A/N: Sorry for the delay! Grad school blows. Enjoy!

Lonnie made a great show of hawking a glob of spit at her face, but even this gesture of contempt was weak. It spattered onto the ground barely half the length between the cot Lonnie huddled on and She-ra's feet. Radaj started forward, face contorted and the butt-end of his sickle handle already raised, ready to repay Lonnie's insolence with a few hard blows.

She-ra stepped in front of him, her arm raised to block this way, the Sword of Protection held by the hilt so that the blade was perpendicular to her arm and pointing straight at the ground.

"No, Radaj, don't." The goatman met her eyes with his square pupils, clearly puzzled, and she lowered her sword. Only a year her junior in age, Radaj had lost his parents, siblings, and farmstead when the Horde pushed its way into Plumeria. As a result, he was one of the first refugees to step up for militia training. At first aggressive and stubborn, Radaj quickly grew into one of Adora's most talented trainee's with patience on her part and, with time, a trusted friend. In the quiet light just after training, he had gripped his training staff with white knuckles and told her that he was supposed to be a farmer. Although Adora would never know what it meant to be a farmer, she could relate to preparing for her life as one thing only to end up as something else entirely. "Leave us."

Radaj bobbed his head and lowered his sickle before leaving the tent, but Adora knew he wouldn't stray very far. Quietly, Adora suspected that he only left at all because of the prisoners poor condition.

Lonnie still shivered violently, even though the tent was heating up well. Her lips were severely chapped and her brown eyes blazed from dark hollows, cheekbones sharp and deeply shadowed from hunger. Beneath the heavy furs that Adora had ordered draped over her, Lonnie cradled a hand swathed in bandages, where frostbite had claimed three of her fingers.

Exhaling, Adora released She-ra's form and transformed back into her own body, then inhaled sharply, trying to quell the rage that bubbled up in her chest at Lonnie's sorry state. It was no longer her place to be furious on Lonnie's behalf, but old habits were hard to break. Three months had elapsed since the Horde moved North for a strike on the Ice Kingdom, Lonnie leading a force woefully underprepared for the harsh conditions that both the territory and the Rebellion would bring down on them. Practically itching out of her skin at not knowing the truth of the Horde's internal situation, Adora strongly suspected that part of the disaster that befell Lonnie's force resulted from the tiny amount of time the Horde had spent licking their wounds; only a scant two weeks had passed between the complete ejection of the Horde's forces from Plumeria and the deployment of a Northern invasion force. Though they had initially shown the same deadly efficiency similar to the beginning of the Plumeria invasion, it quickly became clear that the Ice Kingdom would not be so easily steam-rolled.

Furthermore, the Rebellion played no small role in the invasion's demise. Glimmer had orchestrated a tactically brilliant move: the citizens of the Ice Kingdom had been evacuated further and further north, luring the Horde invasion forces further into the snowy territory. They ruthlessly pursued the rebellion soldiers that they chanced upon and, when caught, Rebellion soldiers were murdered rather than kept as prisoners of war. But when the Horde finally came into sight of the Ice Palace's outer walls, hungry and haggard, an unpleasant surprise awaited the large force. Adora and Swift Wind delivered Frosta behind their ranks, and she expended nearly all of her power sealing off the Horde's means of retreat in the form of a perpetual blizzard while the other princesses defended her walls.

Then, under Glimmer's orders, they waited. The only engagements were the small skirmishes caused by the Rebellion slowly picking off the Horde's robots and raiding their food stores whenever possible. Caught between a heavily fortified castle and an unyielding blizzard, the army began to freeze and starve. Eventually, desperation drove the troops to forcibly unseat their commander in an act of mutiny and the soldiers immediately surrendered. The soldiers were worse off than any of the Princesses had expected. Hunger had winnowed their faces and their eyes seemed full of shadows.

Now their commander sat hunched before Adora, swathed in furs, too weak to even spurn the thin broth the Ice Kingdom troops were distributing amongst the starving prisoners of war. Adora watched as Lonnie struggled to raise the bowl to her cracked lips, trying to use her bandaged hand as a sort of platform to steady the shaking from her other grip. Adora bit her lip, trying to pick apart the strange ball of mixed emotions she felt when she saw Lonnie, hoping to pick out some stern anger, but didn't get far. She sighed, sheathed the Sword of Protection on her back, and then dragged a sturdy leather stool from the corner.

Adora sat and nabbed the bowl from its perch on Lonnie's bandages just before it could topple onto the hardpacked snow floor. When she proffered the bowl to Lonnie's lips, her mouth turned down and her face contorted into a scowl, turning her head away. Adora had expected this, though. "Lonnie," she intoned quietly, "You have nothing else to lose."

Lonnie remained silent for a moment long moment, but Adora waited patiently. Eventually, Lonnie turned her face back to Adora and put her lips to the bowl. Adora tilted the bowl slowly as Lonnie drank, watching as she squeezed her eyes shut. Two wet tracks of tears traced down her cheeks, but Adora couldn't be sure if they were from despair at her situation or relief from receiving her first real nutrition in days. When the bow the bowl was empty, Adora set it on the floor. Lonnie coughed into her furs while Adora surveyed her old teammate, solemn.

Lonnie raised her eyes to meet her gaze, dark rings underscoring her eyes. "So," Lonnie's hoarse voice sounded just as exhausted as she looked, "what happens to us now?"

Adora's kept her gaze and voice even. "The others will be brought to a prisoner of war camp with the other Horde soldiers that have surrendered. You and any other officers of rank will be kept in a separate camp." Adora saw a flash of panic in Lonnie's sunken eyes and held her hand up, voice rising in pitch, "And yes before you ask, the camp is provided with consistent food and humane living quarters. I helped design and set up the camps myself."

"At least it's a nice cage, then." Lonnie sneered, though Adora suspected her heart wasn't in it, " And what about after the war, Adora? What happens when— if you win?

Adora raised an eyebrow at Lonnie's slip but didn't comment on it. "Honestly, I'm not sure," she responded quietly, resting her elbows on her legs, "we haven't even begun to discuss it. I've been thinking about it though."

Adora lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Lonnie remained still, her gaze boring into Adora while she waited. Something tickled at the back of Adora's throat when she realized that this wasn't the first time Lonnie had stared her down like this. Nostalgia lapped at her toes, and Adora swallowed suddenly, eager to head off her own memories.

"I think," she started slowly, "that some of the others in the Alliance will call for punishment for at least some of the Horde soldiers—officers and the like. As for the rest, though, I don't think that would be very fair." Adora shrugged, "I mean, if a Horde soldier can become the Rebellion's hero, what's stopping any other Horde soldier from turning into something else?"

Lonnie only nodded once, and looked down in relief.

Silence stretched between them again and Adora realized that even when she was in the Horde, she and Lonnie hadn't ever really talked too much beyond sparring banter. Uncomfortable, Adora blurted out, "Lonnie who sent you here? I've looked around and your squads were massively underprepared for a seige in the North." 'Glimmer almost thought it might have been a trick, it was so easy,' she didn't add.

Lonnie's stoicism vanished in heartbeat and she scowled, lips curling over her teeth. "Catra ordered it," She spat with such vitriol that Adora flinched, "Things have changed, Adora, since we lost Plumeria."

Adora felt her mouth go dry at the mention of Catra and Plumeria. She thought of the last time she had seen Catra, several weeks ago: ink-stained and bruised, the corners of her mouth smeared with blood and tears spilling from her wide, mismatched eyes as she stumbled away into the large shrubs, all that remained of the vast forest that had once surrounded the base. Catra hadn't been the only one to cry that day; after endlessly exhausting hours of tromping around the Horde base as She-ra, issuing commands left and right, Adora had quietly retired to a tiny tent somewhat apart from the other troops and began heaving great sobs into her pillow. She had felt torn apart from the inside-out by the soft look in Catra's eyes, unable to reconcile this development with everything else going on. She had been both relieved and horrified, happy to have feelings she hadn't even known existed (let alone named) reciprocated, only to immediately begin grieving over her inevitable loss. The way Catra's mouth parted ever so slightly while her eyes searched Adora's face had answered a hundred questions and asked a thousand more. Not a day went by since that Adora didn't think of her face or the way her fingers felt in her hair.

"What—," Adora stumbled through her words, desperate to figure out a way to ask more about Catra indirectly, "What do you mean?"

Lonnie snorted, "I never liked Catra, you know that. But she wasn't a bad commander until the Horde retreated from Plumeria. When she came back, it was like we'd already lost the whole damn war." Lonnie practically growled out her words, teeth working against her barely contained fury. "She barely did anything, barely planned anything, barely gave any orders! She stays in her room all day long or just wandered around. Us Force Captains were figuring out what to do on our own, until she ordered the siege on the Ice Kingdom."

Confused, Adora listened closely, leaning forward a bit in her chair. Had Catra changed since their last run in? Had she had a change of heart about the war? Was she thinking of switching sides? Adora felt her chest constrict painfully around this last strange piece of hope. She felt wound like a coil within herself, filled with tension and worry. 'What if something is wrong with Catra?' She thought, and her mind raced with ideas and half-formed plans on how she could check on or even help Catra in the Fright Zone.

Adora cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice nonchalant, "So she's—Catra is not—she's behaving strangely?"

A hoarse, scratchy laugh choked out of Lonnie's throat, and Adora's face burned in response, knowing that Lonnie read her like a book. Lonnie's mouth twisted in a wry smirk and her eyes turned sharp and derisive. "Fuck Adora, you really can't help yourself can you? She got her claws sunk so deep in you that you still have to know if she's okay, huh? Some things never change, even when you turn coat, I guess." Adora's heart beat wildly and she sat back up and away, eyes wide as she tried to put a little distance between Lonnie and herself. But even as Lonnie's scorn stung Adora, she could hear an almost wistful or nostalgic tone tinge the edge of her tone, as though she thought back to other, better times. But when Adora opened her mouth to respond, Lonnie continued and all the wistful affection disappeared from her voice, replaced with a deep and resounding bitterness. "Well don't worry, Adora," she rasped harshly, "I'm not sure what you did to break her in Plumeria, but clearly you're just as deep under her skin, too."

The only sound she can hear is someone's ragged breathing. It's the sort of labored panting so forceful that it's marked with the harsh, disgusting sound of air pushing thick mucus around in the back of the throat. Every time the noise sounded, a sharp pain pulsed outwards from the ribs on her left side.

'I need some water,' Catra thought dimly, only just realizing the noise was coming from her own mouth.

In front of her, two giant sliding doors repeatedly attempted to close over a pile of twisted metal pipes air vents, wreckage and debris that had been torn down from the ceiling during the siege.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, she had been staring into the darkness of her room, yet again unable to sleep, and the next moment the alarm was blaring again, just like it did in her dreams. For a long while, Catra had laid alone in the inky black darkness of her room, thinking she was still dreaming until Scorpia had burst into her room babbling about a full Rebellion siege.

Two unmoving bodies in Horde armor lay slumped against the debris. Catra regarded them with a dazed and distant look. She dipped to pick up the rifle not laying in a pool of blood and staggered when she tried to straighten, partially falling against an air duct. She hissed, looking down. A deep cut in her thigh sluggishly pumped blood down her leg and she pressed the side of the rifle to it, relishing the way the cold metal felt against the burning pain. After a moment, she dragged herself up and over the rubble filling the entrance to Hordaks quarters.

She stumbled when she made it back to the floor on the other side, but kept her feet. Everytime she stepped, she left a slippery footprint of blood. But there was no time to bandage it beyond the tourniquet she tied on earlier. 'I have to tell Hordak that we're going to lose,' she reminded herself, the thought becoming a sort of mantra: 'We've lost. We've lost. We've lost.'

The air was frigid around her feet but so hot up by her head that she was sweating, a mystery she might have solved if she had recognized the destroyed refrigeration units and other lab equipment she maneuvered around. Catra shook her head, but the fog in her brain remained. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew all of this—the rubble, the dead guards, the quiet—wasn't normal. She knew that someone was here, that Hordak was in danger, but she couldn't force her body to limp any faster.

Up ahead, closer towards Hordak's throne, Catra finally heard something other than her own breathing: a cacophony of breaking glass, the shriek of metal equipment getting crushed, and the grunts of a battle. Finally, she turned the corner and gasped. At the top of the platform, She-ra stood not like the usual shining beacon of glory, but a bloody harbinger of dread and death. She was bruised, dirty, and beaten. A thin line of blood marked the corner of her mouth and a wound on her scalp matted some of her hair and bathed the side of her face and neck in red. A very deep cut on her sword arm is still bled freely, dripping down onto the blade of the Sword of Protection clenched in her hand.

In her extended left arm, she squeezed a man's neck tight in her grip. Nothing remained of his left arm but a clump of torn bloody fabric while the other hung limply at his side, clearly crushed beyond use. Catra heard his breathing from where she stood, wet with blood and even louder and more labored than her own. There were foamy red bubbles on the man's lips. Catra wondered why She-ra was squeezing him so hard.

"Adora?" a voice called out. Catra blinked as darkness wavered at the edge of her vision, confused by the sound of her own voice. The man turned his head spotted her first. "Catra!" Hordak rasped with a desperate sort of authority. 'Hordak! That's Hordak!' her thoughts screamed. "Shoot her, now!"

Catra raised the rifle, instinctually lining the sights up on She-ra with ease. She moved her index finger from the flat side of the gun to the trigger. She-ra finally turned her head to look at her. She met Catra's eyes with an even look. There was no plea or apology in her gaze, just a tired acceptance. But even as Catra stared into She-ra's bright, sky blue eyes ('so different from Adora's eyes'), Catra couldn't help but remember that Adora laid somewhere just below the surface.

The rifled wavered, only for a moment, and then Catra dropped he it, Hordak's eyes going wide with panic as it clattered onto the ground.

She-ra turned back to Hordak without a word and her sword started to move, but Catra was already falling. It felt like falling into a cloud: down, down, down into the cold layer of air that coated the floor. She heard a wet a grunt and wet gurgle of pain, followed by a strange wet sliding noise and the sound of dripping. She stared at the ceiling and traced the path of the pipes, the focus of her eyes fading in and out. The floor was cold, so cold, and she began to tremble from the chill. Elsewhere, something dropped heavily onto the ground and Catra felt, rather than heard, the approach of footsteps.

"Catra?!" Adora sounded so far away and frantic, even though her dark stormy blue eyes and disheveled hair crowded Catra's vision, "Catra, can you hear me? Say something!" Catra stared up at her and wondered why Adora painted half her face red.

Adora stood suddenly, so fast it made Catra feel nauseated. She removed her giant sword from her back. The blade swung down and the point stopped just short of Catra's face, directly above the spot between her eyebrows. Rivulets of red criss-crossed the length of the blade, pooling towards the tip until it finally dripped onto Catra's forehead. She furrowed her brows. 'I— I hate that thing.' Catra tried to focus a glare on Adora's face, but she could barely see now.

"Don't you dare die," Adora warned, and the blade of the sword blazed with a brilliant blue light, burning Catra's vision, and then the world went black.

When Adora finally awoke in Brightmoon's healing wing, only Queen Angella sat at her bedside, quietly reading scraps of parchment from a pile in her lap. Adora sat up quickly, feeling cornered. She glanced nervously at the bed just behind Angella's back, where Catra still lay, now swathed in bandages.

"She'll recover," Angella replied to Adora's unasked question.

Adora swallowed thickly, and reached for the glass of water sitting on a small table to her right. Often, many of her duties as She-ra felt natural to Adora, but speaking to the Queen was not one of them. She picked her words carefully, feeling as though she was playing at politics even now in this private conversation. "Is it over?" She asked quietly after taking a drink.

"In some ways," Angella responded evenly, eyes still tracing back and forth over the lines of the note she was reading, "In other ways, this is just the beginning."

Adora nodded, thinking of the discussions that the Alliance had already begun to have about life after victory, a topic that had never been discussed before. They debated assimilation or punishment for low-ranking Horde soldiers, potential military tribunals for Force Captains and other members of rank, and what to do with Scorpia and a shockingly alive Entrapta. They never discussed Hordak, because it had been assumed that he would be killed in battle. They also never brought up Catra's fate, an omission that had made Adora profoundly uncomfortable at the time. Now she wondered if it was because everyone thought she would die in the battle as well.

"What will you do with her?" Adora asked, staring at her fists bunched in the blankets in her lap.

Angella set the parchment down in her lap and looked at Adora for the first time since she had awoken. She looked tired, just the same as she always did, and Adora felt strangely disappointed. Although she had never really thought about it, Adora had been hoping that once the war was over, she would have made Angella happy in some way. Instead, Queen Angella just looked like she was ready for a new war. "She will go through the military tribunal just like the other leaders, though I have a feeling her punishment might be more severe for her role as the Second-in-Command."

Adora squeezed her eyes shut tight, feeling the beginnings of tears at the corners. "Scorpia and Entrapta aren't going to a tribunal," she shot back quickly.

"Scorpia and Entrapta are Princesses, Catra is not." Angella answered gently, sounding like she was on the verge of consoling her, "We can't risk upsetting the balance of Etheria by putting princesses—even Horde-aligned princesses—at risk in a tribunal."

A tear traced a path down Adora's cheek, despite her best effort. She took a shuddering breath, calming herself. Then she met Angella's eyes. "I have given everything I have ever had to this war and I have never asked you for anything in return." She began, fighting to keep control of her voice, "Because it was the right thing to do."

"Adora—" Angella tried, but Adora cut her off, turning to meet her eyes.

"This is the only thing I will ask you for, Angella." Adora pleaded, "Don't send Catra to a tribunal. Don't send her to die."

"Adora, think about what you're asking," Angella admonished, "I know that she was important to you during your time in the Horde, but can you even say that you know her anymore? Do you know who you are saving?"

Adora shook her head vigorously. "That's not important." She insisted, "Please Angella, you know what it's like to lose someone important to the Horde. Don't—don't ask me to give the same."

At the mention of her late husband, Angella broke her gaze and looked to the floor. She remained quiet for a long time, and then finally heaved a large breath.

"For what you have done for us as She-ra and for what you, Adora, have sacrificed in the meantime, I will do this." Angella relented, "But Adora, I fear that what you want and what I am giving you are not the same. I fear that you are mistaking stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky." Angella reached out, gripped Adora's shoulder, and squeezed, "I don't know if Catra is capable of giving you what you want."

Adora wanted to say that she isn't sure what Angella means, but the Queen gets gets up from her chair.

"Take another night to rest here, Adora, but then the work will have to begin again. We will need you." And then she turned towards the exit.

Adora slumped back onto her pillow when the door shut behind her. She wanted to lash out, to shout back at the Queen that she was wrong, that Catra was worth saving, and that Adora knew it in her bones. But, as tears escaped the corners of her eyes when she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the truth was that Adora had no idea anymore.

A/N: Angella's warning at the end, "I fear that you are mistaking stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky" is almost word for word from the Witcher series written by Andrzej Sapowski. I just finished them and they had a huge impact on me, so I wanted to pay a little bit of an homage to his work this chapter!

Also, I hope this chapter clarifies more of Adora's feelings.

As always, I hope you have enjoyed this and if you have, feel free to comment or contact me on my tumblr (same username)!