Another one for you all. I try to get this stuff written faster, but one must work, and one must sleep. Although what usually happens is that I get a lot of one and not enough of the other (GUESS WHICH IS WHICH). I hope you enjoy this one, and I promise that I have more stuff in the works. And yes, that includes another chapter for Echo, and I may or may not write the Clarke and Blake siblings vs Big Blue (as it is now named) scene from Aftermath. Just saying~
Leaves crunched underfoot.
Twigs snapped noisily.
The wind whistled.
She walked.
Her battle was over.
And it was just beginning.
She had no real direction. There was no purpose in her steps. Her legs carried her through the fields of the mountain, into the forest beyond it.
She was alone. No hundred, no arker, no grounder. Just her, and the world she had always longed for.
It was wrong, her brain told her, to just leave. To disappear. To abandon the people she had fought so hard to save, to protect, to earn the respect of. How could she walk away now, in their moment of victory?
And yet she still walked.
Away from the fighting.
Away from the death.
Away from leading.
Away from her people.
"You showed true strength today."
All she could think about was getting away from the mountain and the remnants of the battle. Every step was a step closer to freedom. She refused to stop when the sun set, and even when it rose again. No matter how many times she stumbled, she forced herself up again.
But even she had her limits, and her short time on the ground had ingrained survival into her brain, even while her thoughts were consumed by the memories of war and the overwhelming need to get away. She had found a shelter in an old building, hidden among trees and rocks in the shadow of a cliff, and was collapsing onto the concrete floor before she could stop herself.
Even in her sleep, she relived the deaths she had witnessed, the deaths her actions had caused. Her dreams were filled with blood and screams and tears. They flashed with the fire of guns and the shine of swinging swords and spears and arrows, and every time she woke she scrambled for a weapon to fight off enemies that weren't there.
Hey body burned with the memory of the flames that consumed Tondc. The bodies of the dead rose from ashes, rose from the depths of hell with vengeance in their feral eyes. They were still and silent, watching her, waiting for her. Finn stood at the front, emotionless. She reached out, torch in hand, and let the flames consume him.
Love is weakness.
Finn turned into Lexa, and the flames disappeared. The world around her turned dark and cold, and the fire was inside of her. The screams of the dead grew even louder. They were clawing at her from the shadows, ripping her apart piece by piece.
And Lexa was there, dragging her further into the darkness.
She fought. She refused to give in. They would not take her.
Rest, Clarke.
That voice. She knew that voice. She wanted to hate it, wanted to blame it for everything that had happened, but instead she only hated herself more for craving the comfort it brought to her weary heart.
Suddenly there was a cold hand on her face, and cool water in her throat. Her eyes focused on a beautiful mix of blue and green, and allowed herself to imagine that genuine concern for her, not Clarke of the Sky People, but just Clarke, swam in it. Her hand reached out for the red scarf that had always attracted her attention, clinging to it like a lifeline. The fire inside of her slowly died and, tired of fighting, she let herself sink into oblivion.
God, everything hurt. Her body must have weighed a thousand pounds, it was so hard to move. She took a deep breath, setting off a harsh fit of coughing that felt like she was dragging sandpaper across her throat and lungs. Forcing her eyes open, she struggled to focus her vision.
It was almost completely dark in...wherever the hell she was, but she had just enough light to spot a canteen on the floor next to her. It took more than a few tries to successfully grab it, and holding it caused her muscles to tremble with effort she was so weak, but that first drink was worth it. She nearly choked twice before her brain and medical training kicked in, and she slowed down to sip the rest of the water.
Now that she was awake, she took in her surroundings. She vaguely remembered finding the shelter and collapsing in it, but somehow she had moved to what she guessed was a back room. The room was small and square, with just enough space for her to lie in it. From what she could see through the open door, there was a larger front room that lead outside. The was little furniture in the building, but there was a small rusted metal desk in her room.
It was when she sat up that she realized that she was laying in a bed of furs, with another fur blanket thrown to the side, and a red scarf was wound around her arm. The canteen wasn't hers, but the leather kind she saw the grounders use. Her wounds had all been treated and, to her distress, her clothes changed.
Of everything, the scarf concerned her the most. Its presence here meant that its owner had been here at some point, and shame filled her at the realization that Lexa had witnessed her collapse, her weakness. Lexa had taken care of her, and then left her.
A lump formed in her throat and her chest constricted. Collapsing back into her bed, she curled up on her side and buried her face into the scarf, gasping with the force of the sobs that now choked her.
She fell asleep with tears on her face, and thought she heard soft footsteps in the distance as she lost consciousness once again.
Still think I'm strong, Lexa?
Waking up in strange places was starting to become a startlingly common occurrence in the life of Clarke Griffin, and the aforementioned young woman was getting more than a little annoyed by it. Sitting up gingerly, she took stock of her situation.
She remembered the battle.
She remembered running away from Mount Weather.
She remembered terrible dreams.
She remembered pain.
In conclusion, she had freaked out after the battle, caught a fever, and was now god knows where and had been gone for god knows how long.
And yet, she didn't care. In fact, knowing that she was far away from everything was comforting. She was sore, her wounds itched, she could barely move half her limbs, and her head pounded, but there was no one around to be strong for. There was no reason to hide her weakness. She was done acting.
"You are awake. Good."
She screamed, jumped half a foot in the air, and nearly gave herself whiplash with how fast she turned her head to the door, only to find Nyko watching her with a mix of amusement and relief.
The memories of her last bout of consciousness came back to her, and the fact that she was laying in a makeshift bed finally registered. Dread welled up inside her. She wasn't ready to face anyone. Not now. Maybe not ever. Her brain struggled to form words, to create some sort of explanation or excuse for her current state, but she could only stare.
Eventually he realized that she was in no condition to talk, and so he simply handed her a bowl with the order to drink before he retreated to the front room. The sick (former?) leader sipped at the bitter liquid slowly, gaze drifting to the red scarf. Her thoughts refused to settle on any topic for long, specifically avoiding any that could lead to memories of mountain men, or the grounders, or sky people, until she gave up and decided that sleep was a better idea.
Hey days continued this way. She slept fitfully, woke sporadically, and stayed awake only long enough to take care of personal needs.
Eventually she regained enough energy to explore her new home. The building she had found was covered in moss on the sides, and was, in fact, partially buried into the hill behind it. Grass and trees grew next to and through it, so much so that her little house was practically a part of the terrain. Including the main room, there were about four rooms of varying sizes. Her own room was the smallest of them, and she suspected that it had once been a closet. There was a stream conveniently nearby that lead to a lake several miles away.
To her relief, Nyko informed her that not only was the lake in the opposite direction of the village, but that her home itself was a full days ride from Tondc.
She hardly said more than a full sentence to Nyko, and he never once tried to force her into a conversation, and though he would disappear for a few days at a time, he didn't share news from the rest of the world. She couldn't help but be thankful.
What he did bring, however, was supplies. Clarke found herself with a growing collection of items she hadn't before given much thought to. Her bed was made more formal, a pelt was hung over the main entrance in place of the missing door, and a small floor table was added to the entry room. Nyko created a fire pit in the middle of the room, and had even added a rotisserie. Clothes and armor appeared, as well as various weapons and tools.
The "grounder gear," as she had termed it, was thrown into a corner of her room for her to stare it in trepidation. Just like she was doing now. She knew, intellectually, that those were the only other clothes she had, and that she would need to change eventually. Her current garb was starting to smell from her prolonged sickness, and her old clothes had long been burned.
Emotionally though, she couldn't bring herself to touch the gifts. The clothes were standard grounder fare, but when she looked at them she saw tattered, bloodstained men, women, and children wandering the smoking remains of Tondc. (Dead, dead because of her. Because of the choice she made. Because that monster had wanted to kill her and kill Lexa.) Her nose was filled with the iron tang of blood, and her lungs became clogged with smoke once again. (The people had been angry, had demanded revenge, but all of their anger combined could never equal the hatred that had taken root in her heart that night.)
When she looked at the armor, she was in the battlefield once again, watching as grounder, sky person, and mountain men fell around her. (The clean walls of the mountain were dripping with blood and guts of its people, and still she didn't think it would ever make up for the blood and lives the Mountain Men had stolen from Lexa's people.)She could hear the sirens ringing throughout the mountain, blaring over gunshots, and the screams of anger and death. (She watched friends and allies die without flinching, she killed enemies without hesitation. How much had she enjoyed the deaths of the Mountain Men? She dared not dwell on the thought, dared not acknowledge the monster hidden inside.) She was again cut and stabbed and bleeding, but still running, still fighting, desperately searching for her people, and searching for Lexa, who had disappeared in the battle. (Surrounded by death and knowing that one wrong move could end her fight right then and there, the only thing that terrified her was that Lexa would die, and then she'd be alone shouldering this burden of leadership she'd never wanted but took so that no one else would have to.)
A clatter in the other room brought her back to the present, and Clarke fought to breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
The room spun around her, her body trembled, and bile rose in her throat.
In. Out. In. Out.
She buried her face in the red scarf and took a deep breath.
In. Out. In. Out.
Minutes, hours later, the world steadied and she noticed the figure in the doorway.
"You have changed, Clarke of the Sky People. And you are continuing to change. Do not try to again be the person you once were. Your decisions haunt you now, but you are a warrior, a survivor." Nyko gestured to the armor. "You can choose to be strong, or you can choose to waste away."
He turned away from her, and she pretended not to hear his soft "The Commander hopes you choose well."
It was five days before she would touch the armor. It was another seven before she put it on.
It fit her perfectly.
The healer had smiled when she walked out of her room, strong, surefooted, and fully changed. He lead her outside, and she followed without hesitation, red scarf attached to the armor and trailing behind her.
Nyko started slow, with lessons on healing and plants. Her strength wasn't fully recovered yet, he cautioned, so the physical training would come at the pace he deemed proper. Before, there would have been arguments against his pronouncement, but now she let him take the lead.
She had once assumed that her healing abilities were superior to the average grounder healer, and in some ways they were. In other ways, she was soon shown that she knew nothing. Radiation had changed everything in this world, and while she could patch a person up with a needle, thread, and some medication, her knowledge of the local plants was next to nonexistent. There was so much to learn, so much to memorize, that despite the "easy" nature of the task, she often went to bed mentally repeating plant names and their uses until her brain wanted to explode with all the new information.
The daylight hours were spent traipsing through the forest, memorizing the local herbs and fungi. Her adventures allowed her to adjust to the weight of the armor and the higher range of mobility the grounder clothes offered. The clothes and armor didn't just fit her perfectly, but she suspected were actually tailored for her. The thought of Lexa giving someone her measurements, or just the thought of her knowing them at all was enough to make her blush. She couldn't deny that they were comfortable though, and she quickly learned to prefer them to the old ark clothes. The boots in particular became her favorite part of the outfit (aside from the scarf that never left her side).
As expected, weapons/hunting training was started once she could spend an entire day outside without threatening to pass out. She was hopeless with any sort of spear, they learned, but had potential with a bow and knife. Nyko taught her how to properly gut and skin animals, and how to make use of every body part. He had a good laugh at her first few attempts at dressing a mutated rabbit (that she had to catch herself), but at least he always made sure to try to hide his enjoyment of her discomfort.
Her nights were spent learning how to mix medicinal potions to cure diseases that likely hadn't existed before the bombs went off, and how to use certain herbs as spices for her meat. The local plants were categorized, and their uses memorized. Some attracted animals, some repelled them, some were poisonous, others healed. There were mutated varieties that acted as drugs, which reminded her of those peanuts the camp had eaten during their first weeks. By the time she would crawl into bed, she was too exhausted to dream much, which was perfectly fine with her.
Clarke didn't bother to keep track of the days, but around the time the weather started to turn colder, Nyko left on a supply trip as he had been doing more often, and never came back. Instead, three days later her old guard Ryder arrived with a few more pelts and a short "village sickness" as an explanation for the switch.
Ryder was a much more unforgiving combat teacher than Nyko had been. Some days the training was so harsh she couldn't even make it to bed unassisted, but he was good enough to ensure that he never accidentally broke any of her bones. He brought her a finely made sword after his third trip back to the village, which was followed by several agonizing months of sword training added to her task list.
Her days were simple, and somehow she couldn't have been happier. It wouldn't last forever, she knew. One day she would start to get restless, her brain would start to wonder how the others were doing, her heart would long for the company of her friends and family.
But that day was not going to be anytime soon. Now, she was content to soak in the forest, which had become a part of her. This feeling, the sensation of being surrounded by life was what she had dreamed of since she first learned of her people's home planet. The initial awe of the land had been buried by constant fear and battle from the moment she had first stepped onto the ground, but now she could fully appreciate it. The flowers, trees, (non-deadly) animals, the sunsets and sunrises. She marveled at their resilience, their ability to adapt. This world had survived bombs and humanity, and would survive them again and again until humanity managed to truly wipe itself out.
Winter was slightly less charming than the fall season. The cold, she discovered, liked to get deep into her bones and stay there. No amount of fur would warm her, and the thought of throwing herself into her little fire was tempting more often than not. The wind was even worse some days, and breathing the air made her feel as though her lungs were turning to ice. Animals became scarce, and her fledgling hunting skills were fully tested.
When Ryder delivered heavier clothes for her to wear, she had raised an eyebrow at the ridiculously thick clothes, and scorned the socks that made her boots feel uncomfortably tight. The leaves had barely started to change colors, a process that she endlessly admired, and while the nights were occasionally chilly, there was no reason to go that overboard with the new clothes. Her brain had conjured an image of an overprotective Lexa, which had prompted a bout of laughter that made her companion eye her warily, obviously questioning her sanity.
She had an abrupt change of heart when the first icy morning hit, and she woke up half frozen. Ryder had laughed while she coughed miserably with her first winter cold, and told her that if she insisted on scorning the heavier clothes, she deserved the sickness.
Her small room was easy to keep warm, but the main room was like a giant ice cube. With Ryder's help, they managed to create a door from some fallen wood that, while somewhat pitiful, still kept the worst of the cold at bay. Within a week, she began insulating her little house with all the animal pelts she had kept aside, and before long the entire floor of the building had a slightly macabre and entirely mismatched wall to wall carpet. The only exception was the area around her fire pit. She had no wish to accidentally set her entire floor on fire, after all. That would have been an interesting report for Ryder to make to the Commander, and she could just see the raised eyebrow and roll of eyes that Lexa would give to the guard at the news that the sky girl had lit her own house on fire.
She knew for a fact that the supply trips were also to keep Lexa updated on her condition. The amount of the supplies she'd been provided and the presence of the two grounders themselves were all at the Commander's orders, even if it wasn't acknowledged out loud. She couldn't understand why her abandonment of society was being supported to such an extent, but neither Nyko nor Ryder gave her reason to think they were displeased with their extended assignments. Though while Lincoln's friend was more than happy to exchange healing knowledge with her, she suspected that her former (and current?) bodyguard enjoyed beating her up on a daily basis.
She poked at the fire with a stick, wincing at the movement. Ryder returned to the village two days ago, and she was still hurting from their last training session. He had been anxious lately, with his trips to Tondc lasting longer every time, and she suspected that he would be gone at least a two weeks this time.
She told herself she didn't care. Told herself that it was none of her business. It didn't matter what happened to the others. She only needed to take care of herself now.
Sleep didn't come easily, but then, it never did these days.
A line of people stood before her, on and on it went. Endlessly. The world was black. She stood there, clean.
She took a step, and passed her hand through the first person. One of the boys who had died when the dropship landed, she noticed.
His neck broke, and he fell.
Blood ran down her hands.
She didn't stop. She continued walking down the line, leaving her arm outstretched.
It passed through the second person, the other one who had died in the drop ship, and his back broke.
More blood dripped from her hand.
On and on she walked.
Jasper was stabbed in the heart.
Wells' throat tore open, spraying her with blood.
Murphy's body dropped and his neck snapped.
A grounder child, Trista, collapsed and choked up blood.
Grounders from Anya's village exploded with shrapnel.
On and on she walked.
Bloody footprints were left in her wake.
How long had she been walking?
How many had she killed?
They burned.
They were shot.
They were stabbed, sliced, impaled.
Jaha.
Kane.
Her mother.
Bellamy.
Octavia.
Raven.
Finn.
Lexa.
Dead.
All dead.
By her hand.
She woke with a start, her body reacting to the presence of another by tackling them. A knife was in her hand and at the throat of the intruder before she was even fully awake. Fear, despair, and adrenaline raged in her body. Breathing ragged, she felt like an animal, all emotion and no thought.
"You have done well with your lessons."
Oh. Oh no. There was only one person who would be that calm with a knife at their throat. Only one person whose voice could chase away the fog from her brain, could drive away the fear and loneliness she battled every day.
"Lexa."
Her knife was tossed aside, but her body suddenly felt heavy, far too heavy to move. She hated how weak her voice sounded, how hope rose in her. Closing her eyes, she let out a deep, shaky breath and rested her forehead against the Commander's. Breathe. She needed to breathe.
A hand tangled itself in her hair, and forced her head down to rest on a strong shoulder.
"Sleep."
She was too tired to think, too exhausted to question the sudden appearance of the very woman she wanted and feared to see the most. Her brain deemed it a dream, a last ditch effort to calm herself, not even caring that she didn't want to feel so safe with this person. It was just a dream, right? It was okay to give in once in a while, if it meant finding a moment of peace.
Clarke sighed, and that was as long as her internal battle lasted. Losing all strength, she let herself fully lay atop the Commander. As she drifted off, she faintly registered an arm tightening around her waist, and a smooth voice telling her to be at peace.
And for the first time in months, she was.
She woke up alone, and better rested than she could ever remember being. There was no sign that anyone else had been in her room, or, once she dragged herself up, in any other room.
It really was just a dream, then.
She stood in the main room, staring into the burnt logs in her dead fire pit, relief and disappointment warring inside her. She had spent so long trying tell herself that she didn't need anyone's comfort, that she was okay with living by herself. Then Lexa is there, proving that maybe she didn't want to be as alone as she thought, giving her the first dreamless sleep she's had since before she'd woken in Mount Weather, and it hadn't even been real?
All things considered, crawling back into bed sounded like a brilliant idea, and she was about to do just that when her door opened and Lexa strode inside, a dead boar slung over shoulder.
Lexa greeted her with an appraising look, walking straight to the fire pit with the fully gutted carcass. Clarke watched her without moving, her brain sluggishly comprehending that not only was the other woman real, but here, in her hut, preparing a fire to cook breakfast for them.
It was just so. So. Domestic. Grounder domesticity.
She giggled, then flat out laughed at the sheer strangeness of the situation.
It was official. She was insane.
Judging by the look Lexa was giving her, she agreed.
Clarke munched on the boar meat Lexa had handed over to her, her mind marveling at the discovery that the Commander was a really good cook. This was way better than anything she'd tasted, aside from the food in Mount Weather.
"I will not stay long. I took the chance to see you while I am relocating." Lexa said, eating with far less haste than the other girl.
"Relocating?" she questioned, heart seizing.
"I am the Commander. I stay in all the major villages for a time. The war kept me in Tondc for longer than usual, but it is time for me to move on. I will be in the east for a season. I will show you how to get there, should there be an emergency."
She let out a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. She expected there to be some panic at the thought of traveling within viewing distance of another village, but to her surprise, there was none. "Right."
Did that mean that she was on her own from now on? What sort of emergency was Lexa really preparing her for? Had something happened to the alliance? The questions burned on her tongue, but she didn't press for information, and Lexa didn't offer more.
The Commander, she realized, was fully respecting her need to distance herself from everything. The conversation was kept light ("You need to work on your trapping knots." "I've been practicing, thanks."), with no mention of the sky people, or the battle, or the state of the tribes.
Later, as Clarke was held securely in Lexa's arms while the horse plodded among the trees, the Commander's low voice explaining how to tell the difference between the garb of different nations, and of the strange Pauna that had begun to appear, and to be on the watch for stray reapers, she suspected that her solitude might not last much longer.
And, just maybe, she would be ready when it ended. Her nightmares would still be there, and so would the anxiety, and the fear, but she wouldn't be ruled by it.
"This is the village. If you should ever need aid, just speak your name at the gate. Yours is known to all the Trigedakru." Lexa hummed. "Though you are believed to be dead, so you may encounter some hesitation if you do."
"Wait. Everyone thinks I died?"
"You insisted that no one knew of your condition or status. Only Nyko, Ryder, and myself know of your existence."
"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say to that, since she didn't remember it ever happening. It would explain why she had no gifts or visits from well meaning sky people.
"Your people had a funeral for you."
"...Things are going to very awkward in the future, aren't they?"
Lexa laughed under her breath and slid from the horse. "Practice your trapping knots, Clarke. The weather shall be warmer soon, and you will find yourself using your traps more often. Done right, they will be able to hold a man for days."
"Should I be expecting to trap people?"
The Commander smiled at her, almost indulgently, before walking away towards the village.
"Hey, what about your horse?" she shouted after her, wondering if she was meant to leave the creature.
"It's yours. You will be able to get here faster."
Clarke watched the other woman walk away, until she walked into the village surrounded by worried guards. Things were happening, she knew. War, maybe. But she wasn't going to think about it now. She had other things to worry about.
"...Where the hell am I going to put a horse? What does it eat? Grass? Dammit, Lexa."