It's been three months since the attack on Mt. Weather. Three months spent living in the woods, in the wild, constantly on the move and hidden away from everything and everyone she loves.
She manages to stay safe, stay hidden, stay disguised, for three months. Her luck runs out when she is ambushed in the woods outside of the Grounder trading post. She'd been careful, very careful but she doesn't realize until it is too late that she has been tracked, hunted, and now captured.
She never does see the face of her captor. After being knocked out, she awakens to a blindfold covering her eyes and her hands bound behind her back. He only speaks to bark orders at her to drink and keep pace when she isn't walking fast enough for his liking.
They walk for what feels like days on end. She's fairly confident that they start off heading South along the river but after two days he redirects them East. He ties her to a tree each night while he sleeps. He snores and that makes Clarke want to kill him even more. She spends her sleepless nights trying to formulate an escape but without the use of her hands and her eyes, there isn't much she can do. Her fingers are cramped and numb. Her wrists ache from being bound in the same position for days. It makes escape impossible. It makes fighting impossible.
She is exhausted, weak and starving when she first hears it. She thinks for a minute that she may actually be hallucinating. There is a dull buzz of human activity that cuts through the relative silence of the woods that she has become accustomed to. The further they walk, the more the sounds of human activity grows near. She knows for certain that she isn't imagining it when she overhears her captor having conversations with people in passing.
Of all the lessons Lincoln gave her in that first week away from the Ark, from how to hunt, to how to track, to how to trap, the lessons in trigedasleng were by far the most valuable. She doesn't think her captor realizes she understands as much as she does. He speaks freely with those around him. His conversations are very brief though, no more than a few words in passing, but it's enough for Clarke to learn that there is a bounty issued for someone named Wanheda. That explains why he hasn't simply killed her yet. There's a bounty on her head and he's delivering her to this Commander of Death.
Now that they appear to be in the heart of a village, he tugs her along more insistently. What was a brief moment of relief at hearing other human activity is short lived. The relief is soon replaced with blood chilling fear. If this man knows who she is and there is a bounty on her head, she can only imagine what someone who calls themselves the Commander of Death has in store for her. She can only the imagine the power and praise one man might garner if he were to slit the throat of the infamous Sky Girl in the middle of the city center for all to see.
She is jolted out of her internal musings when her right foot slams painfully into something hard and unmoving. With her eyes covered and hands tied behind her back she looses her balance and the only thing that keeps her from falling face first is the Grounder's fist that grasps roughly at the back of her neck.
He grunts irritatedly at her in English to pick up her feet. Clarke figures out quickly that they've reached stairs. It's bizarre because stairs have almost become a foreign concept after living in the woods for so long but it provides Clarke an additional piece of information; they are inside a building. Their heavy footsteps echo dully off the concrete walls around them as they ascend five floors. This isn't just a makeshift grounder city in the woods. This is a grounder stronghold. The dread in the pit of her stomach gets worse with every step.
Her day of reckoning has come. It's time for her to pay for the blood on her hands. The memory of Lexa's voice rings in her ears, "Jus drein jus daun".
No sooner than the voice has faded into the recesses of her mind, she is jolted to an abrupt halt. The sound of a heavy door opening in front of them is followed quickly by the release of the man's hand from the back of her neck and a firm shove forward. She expects to hear voices, she expects to hear a conversation; instead all she hears is fading footsteps and the heavy door closing behind her.
She has no idea where she is, she has no idea what's coming next. She knows the captor has left the room which makes the footsteps coming toward her that much more disconcerting.
The last thing she expects is for the rope around her wrists to loosen as her hands are cut free. She expects it even less to come face to face with familiar deep green eyes shrouded in black warpaint when the blindfold is removed
She was prepared for a fight. She wasn't prepared for this.
"Clarke." Lexa 's voice is steady and void of emotion. She sounds exactly like she did the last time Clarke saw her, on Mt. Weather when she was leading the retreat.
Clarke doesn't respond. Her eyes simply bore holes into Lexa. She's seething with barely controlled anger beneath the surface. All of this was Lexa's doing.
Lexa watches her closely, scrutinizing her face, her posture, her closed fists now hanging loosely at her sides. First ten then twenty seconds pass and Clarke stays rooted to the spot, unspeaking. Lexa recognizes the fire in her eyes for what is is; rage.
Lexa is the first to break eye contact. She turns her back to Clarke and walks across the room to a small chest at the foot of the bed. It's the first time Clarke really registers where she is. The room is huge, it's ornately decorated and the tapestries that hang from the windows and the bed posts are familiar. There is no mistaking that this is Lexa's living quarters.
Lexa crouches as she opens the chest and runs her fingers over the smooth, polished, steel blade inside. Although her eyes aren't on Clarke, Lexa has been listening intently. She knows Clarke hasn't moved an inch. She didn't get to be Commander by letting people sneak up on her and slit her throat from behind.
Lexa isn't surprised to see Clarke still rooted to the spot, frozen in place, when she turns back around. It unnerves her, however, that Clarke doesn't even flinch at the sight of the knife. Perhaps 3 months alone in the woods was too long; perhaps it has driven her mad as many had speculated. She has lost all sense of fear and is completely unpredictable. She was hoping their reunion wouldn't come to this but the fire in Clarke's eyes tells her everything she needs to know.
For the first time in a very long time, Lexa feels like the prey; not the predator, despite being the one with the weapon in her hand. She can't read anything in Clarke's eyes and nothing about her body language is giving her away. There's no indication for Lexa as to what Clarke is thinking; nothing but instinct and experience. Instinct tells her that she's right to be wary. Experience tells her only one of them is leaving this room alive.
The Commander crosses the room and is standing back in front of Clarke in four easy strides. They are eye to eye and less than 3 feet apart. Lexa knows it has to be her to make the first move.
In a motion that echoes hours of practiced movements with a bladed weapon, Lexa effortlessly spins the dagger in her open palm. With one final swallow and a shallow breath she knows she'll be holding, Lexa closes her fingers around the blade of the knife and without ever breaking eye contact with Clarke, extends her arm toward her; offering Clarke the handle.
It takes a second for Clarke to realize what Lexa has done. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense that the careful Commander would not only offer up her own weaponry but offer it up to an enemy she has abandoned in battle and who she knows can use it against her.
Whether it makes sense or not, it's an opportunity that Clarke can't pass up. In less time than it takes Lexa to blink, Clarke wraps her fingers around the handle of the dagger, withdraws it from Lexa's grasp and just as quickly advances until the blade is pressed firmly into Lexa's throat.
Lexa can feel the edge of cold steel bite into her skin. The blade hasn't drawn blood yet but it won't take much. Clarke is so close now that Lexa can see the flecks of silver in Clarke's blue eyes and can feel the blonde's breath on her face as she speaks. "Handing someone a blade they can kill you with is extremely unwise, Commander. You're normally not this reckless or this stupid."
Clarke waits for Lexa's response but it never comes. Lexa makes no attempt to move, no attempt to fight and no attempt to talk her way out of this.
"After everything we've been through Lexa, this is how you want it to end?" There is a distinct tone of disbelief that laces Clarke's words. It's either disbelief or disappointment. Lexa thinks the possibility of the latter stings worse than the dagger blade pressed into her throat.
Lexa just keeps meeting her gaze. Unwavering and unflinching as she speaks, "The kill is yours, Clarke."
There is no way Clarke could have prepared herself for those words coming out of Lexa's mouth. It's the last thing she expects to hear. The words shake her to her core. The adrenaline she's been running on comes to an abrupt halt. Her damaged wrist that had been supporting the weight of the blade against Lexa's throat begins to shake. The adrenaline is gone and the ache in her bones is returning.
Lexa sees something akin to hesitation flash in Clarke's eyes. She can't know what Clarke is thinking but she wonders if Clarke has spent as much time thinking about the day they attacked Mt. Weather as she has over the past three months. None of it matters now though, Lexa is responsible for the broken truce; responsible for the betrayal that is unforgivable; responsible for almost getting Clarke and all of her people killed. This is certainly not how she wants her life to end but blood must answer for blood and dying at the hands of a warrior as strong and fearless as Clarke will at least make for an honourable death.
"Desertion of an ally in battle is an act punishable by death. There is much I have to answer for, Clarke. Blood must have blood."
Those words, those four words spoken in Lexa's voice have haunted her since the night at Mt. Weather. It's time for Clarke to make a choice. She will only get this opportunity once and she can't afford to make the same mistake twice. Clarke hopes that the choice she makes tonight will finally help to lay those ghosts to rest.
With as much confidence as she can muster with her battered body and damaged soul, Clarke straightens her back, stares into the face of the woman that left her when she needed her most, and makes the only choice she knows she can live with.
"I'm a lot more like you than I care to admit, Commander, but that's not who I am. I have enough blood on my hands. I don't kill when I don't have to. "
"Don't make me have to," she adds as an afterthought as she begins lowering the dagger. The last bit of remaining strength in her cramped and throbbing fingers gives way as the blade clatters to the floor between them.
Lexa looks on in disbelief that she knows she's failing to conceal. Maybe three months in the woods hadn't changed the Sky Girl. Maybe she was still the same Clarke, even after everything that had happened. Maybe there was hope after all.
"You know, after we turned Lincoln back from being a Reaper, he told me that we all have monsters that live inside of us and that we all have to pay for what they do when we let them out." It sounds like Clarke is talking more to herself than Lexa but the Commander listens intently either way.
"I'm responsible for the deaths of thousands, Lexa. I can't be a monster anymore. I'm tired of paying."
The rage fulled fire is now gone from Clarke's eyes but Lexa recognizes that it has been replaced with something far worse; pain.
"I've spent countless nights wanting to hate you. I've gone through this over and over again in my head. What if I saw you again, would I kill you, could I kill you?"
Lexa cuts her off before she can continue, "Clarke, if you can't kill..."
"Stop. Don't for one second think that I can't kill you, Lexa. I can. I'm choosing not to."
"I've done nothing but think about what you did and why you did it for months now. I've considered doing egregious bodily harm to you. I'm CHOOSING not to. So you can save the lecture about weakness and what's required of a leader. I'm no one's leader anymore and taking the easy way out is weakness. I killed that scout at TonDC because I thought it would make me feel better. It didn't. Neither would this."
For the first time since her arrival, Clarke takes her eyes off of Lexa. She rubs at the bruised indentations on her wrists as the pins and needles in her fingertips finally begin to subside.
"You're right, you do have a lot to answer for Lexa but that's what I want, answers, not blood."
Lexa nods, understanding that Clarke still has many unanswered questions. She waits for the onslaught to begin.
"You put a bounty on my head to get me here only to have me kill you, why?"
"The Ice Queen put out a kill order on you, Clarke. Everyone from here to the farthest seas was looking for you. If they find you and deliver your head, the Queen promised them a life of kings... I couldn't let that happen." The words "not again" go unspoken but Clarke understands the implication.
"So you put a bounty on my head instead? You did THIS," Clarke gestures to her battered and bruised wrists, "to protect me?"
"I didn't order that", Lexa defends. The red and purple ligature marks on Clarke's wrists look painful and Lexa does genuine regret that it had to come to that. She'd have to have a talk with Koran about the use of force but ultimately she knows it was probably for the best. "I never wanted you hurt, Clarke. But we both know you wouldn't have come otherwise. You would have fought and you would have escaped and eventually, someone would have found you. I couldn't risk that that someone wasn't me".
A myriad of emotions wash over Clarke as she listens to Lexa explain her actions but one thing still remains unclear.
"You thought I would kill you when you handed me the dagger. You chose to bring me here, believing that it would cost you your life." It's more of a rhetorical question but Lexa knows Clarke wants an explanation.
"I knew you would be safe here. My people know you Clarke. They respect you and after Mt. Weather, they revere you. They're calling you Wanheda. If you kill me, my people believe that you would absorb my power. They would follow you, Clarke. They would be loyal. You could lead them. No other clan would dare challenge you after that".
Clarke almost wishes there was another explanation. The last thing in the world she wants is the title of 'Commander of Death' and now knowing that Lexa did all of this to protect her, to keep her safe, knowing it was going to cost her her own life, wreaks havoc on her head and on her heart. It's somehow worse knowing that Lexa, who cares for her people more than she cares for herself and who made the choice at Mt. Weather for the good of her people, had every intention of leaving them in Clarke's hands. The thing the Commander holds most precious was the thing she planned to give to Clarke without a second thought. That's how much Lexa, still, after everything, trusts Clarke.
The truth of the matter is that trust between them was never the issue. The issue was obligation and nearly a hundred years of history.
There is still so much unresolved; so many more questions that need to be answered. Clarke doesn't even know where to begin.
"I don't want to be the Commander of Death. I can't. I won't survive it." It's the first sign of vulnerability Clarke has let slip in nearly three months. The last person she expected to be dropping her guard with is Lexa but it's a testament to her exhaustion on every level.
With unwavering faith, Lexa reassures her, "Yes, you would. But you don't have to. Life should be about more than just surviving."
Lexa's tone is hopeful as the words fall from her mouth. She knows they are still on shaky ground but she needs Clarke to know that she sees her, truly sees her, sees what she wants and what she needs. Lexa can't take back the choices she made at Mt. Weather but her redemption can start with giving Clarke back the life she wants and the life she deserves.
The memories of those words are as fresh for the both of them as the day Clarke first uttered them in the shelter of Lexa's tent before the Commander kissed her. So much has happened since then, it feels like another lifetime but Clarke still believes the words to be true; no matter how unrealistic they sound at this point.
Lexa watches Clarke closely. There's so much she wants to say but it can wait, everything can wait. The only thing that matters now is that Clarke is here and Clarke is safe. She hopes that she can keep it that way.
The Commander makes her way slowly over to a window on the opposite side of the room. She pulls back slightly on the drapes and gestures for Clarke to join her. Clarke isn't sure what she expects to see but it certainly isn't this.
A beautiful sunset fills the streets below with glowing orange light. There are men, women and children of all ages milling about. There are lines of stalls that appear to make up a market square. There are families shopping, trading and bartering. There are musicians playing makeshift instruments in the city center and people appear to be... dancing. Clarke sees no weapons and no war paint. There are no masks made of bone or furs covered in blood. This isn't a military stronghold, this is a civilization.
These people are happy. These people are smiling and laughing. These people aren't just surviving. These people are living. She glances sideways toward Lexa because she's not sure she trusts her eyes. The Commander's only response is the barest hint of smile and whispered confirmation, "Welcome to Polis, Clarke".
A/N: This story was posted just after the S3 premiere and as such is now Jossed. There are a few minor details that could be modified (in light of recent episodes) to be more canon compatible but I don't plan on making those modifications unless it really bothers anyone. Please let me know if it does.