fingers that are loosening knots that she hadn't even been aware of. It has been so long since she has been touched like this, since anyone had dared lay their hands upon her body in such an intimate way, she can't help but wonder if this slave even knows who she is.

The slave does not seem to notice her discomfort, though it is not surprising with the way Leksa's body has melted beneath her hands, fingers travelling down her spine to smooth along her shoulders. Patient fingers dig into the hard muscles there, until each and every knot has loosened beneath her touch and Leksa is practically floating in the warm water, unable to remember the last time that she felt this relaxed. Her eyes have fallen closed sometime in the last several minutes, but they open quite suddenly when the slave's hands slip beneath her arms to glide smoothly oven her taut abdomen.

Leksa's body is liquid beneath the slave's touch and her brain has turned to unexpected mush, no longer able to send signal's to her mouth so that she can tell the slave to stop. Her brain sluggishly argues with her body as the slave's hands move slowly up the commander's stomach, fingers now stroking sensually rather than soothing and Leksa finds herself arching into the touch when the girl's palms slide over her breasts, nipples tightening beneath the light touch.

"Clarke," she finally manages to say as the slave brushes her thumbs over her nipples, tightening them further and sending a jolt of arousal straight to Leksa's core. She feels a delicious warmth spread throughout her body as the girl gently teases her and her chest expands steadily with each heavy breath she takes. She fully intended to follow the girl's name with words like, stop, and, you don't have to do this, but what comes out of her traitorous mouth next instead is - "Mou."

She squeezes her eyes shut against the betrayal of her lips, but cannot regret her mouths actions when ones of the slave's hands slides back down her body, torturously slow. She had not asked for this, she attempts to placate herself as her body reacts to the slaves touch on her skin, and she had not intended to use the slave this way. She knows it is not much of an excuse, since while she had not asked, the girl was a body slave and this was what was expected of her, but now that it had begun, she found herself unable to gain the strength to stop.

Beneath the water, the slave's fingers slide slowly through the patch of hair between her legs, fingernails scratching lightly against sensitive skin until Leksa is arching into the touch. She growls softly at the actions of her traitorous body and the slave takes the sound for encouragement, slipping lower until she reaches the molten heat between Leksa's legs.

Leksa gasps at the intimate touch, her hips bucking against curious fingers as they explore between her legs. A thumb brushes against her clit as fingers simultaneously tweak her nipple and the commander clenches her jaw against the moan that attempts to escape from her lips as her body arches uncontrollably. Her brain is beginning to shut down at the sensory overload, only to be pushed further when the slave's teeth are added to the mix, as the girl drags them lightly over her bare shoulder while two slender fingers slip inside the commander's cunt.

It is all too much, too much, and yet Leksa finds herself searching for more as she thrusts her hips against the girl's hand, satisfied when the slave begins to move her fingers in a steady rhythm, dragging her fingers against Leksa's inner walls with every thrust. Water laps against the edges of the tub at the movement, but Leksa does not notice as the back of her head drops against the side of the tub with a thump, hips rolling in sync with the fingers moving inside of her.

Gentle teeth nip at her jawline and Leksa stifles a moan as they move down the side of her neck, grazing gently over her pulse point, but not hard enough to leave a mark. She bites her lip as she feels heat build in her abdomen, thrusting her hips insistently against the slave's hand and gasping when the speed of the girl's fingers increases, thrusting inside of her at a hard, fast past that has water sloshing over the side of tub. Leksa's hands scramble for something to hold as she feels her impending release beginning to build, one hand gripping the edge of the tub while the other wraps around the slave's bicep, feeling the muscles tensing with every thrust inside of her.

She is rolling her hips desperately now, eyes clenched shut as the slave drags her fingernail sharply over her nipple while her fingers move at a furious pace inside of her. The slave presses her thumb down on the commander's clit when Leksa's body begins to tremble, curling her fingers inside of her and it is too much.

Her entire body tenses as her release slams into her, stars exploding behind her eyes as her inner walls clench around the slave's fingers, pulling them impossibly deeper. Her heart is pounding inside her chest and the sound echoes in her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, a glimpse of hazel eyes and dark skin flashing across her eyelids as her body shudders. Her orgasm rolls over her in waves as the slave continues to rub her clit through her spasms, pulling her deeper and deeper into the overwhelming pleasure that has her body trembling uncontrollably. It is several long minutes before the tremors begin to fade, leaving her body a boneless, shaking mess as the slave finally stops her ministrations, stilling inside of her. A soothing hand rubs her chest as the slave removes her fingers, wracking Leksa's body with one final spasm before she goes limp.

The slave's warmth disappears from her back briefly, though Leksa barely notices in the aftermath of her orgasm, only to return shortly with a piece of fabric that she uses to begin drying the commander's hair. She drags the fabrics down the back of Leksa's neck and over her shoulders, moving down to her chest when Leksa finally opens her eyes, only to become instantly alert at a flash of scarred skin that catches her gaze.

Her hand shoots rapidly from the water to wrap around the slave's wrist, tearing a gasp from the girl's lips as Leksa twists around in the water to face her. She stares down at the brand that has been burnt into the slave's forearm, soft skin marred by the scar in the shape of a star. She tears her eyes away from the girl's arm to catch the slave's wide eyed gaze, taking in the flicker of fear in her once more shadowed blue eyes.

"Skaikru."