Guilt is the most painful companion of death.
The blindfold was ripped from Clarke's eyes at the same time as hand between her shoulder-blades sent her crashing onto an unforgivable rock floor. The aches that riddled her body brought a moan to her lips as she rolled herself over, only to see Lexa pushed through the door too. She thudded onto the floor with a pained cry.
Attempting to lift herself into a sitting position with her hands still bound in front of her caused Clarke's stomach muscles to protest. As one of their abductors suddenly moved towards her brandishing a dull blade, she shrunk back instinctively, but he only grabbed her hands and sawed through the ropes. Clarke immediately used her freedom to propel herself backwards from the terrifying armor-clad figure, until her back smacked into solid, cold stone. The man made a guttural noise of disgust before moving to Lexa and slicing her binds too. With a swirl of grey fur, Clarke and Lexa were alone in the small space and the only door slammed shut. A click and a thud told Clarke that the door had been locked and barred.
Suddenly the remains of the ropes that curled around her wrists felt as petrifying as snakes against her skin. In a panic, Clarke scrabbled at her arms and flung the tendrils away from her. She became aware of Lexa trying to do the same, unable to pull the ropes over her hands because they hadn't removed her blindfold. It was probably because of the way she had fought when the warriors had sprung upon them in the woods. Clarke had been too numb to put up any fight but Lexa had thrown herself in front, sword in hand, in the space of a heartbeat.
Her movements stiff and robotic, Clarke moved to her side. As she lay a hand on Lexa's shoulder, her whole body flinched which only caused Clarke to startle too. Her fingers trembled as she briefly withdrew her touch. The last time Clarke had been touching her, she had been holding a knife to Lexa's throat.
"It's okay," Clarke murmured instinctively. "It's only me."
She didn't know why she said that considering that when she'd seen Lexa riding through the woods four nights ago, she'd decided on the spot to kill her.
It was the culmination of weeks spent wandering alone in the woods feeling as though she was going to burn up from the storm of anger and guilt and sorrow that raged inside her.
In the darkest moments of the night she'd thought of the Commander and she'd been unable to stop herself wondering how everything could have been different if Lexa had only stayed by her side.
Then, somehow, on a deserted trail outside Tondc, she had found herself pressing Lexa into a tree and pressing a blade to the fluttering pulse at her throat. That was until, moments later, they had been surrounded by fur-clad warriors with weapons drawn. Clarke's only thought had been that is was Lexa's guard; they were surely going to kill her and she hadn't been able to kill Lexa. She'd killed 300 innocent people in Mount Weather but she couldn't kill Lexa. She'd dropped the knife, not even caring if the guard drove her through with a sword in that moment.
As illogical as Clarke's comfort was, so was Lexa's reaction because her body relaxed and she allowed Clarke to deftly unwind the ropes. For a brief moment, Clarke's fingers wrapped around Lexa's wrist and she thought how frail her body was, how easily she could snap the bones under her fingertips. She pulled her hand away, vaguely horrified at her own monstrosity.
Freed, Lexa ripped the blindfold from her eyes and threw it with distain into a corner.
Clarke retreated, seeking comfort once more from impassible stone at her back. She watched Lexa through lowered lids as she assessed her surroundings with the keenness of a predator. Finally, her gaze shifted from the impenetrable door to the other girl and a sense of inevitably settled over Clarke.
She curled her knees up to her chest even though it aggravated old and fresh injuries and reluctantly lifted her gaze to meet Lexa's.
"Are you hurt?" Lexa asked softly. There was sincerity in her voice and it only caused bitterness to swell in Clarke' chest.
She ran her fingertips over the scars and scabs and scratches that laced the skin of her arms and hands. They were the visible marks she hadn't bothered to protect herself from in the hope that the searing pain of a twig or a rock would somehow drown out the ache she felt inside. She'd been looking for some form of punishment for the massacre at Mount Weather; perhaps being locked in here with Lexa was some form of cosmic punishment.
"You don't care," she answered listlessly. "You left me to die once before. You don't care now."
Lexa's eyelids fluttered. From those days they'd spent preparing for war, talking and planning and arguing in Lexa's tent, Clarke had learned that sometimes that almost imperceptible flutter of her eyelids was Lexa's only tell for something burning powerfully within her. But now Clarke couldn't be bothered wondering what Lexa felt. Slowly, she lowered her chin to her knees. She was so exhausted.
"I am sorry, Clarke," Lexa murmured eventually. Clarke didn't move. "I am sorry for what I did. I am sorry that you are hurting because of it. But I don't regret my decision. It saved my people, Clarke. Everything I do is for my people."
A joyless smile twisted Clarke's lips. "You're a prisoner now, Lexa. Now you're going to die for them."
Clarke didn't know where they were or who held them prisoner and she struggled to care. She was tired of the games. Fate seemed determined to cause her grief no matter how hard she fought against it so why bother fighting?
Lexa glanced at the four, windowless walls of their tiny cell.
"Most likely." Her voice was emotionless and, even through her numbness, Clarke marveled at Lexa's ability to so calmly consider her own death. She didn't speak with the complete ambivalence that seemed to overwhelm Clarke, yet she contemplated the imminent possibility of her own death.
"We've both killed for our people," Lexa said. Clarke kept her eyes on the cracked stone under her feet, tracing the patterns with her eyes so her mind couldn't drift towards dangerous territory. Lexa took her silence as permission to continue.
"It's surely less of a sacrifice to die for them."
A spark of anger in Clarke's chest broke through her haze.
"You make it sound so simple," she spat. "Like it was nothing to let 250 people die in Tondc and nothing for me to kill 300 more in Mount Weather!"
Her throat burned as if the very words were filled with poison. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stem the tears that were forming a lump in her throat.
"Death is far from simple," Lexa said softly. Frustration gnawed at the edge of Clarke's mind; that philosophical tone made her want to press the blade to Lexa's throat all over again. She spouted inspirational speeches to Clarke, just as gullible as the Grounders to Lexa's charisma, and expected her to be free of all the guilt. It may have worked long enough in Tondc for her to flee the missile attack but Clarke was too haunted now for pretty words to mend the deepest ache in her soul. She shook her head weakly.
"You don't understand what we've done at all, do you?"
Lexa was silent for a long time. The atmosphere in the confined space turned to one of tension as Clarke waited, without realizing it, for Lexa's response. Eventually, Clarke was compelled to lift her head and look towards the other girl. Lexa's expression was distant and Clarke guessed that she was somewhere no one would ever reach.
As if aware of Clarke's gaze upon her, her eyelids flickered and she returned to reality, green eyes meeting blue.
"Guilt is a luxury that I am not afforded, Clarke," she said, realizing that Clarke was expecting an answer. "I have to lead my people. For every death that haunts me, there are a thousand living depending upon my next decisions. I cannot afford – my people cannot afford – for me to be consumed by my guilt."
Clarke inhaled a shaky breath, trying to push against the tightness that had wrapped around her chest.
"How do you just ignore it?" she whispered, uncaring that she sounded desperate. She hated the idea of turning off her feelings, becoming cold and merciless like Lexa, but she couldn't continue feeling like this. She wasn't strong enough, just another of her long list of faults.
"I chose to kill 300 people," she continued, voicing the act for the first time. Her throat felt raw as she forced the words past her lips. "I murdered children."
Lexa blinked. There was pity in her eyes but it only made Clarke feel worse.
"You didn't choose to kill, Clarke," Lexa said. "You chose to save your people."
"Is there a difference?" Clarke begged, her pride completely forgotten.
"Yes. When you can find the difference, it will get easier. It'll never be simple. It'll never be alright. There is no escape from the things we have done, Clarke. That is the nature of our burden. Your choices now are to find a way to live with your crimes or to die for them. There are many who have not been strong enough to do the first. But I've seen your strength, Clarke. Not the strength it takes to kill but the strength it takes to survive. That is what drove you in the mountain and I know it is what will save you now."