Another day passed but in Clarke's mind it was either the last he'd be in the cell or the last day he'd have a head.

He'd gathered from the guards that the Queen was due any day from their idle chatter so he made his move to the hidden corner where his small pool had filled a crack in the floor and sucked it up, the mud taste coming together with the other ingredients to swirl in his mouth. His arms were still bound and there had been nothing to cut at them with.

It's not the best plan but it's all I've got. Now we wait.

The alchemist came by at about the same time every day, every six hours like clockwork to keep Clarke asleep, and he heard the jingle of that small bag. He closed his eyes and lay on his bed, listened to the door open, the guards step in as usual. The amount they'd deemed necessary had gone down with his listlessness and the joy going out of beating on him. Clarke laid still as he always did and let them lift his head.

Two guards and the old chemist. If I can just get the first one...

In a flash he forced his head up and met the guard's lips wit his, spitting into the surprised mouth so the sleeping potion forced to the back of this throat. He jerked back, coughing and sputtering at what Clarke had spit into his mouth but Clarke was up with him. The usual routine upset by change gave Clarke the advantage, his hated enemy there for him. The alchemist fell back against the table clutching the potion vial in shock and the other guard leaped at him, pushing him against the wall, his hands closing around Clarke's neck.

“Get some guards! I need help!”

The guard's yell gurgled when Clarke kicked his leg up and into his throat, kicking him in the windpipe so hard he let go and stumbled back.

Clarke charged and brought his head down like a hammer, smashing the guards nose into his face so it cratered, blood spurting from the crushed septum. He would have pushed the advantage if, by miraculous chance, the guard had not fallen back and cracked his head on the table, leaving him limp on the ground. A quick glance at the other guard saw him stumble and fall, trying to get up but body not listening as sleep overtook him.

The pain jagged through Clarke as his back wound burned, only healed enough to keep him alive but not enough to give his full health back. Even so he turned and lunged for the alchemist who was already running for the door and stomped on the hem of his robes and pulling, jerking him so that he fell onto his back and his breath came out in a wheeze.

It's hard to say what the proper amount of force to use when kicking an old man in the face is but Clarke found it after about kick three had rendered him unconscious.

For a second he stopped breathing the pain in his chest so strong he could only clench his teeth as it jagged through him and gradually faded.

He set to work quickly, cutting his bonds with a sword and freeing his aching feet, toes glad to find their natural position. He heard nothing outside yet as he looked through the alchemy bag and found only potions and reagents of any use in healing. He knocked back a red potion to ease his pain which began to cool immediately. He silently nodded his thanks at the well learned apothecary.

The door peeked open and he looked out, nary a guard in sight. With the crack, elite forces of the secret squad reduced to a pile of corpses under a tree somewhere, Clarke had the feeling that the people left were simply ordinary, work-a-day city guards who didn't know just what they were guarding. Necessity did not a perfect guard make.

He grabbed the sword and the satchel, looking at the blade and down at the unconscious elves.

It'll be a pain if they come after you. A little cut is all it'd take.

I'll kill you if you don't shut up.

He said back to the little voice. He'd lost himself in dark feelings long enough and no matter how many times the voice came to him he did not want to give in to it again. No matter how sensible it sounded.

He locked the door behind him and began to creep down the wide halls, always looking for someone to stop him. He passed a small wooden table, two chairs, a set of cards in mid play and two mugs.

Is this the guard station? Just two...strange...

The door to the elevator was open a crack so he jammed himself between one door and the other and pushed, forcing it open enough to slip through. The elevator was there as though it had never gone back up, the key still in the operating position and the magic platform fluttering ever so slightly.

He hopped on and activated the up button, the elevator ascending a foot at a time, past the stone of the underground prison to the wood of the elven holy tree.

This doesn't feel right. Alouella is smarter than this. Hell, Wade would be smarter than this.

The tree widened out around him and a windpicked up, softly blowing and growing stronger all around him as though he were caught in a deep breath. The tree closed in on him, the sides of the elevator wobbling as they were pushed. Flowers bloomed on the walls out of the tree flesh, one after the other like giant eyes. They flicked to look at him and a shiver of terror ran up his spine.

Not her...oh no...

The flowers, eyes and now mouths, shook and spoke in a voice like leaves falling.

“It's...it's youuuu...”

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One hand shot out of the wood and slammed down and then another, pulling the body free of the wood and there was the dryad Clarke had set fire to, her body torn and splintered on one side, the black bark falling away to green regrowth as she healed.

She roared.

“Sister killer! Enemy of the forest! Hated of the elves! Killer of Mother Dryad, Queen of the Land!”

Vines burst from the walls, thorns as thick as his arm all along their length like a cruel whip. Clarke jumped forward but avoiding an attack from every direction was impossible, thorns shredding at his body even as he escaped immediate death.

He deflected a new vine with his sword, jumping back as they all lunged at once again. He couldn't have been heard over her had he managed a word anyway.

“That spell, the one that slew all of the elf queen's subjects, killed the animals all through the tree, it killed her too! The one that we were all born from, the Forest Mother!”

The spell...it must have killed EVERYTHING living in the area...oh my god...

“The tree, my mother, was dying, the palace in danger of falling right out of the weakened limbs and only taking me into her body, setting me in her place, could save it!”

Clarke could barely move without tripping over a vine as they whipped around him, reached for him swinging wide but the errant thorns tearing at his skin. She didn't seem to have full control of them, a powerful dryad suddenly thrust into a role of far greater power she could only attempt to wield like an unbalanced weapon.

Clarke didn't waste his breath on an explanation but he could see the lip of the shaft.

He pulled his sword back and whipped it through the air, tumbling towards her body. She batted it aside as he made for the edge, climbing over her tentacles like handholds. She finally wrapped one around him and ripped him from the wall, tightening the vine around him, squeezing the life from his body as she looked him in his eyes.

“I'm glad it was me who got to execute you. I'll make it la-”

Clarke had grabbed whatever came to hand from the satchel, whatever was in the bottle, and shoved it into her mouth. She drank it when he smashed her in the jaw as hard as he could, bones popping in his hand as he struck her wooden chin, broken glass falling away as she bit through it.

She coughed and clawed at her throat with broken glass embedded in her mouth and throat, translucent green ichor spilling from her mouth.

“You-you bast-!”

He still had the rest of the bottle and he silenced her immediately, jamming it into her face, the wood splintering as the bottle broke off in her. He finished by spitting the rest of the potion across her face, leaking into the open wounds. While he didn't know if dryad were animal enough for it to work he wasn't going to stop.

For her, it was like holding an angry rat right next to her face and she screamed as she whipped Clarke through the air, tossing him end over end until her landed hard, the air exploding from his lungs.

He tried to breathe even as he got to his feet, could feel his flat lungs refusing to take in any air. She had moved out of the tunnel, her lower half a part of the tree now, reaching for him, tendrils flooding his way even as she choked and clawed at the glass in her face.

He turned on his heel and ran while he could.

The lab but which one?

If only he'd asked just a bit more of Wade but he couldn't make it too specific. And there was no telling if the land shark was even still there.

One lab had its lights on of all of them so he hoped and ran for it, pumping his legs as fast as he could with slithering plant hell behind him like hundreds of snakes.

He flew through the open door and slammed it behind him, throwing the heavy, wooden beam down across the cradle. The door thumped and banged inward, the dryad looking at him through the thick glass, pale green streaming down her face.

“Clarke.”

He whirled, his heart beating like mad to see Wade behind him, sitting beside a hole.

“I knew you'd do it.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence!”

He yelled, watching out the window as the dryad began to sink into the wood of the tree.

Damn it, I can't stop her!

He turned on Wade, saw the mace in his hand, his shield nearby. Wade looked at him and sighed, his face a blank and his eyes intensely focused on Clarke.

“Is the shark here?”

Wade waved a hand at the hole in the floor, the same pocket hole that Clarke always carried around.

“Yeah. I knew what your plan was when you asked me where she was. It all clicked so I began to wait here when I didn't have to organize the guards. She's a good girl. I named her Crunchy.”

He stood, swatting his mace into his hands and Clarke looked around the room, taking stock of what he had to fight with or use. He'd beaten Wade once when they were kids but he looked a whole lot bigger now and Clarke was running out of tricks.

Wade tossed the mace at Clarke's feet.

“Your other hole with all your notes and alchemy stuff is over by the shark. I've lost to you my whole life Clarke so if I don't fight you, I can't lose. I'll deal with Alouella and keep helping her. You go get your mother and make sure Gwen doesn't do anything stupid. Alouella would be wrecked if she got hurt.”

He gestured to the mace as the room warped around them, the dryad shaping the wood into a new body.

“You're gonna have to hit me so they don't suspect. I doubt you'll find that hard.”

Clarke picked up the mace. It was a simple ball mace, no spikes and a smooth head that altogether must have weighed thirty some odd pounds.

“Wade...you're not a loser. I think you're going to be okay from now on.”

Wade grunted, suddenly getting impatient.

“Enough of your mushy sentimental garbage. Just get it over with. Not in the face though, I gotta impress the elven ladies.”

“It would only make it better.”

Clarke took the swing but went for the bread basket, knocking the air out of Wade's body and likely giving him a fat bruise to look forward to. He tossed a healing potion onto his hand as he dashed by, grabbing his portable hole and flipping the shark hole upside down so Crunchy fell out along with the dirt Clarke had piled in there for her to swim in.

The dryad only arrived in time to yell as he took hold of the rope he'd tied around her tail weeks ago, her teeth ripping into the living wood and jerking him behind her through the tree.

The wood dust and chips stung Clarke's eyes, splinters tearing into his flesh as they burrowed a looping, turning path through the dark, wet innards of the sacred tree.

All of a sudden, fresh air and sunlight hit his face and Clarke opened his dust laden eyes to see dirt whipping past them, dirt and small stones painfully nicking his exposed body.

They were on the ground, trees whipping by as Clarke held on as long as he could, striking bumps and logs, his chest burning from being road dragged until he couldn't take it any more and let go, falling face down in the dirt.

His whole body ached, a constant burning, splinters in his skin beside bruises and abrasions where his skin had worn away. His whole body hurt as he shakily raised himself up only to scream at what he saw.

All around him were bodies. Wrapped tightly in sheets, bodies piled up in long rows all along the forest floor, going on and on for as far as he could see in the trees. He jumped up, his whole body aflame with pain as he witnessed the full extent of that day and what his mother had done.

...your fault...

The tiny voice murmured at him, a tiny snake in his head, no longer in control but there nonetheless.

Clarke clenched his teeth and balled his fists, swallowing his shock back down into his belly.

He swigged a healing potion, downing as many as he could while running. There was a mad dryad somewhere behind him and guards likely on the way when Alouella heard. He ran as far and fast as his head start would carry him.

I'm coming, Gwen. I'm coming, Mom.