She doesn't know how long she was walking for. All she knew was her boots were torn and shredded, her coat ripped, her hair matted, and her soul darkened. She also knew that if she didn't keep moving, she wasn't going to survive the next few days. Cold air was sweeping in, rustling through the trees above her, and she wrapped her arms further around herself, willing herself to stay warm.
Every day that went past, she asked herself the same question. Why didn't she pack a bag before leaving? She wanted to survive by herself, but she wasn't. She wasn't surviving. Nuts and berries weren't doing it anymore, she needed to eat. Properly. All she had on her was a dagger and a pistol. Not exactly great for catching wild animals.
So she kept walking. Sometimes she hid from groups of Grounders. Hunting parties. With bows and arrows and spears. Long range weapons. She wondered what it was exactly they were hunting. Another wish. Trigedasleng. She wished she understood it. It was used so much around her, about her, to her, but she never understood. Perhaps if she did, she wouldn't be out in the woods alone.
Finding a stream, Clarke kneeled down and scooped it up into her hands. She eyed the water carefully, bringing it to her lips. The sun was rapidly moving down behind the mountains. Clarke was burning daylight, she'd have to find some place to sleep soon, before it gets too dark and the hunting parties are harder to hide from. As the water touched her lips, Clarke saw it. A faint orange glow coming from a small cave over the stream. She let the water drop out of her hands as she stood, pulling her dagger out, and jumping across the stream.
She had no idea who was in there, what was in there. It could be reapers for all she knew. But there was warmth, for there was fire. And there might be food. It might even be someone like Lincoln in there. So she moved, very slowly, around the rock, through the narrow passageway into the cave. The cave opened up and Clarke looked around. There was a figure hunched in the corner by the fire, shivering. The walls were bare, moss crawling up the sides. The cave was damp, and Clarke focused back on the figure. Their ripped jacket covered up to their elbows, bandages wrapped round their hands. A hood extended out from the jacket, covering their silhouette. The jeans ripped and blood-stained, leading down to burlap covered boots. Clarke stepped closer, her footstep echoing around the room. The figure tensed, and grabbed at the floor next to them, grasping for something not there. Clarke's grip tightened around her dagger, and with her other hand, she pulled out her gun, aiming it at the probable hostile.
The shivering figure turned, and Clarke stood, slack jawed, looking at Lexa. Lexa, who looked 5 years younger, full of fear, void of war paint, looking from Clarke's gun to her dagger to her face.
"Lexa?" Clarke kept her hands steady. She was still angry about what happened at the Mountain, but this isn't how she expected to see the Commander again. She often dreamt of the Commander. Riding in on a two headed horse, covered in the blood of the Sky People, riding towards her and slaughtering her where she stood. Sometimes she dreamt that Lexa stood where Finn was when she pushed the knife into his heart. Sometimes she shot at Lexa's retreating figure at the Mountain. Sometimes one of them beat the other to death. One dream had her believing Lexa had been killed and someone else had taken her place, declaring war on the Sky People. Even during the day, she'd think of millions of ways she could kill the Commander. And now here she was in front of her, full of fear.
"Clarke." Lexa breathed out from her spot on the floor, kneeling down, looking up at the blonde's face. Lexa herself had had dreams too. Where Clarke kills her over and over and over until she forces herself not to sleep, fearful of what the night brings. The fear the day brings is enough.
"You're here to collect the bounty." Lexa closes her eyes, nodding stiffly, dropping her hands to her sides, and Clarke frowns in confusion when a tear and a resigned sigh escape the former fearless leader. And that's when Clarke realised.
The hunting parties. The bloody clothes. The cave. The fearful leader. The resigned sigh. Lexa was ready to die and her people were ready to give a reward to whoever does the deed. A few days earlier, and Clarke might have done just that. Taken her back to the Grounders, dead or alive. But that wasn't her today. Not as she looked at the teenager in front of her. This wasn't the Commander. This was Lexa. This was a child like she used to be. And she couldn't kill another child. Not after the Mountain.
"No. No, I'm not. Get up." Clarke holstered her gun and dagger, grabbing the arm of the former Commander, pulling her up onto her feet, much to Lexa's surprise.
"You're helping me?" Lexa asks, eyes flicking between Clarke's steady gaze, helping Clarke get herself up. She'd been in that cave so long. She thought the first person to find her would kill her. And when Clarke showed up, she thanked some higher power for her luck. Better Clarke kill her than some warrior. At least Clarke has another reason than just status and money. She'd understand why Clarke did it. She'd go down without a fight for Clarke. But then Clarke surprised her. And she didn't pull the trigger or shove the knife into her neck. She pulled her up.
"No. We're gunna help each other. We're going to go to Polis. You're going to still be Commander. We're going to survive." Clarke took out her dagger again and Lexa tensed, Clarke's grip on her wrist stopping her from moving as she pressed the handle into her palm. "But first we need food. So. Are you with me?"
"Always." Lexa replied, instantly. Clarke nodded, as stiffly as Lexa had done before, and smiled. Maybe trust could be rebuilt. After all, she believed in second chances.
They were going to do this. They were going to do this right. They were going to be unstoppable. They were the two Commanders. Of Earth. Of Sky. And they were going to make sure no-one ever forgot that.
"Let's go get your clans back."