AN: Hey gang. Had to get my sadness on the page somehow. I should say, this isn't a fix-it, it is within the canon. But it's the scene I need. Clarke, Octavia, and Indra stopped to rest on their way to Arkadia, hours after Lexa's death. Hope I do the characters, and you guys, some justice.
Night had fallen hours ago. The sky above was clear with stars and the air was cool and crisp. The horses made soft sounds nearby as the riders slept on the forest floor, only an hour's sleep to be had if they were to reach their destination in time. But rest was badly needed as all sought solace after the crushing news of their commander's untimely death.
Set apart from the soldiers, Clarke, Indra, and Octavia remained in silence and solitude around a low fire. Indra busied herself by keeping watch, standing sentinel within sight of the other two, but in her duty, alone with her grief. Octavia watched her, sympathetic, moved by her steely strength. Always she was learning from Indra.
She turned then to Clarke sitting on the other side of the flames. Clarke, who had barely spoken since they had been hurriedly reunited, when Titus secreted her back into their company without any guidance or pretense other than to get away and get to Arkadia as quickly as they could. Back in Polis, the conclave had surely begun. A new commander would be chosen by next day.
And now, Octavia observed her friend. Her face had seemed to age by years with the stains of her crying and the haunted, bottomless ache that she could not mask. Her eyes fought back sleep, reddened with fatigue and sorrow. It was a pain that Octavia could not name, but in her closeness with Clarke, perhaps was beginning to understand.
"Clarke…" she began in almost a whisper that still felt shattering in the tender silence. "Try to get some sleep."
It was a long moment before Clarke turned her eyes up to her friend. When she did, Octavia felt a sudden chill overcome her.
"Let her be, Octavia," came the voice of Indra close by. Clarke and Indra looked to each other, silent in their shared understanding of the loss they had both suffered. Octavia noted their exchange of glance, beginning to reason out the true nature of the pain Clarke was feeling.
"Lexa was a great warrior. I know you two had become close," Octavia broached, hoping this would offer some comfort without hurting her even more. But still, it seemed even the mention of the commander's name was too much. Clarke's eyes filled with fresh tears.
Indra came to join them around the fire, keeping her distance still, but ensuring Clarke that she was among trust. Indra and Octavia sat in silence as they let Clarke weep.
"Whatever happened, know that she was ready, Wanheda." Indra said after a long moment.
"Don't call me that. Please. Not now."
Indra nodded, apologetic. To be the Commander of Death was a title Clarke had never asked for, and in the wake of yet another loved one's death, would gladly give back.
"Dawn is only in a few hours. We'll have to get riding again soon. Please, Clarke, just try to rest." Octavia felt useless in her attempts to soothe her.
"I can't." Clarke's voice was low and shaking.
"Please, just close your eyes and try…" Octavia pressed.
"I CAN'T." Clarke stared into Octavia's eyes, hot tears piercing her cheeks. "She'll be there. Don't you understand? If I close my eyes, I go back to that room. And she'll be lying there again and I won't be able to fix her."
Her voice was ragged with pain, exhaustion, and absolute fear. And suddenly, Octavia's instincts were confirmed. She had guessed at it earlier today, though it seemed years ago that she and Clarke stood in her bedroom in Polis and she listened as her friend attempted to reason her way into staying there with Lexa, even if it meant doing so at the expense of her people. Octavia knew then that whatever was between the two women was something far beyond the camaraderie of leadership.
"I'm sure you did everything you could, Clarke. You always do." Octavia reassured her. Clarke just stared into the flames, her eyes glassed over with tears and fatigue. When she spoke, Octavia wondered if she knew she was even saying the words aloud.
"I had her…I had her there. In my arms. In her bed. And I left. I left that room. Why did I leave that room. Why did I…I should have never left that room. I should have never left that bed. She was there, and we were…why did I leave her…" Her sobbing began anew. Indra and Octavia looked on helplessly, desperately, knowing that any attempt to touch her or console her might only make matters worse. She was as fragile as she would ever be.
Clarke looked up at Indra. "I never told her…I should have told her…" Indra moved to Clarke and wrapped the girl in a comforting embrace.
"It was never weakness. You gave her her strength." Indra spoke low in her native tongue. Clarke wept freely into her shoulder. Octavia looked on, hopeless.
Clarke's breathing became shallower and shallower as Indra's presence calmed her. Finally, her shaking ceased and her eyes at last seemed ready to welcome even the briefest sleep. Gingerly and without resistance, Indra helped Clarke lay herself down on the bed of grass beneath them.
She rested her head upon her arm, and Indra placed a gentle hand to her hair. In her looming exhaustion, Indra's voice sounded to Clarke as if from within her own mind.
"Rest, Clarke. Where she goes, you cannot follow. But in sleep, you will find her. Death is not the end."
Clarke closed her eyes. Blackness. And then, a glimmer of light. Her eyes began to open on the sight of late morning sun, speckled through the elaborate design of the window just across the room. She felt a softness all around her. The warmth of fur, sheets, a pillow beneath her head. She was back here, in this bed she knew. Clarke turned over, and there beside her was the long tattoo traced down the spine of the body she had so reverently studied, moving ever so slightly with the rise and fall of shallow, sleeping breath.
Clarke moved in close, wrapping her arms tight around the woman alive beside her. She felt a sigh of comfort escape from the commander even as she slept. Clarke pulled her in so that there was not even a breath of space between their bare skin. She felt her hand met by another, intertwining their fingers and bringing them close to her chest. Then, her heartbeat beneath. Clarke kissed the back of her neck, on the place that showed only a scar and tattoo untouched.
In her mind's eye, Clarke knew she was in a dream, but to be anywhere else meant rest would perhaps never come again. She hoped that every sleep would bring her here, back into the arms of her Heda, the only place she had ever truly known peace.