Polis.
Polis was a distant dream where the weight of her decisions would be nothing but an equally distant memory-but Clarke wasn't in Polis. Clarke was lost.
It hadn't surprised her- she had set off with no map and only the faintest memory of a Grounder mentioning that the city was somewhere in the east. Of course, they could have been talking about the City of Light, but perhaps, thought Clarke, even that would be better than the ark. Now, however, she was beginning to realise that the trees- beautiful though they were- existed with the sole purpose of confusing her even more and it was pissing her off.
She had many reasons to be pissed off of course. There was the leadership she had not asked for, and the consequences she had to deal with nonetheless. There was the fact that she wanted the chance to truly appreciate the nature which she'd only ever read about, rather than destroy it, or worse- use it to destroy others. And then, there was Lexa.
Lexa.
Lexa was the thought that was never far from Clarke's mind, but with each new futile attempt to purge her brain of the young commander, Clarke felt the urge to cry. It was foolish to expect any different, but she had honestly hoped that that an alliance between the Sky People and the Grounders could have been achieved. It had certainly been a possibility, but with Lexa's betrayal still hauntingly fresh in her memory, she was far too aware of how different they were. How ironic, she thought, barking a short and humourless laugh to herself, that she was lost in a forest, because Lexa was like the trees, with their strong spines and their hard exteriors. Yet still, Clarke had an endless wonder for trees that she knew would never be quenched; if only they would stop getting her lost.
Clarke was tired. Not so much physically- having stopped at the art supply bunker she had more than enough resources to sleep well and comfortably for the nights. Mentally? Well that was another story. She was tired of counting more losses than victories. Tired of putting her people before herself- tired of having people in the first case. She was tired of making decisions with her head because her heart sat heavily in her chest regardless of the outcome. Most of all though, she was tired of having to survive. For once, she wanted to rest her eyes with the knowledge that no one was set to die the next day. Instead, walking further into the depths of the forest she was even more on the alert- at least it was only for her own survival. That certainly sat lighter on her shoulders than the fate of her friends in Mount Weather had. For once, if she failed, nobody else would suffer for it.
It was because she was on alert that she first heard the screaming. They were not pleasant screams at all- they were raw, instinctual cries that wrenched at Clarke's gut and set her nerves on edge. She could feel the wind across her face as a flock of birds flew from the trees, so loud were the screams that they had been dislodged them from their nests. Clarke knew that she should stop, that generally running towards a clear source of pain was not the best idea, but still her feet moved her forward with the same automatic purpose that had been accompanying her since she first stepped off the drop ship. So still she moved, unsure of what torture the forest could hide.
Frankly, she couldn't see anything. Those damned trees were doing their damned best to obscure every damned thing, but the screams continued and so did Clarke, knife unsheathed and head held high.
Then she saw the horses, lying in ways that no horses should. There was one, fallen against a rock. Two more, on top of the first. Not ten feet away lay the fourth, whose shallow breathing was as faint and as irregular as Clarke had ever seen. Whatever had harmed them was not long gone. She released a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and walked on cautiously. Her intention had been to avert her gaze as her path took her alongside the horses, then her boots squelched on the forest floor and she couldn't help but look.
There was blood, so much blood¸ which from a distance had been hard to see. Now Clarke could see and she wished she couldn't. There were wounds, deep, deep wounds to the horse's hind legs, whilst across his chest were ragged claw marks. Large gashes carved into the muscles, revealing beneath the bones of the once mighty animal's ribs. They moved with each frail breath and her decision was made. Taking the knife, she knelt beside the fallen horse and steadied her hand within his sweat-dampened mane. Then with a sigh, she pulled the blade of the knife through the veins of his neck, hoping his anatomy was close enough to a human's that this might deliver a swift death. Combined with his other injuries, it certainly didn't take long, and for Clarke - who couldn't watch for longer than was necessary - it was time to locate the screaming. Whatever had hurt these horses must have hurt their riders too, and Clarke pitied the human who fell prey to such a vicious attack.
The screams were close, punctuated by desperate gasps and pained groans, yet she still couldn't see the injured. It wasn't until she had made her way down the slope and past a small rock mound that she saw anyone at all. A Grounder, huge with muscles covered entirely in drying blood, stood by the mound. When Clarke laid eyes upon him she braced herself for his attack, but he remained still, watching her with trained eyes as she approached, bowing his head in recognition.
"Clarke of the Sky People," he said, his voice gruff, heavily accented and void of any emotion that Clarke could recognise. "Heda will appreciate your healing abilities." Then he stepped aside, revealing an entrance hidden within the rock's surface. Another scream was heard, louder, but clearly filtered by the depths of whatever space the Grounder was guarding. Clarke stalled. She didn't know what she had been expecting to find, but it certainly had not been this. She was not prepared to see Lexa again so soon, though she doubted there would ever be a good time for such a reunion. For a second she was scared, paralysed by the thought that Lexa was injured, and then she was terrified that she could be so concerned for someone who had caused her so much pain herself. Another scream. The Grounder reached out for Clarke, grasping at her shoulder. "Please," he said, gesturing to the entrance behind him, and Clarke – in shock at how loaded his pleading had sounded- could only nod in response before entering.
Unlike the mining tunnels that riddled Mount Weather, the rock gave way to a small passage that opened up into a spacious cave. On the walls of the passage were paintings, made from rustic colours, of symbols that Clarke couldn't understand. In the cave, the cries were louder, echoing through the space in such a way that they echoed in Clarke's head too. It was dark; what little light that allowed Clarke to see came only from the entrance through which she had just walked and a small opening in the cave's roof. It wasn't a lot at all, but it was enough for Clarke to make out three figures in the space- the other riders. One was crouched over the second who lay on the floor, and the third stood with their back to the entrance. Clarke sighed with relief – it was Lexa standing. She was alive, and the confusion the relief caused could wait for another time.
The figure lying down screamed again, shoulders lifting in agony before dropping to the floor with a rough grunt. Clarke could hear the Grounder beside him speaking softly but rapidly in Trigedasleng. She could only assume it was intended to comfort the severely wounded warrior. Any prayers, if the Grounders had prayers at all, would be a waste of breath.
"You should end his suffering." Clarke spoke into the dim light of the cave. The Grounder nodded his head, continuing his constant stream of the words. Perhaps it's a ritual for the dying, thought Clarke, but she didn't focus on them for long. She saw Lexa tense, looking over her shoulder at the sound of Clarke's voice. Even in the darkness Clarke could see her wince at the movement, could see the contours of her neck move as she swallowed, but her face was shadowed.
She turned around, her stance as strong as ever, but her head was bowed and her eyes were cast downwards again. "I should…" she replied, catching Clarke's eyes. The "but I can't" went unspoken, hanging heavily in the air between them. Another scream, and Lexa dropped her eyes, once more returning to look at the cave's floor.
Clarke understood what she had to do – she'd done it already today- but with a human it was different. She approached the crouched Grounder and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked up, sadness marring his features, but he allowed Clarke to kneel besides them both. Another wretched scream, and now Clarke could see the trail of blood that fell from his mouth and dripped onto the floor. He was too far gone, in too much pain to register Clarke's presence. His eyes were open, moving quickly, bloodshot and unseeing. The steady stream of Trigedasleng did not falter as Clarke proceeded, but softened in volume as the tension left the wounded warrior's face and his mutilated body laid still. Finally there was silence, and then a question – still in the foreign tongue – and Lexa's solemn reply. Satisfied, the Grounder moved to close his comrade's eyes, then gathered the limp body into his arms as he stood up. He carried him through the entrance and out of the cave without another word, leaving Clarke and Lexa alone for the first time since before Mount Weather.
Lexa's shoulders sunk the second her warrior left, and Clarke could see the commander's body give in to the young girl that hardly saw the surface. "I," she started, collapsing now onto the wall of the cave. "I couldn't…I didn't want anyone else to die for me." She spoke slowly, shaking her head back and forth as if the words falling from her mouth were betraying everything she stood for. Except she wasn't standing. She was leaning heavily on the wall for support, it was the only thing stopping her from falling and she knew it.
"What happened Lexa?" Clarke asked gently. She didn't move from where she had been kneeling, but watched the other girl's face carefully. She knew the pain behind the words - it had pulsed through her own heart for so long she wondered it if had replaced her blood.
"We were on our way to Polis. A rider came asking for our help." Lexa gulped then, turning her head and wiping her eyes. Determined, she spoke on in a blunt, cold tone. "An entire village ravaged by beasts and there was nothing we could do." She said 'nothing' like it was the worst shame she had ever experienced. Clarke knew that feeling too. "We left the village this morning," Lexa continued, "but the beast caught us by midday." She looked down at Clarke with sorrowed eyes. "My horses are not slow Clarke."
"I know they aren't" Clarke replied. She had seen the horses, and they were strong and slim. They were built for speed.
Lexa drew in a breath, holding Clarke's gaze. "I have fought many creatures, Clarke, but this was like none I have ever seen."
Clarke stood up with grace that did not reflect the state of her mind. She held out her hand, waiting for Lexa to move across the small distance the cave offered. Closer to the light from the roof, the blood on Lexa's clothes become worryingly apparent and the dents in her armour were easy for Clarke to see. Saying nothing, she tugged on Lexa's hand, pulling the girl even closer. Lexa gave in, resting her head onto Clarke's shoulder and moving her arms to hold onto the blonde. Clarke moved also, placing one hand onto the small of Lexa's back, and moving the other to stroke the tangles of Lexa's once braided hair. She studied Lexa's slender frame.
"How badly are you injured?" she asked. She had watched the commander as she talked. Seen the stiffness in her movements, heard the hitch in her breath. Clarke knew Lexa was not one to willingly show pain.
"Not badly," said Lexa, shaking her head into Clarke's shoulder. "I will live."
"Lexa, please don't play the hero. Let me help you." She knew she sounded needy, but Clarke was beyond caring. In spite of everything, she felt an unexplainable need to ensure the girl was okay.
Lexa released Clarke and moved back. With shaking hands she removed her armour, then her cloak, dropping them onto the floor – they had both been ruined anyway. She moved to grip the material of her under-shirt, but her fingers trembled so much that Clarke stepped in to help. In another place, in another time, this move would have been sensual, she was technically undressing the commander, but there in the cave it was anything but. Clarke lifted the shirt with Lexa's help, pulling it over the taller girl's head. As she placed it on the floor, Lexa turned around again, so that by the time Clarke was upright she was facing Lexa's almost bare back.
There was material bound around her chest, but Clarke could see why Lexa was in pain. Along the waistline of Lexa's trousers there was a long claw mark and the beginning of a very dark bruise that seems to grow from her hips and climb her spine. "Lexa," Clarke breathed softly, tracing the bruise that coloured the girl's back. Goosebumps rose at her gentle touch, but Clarke didn't pull away – when Lexa leaned back into her, Clarke held her. Her hands moved upwards, past the material, rubbing warmth into the shoulders where the spirals of a tattoo could be seen on her skin.
Scars too, were spread across the skin, and they served to remind Clarke of how much Lexa had been through despite her young age. She had known a different world. When she could look at them no longer, she nudged at Lexa's shoulders and the girl spun until they faced each other again. Now Lexa watched as Clarke's eyes followed the rest of the tattoo spreading across her collarbone, and when their eyes met she wasn't the only one who was blushing.
Clarke braced herself on Lexa's shoulders, then leant up and pressed her lips against Lexa's like the gentlest exhale of breath. It was nothing.
It was nothing, and it was everything.