Lexa sits on the ground, with her back against a tree, watching Clarke sleep peacefully upon her bedroll. The sun had risen maybe an hour ago, but the composed warrior couldn't bring herself to wake the young healer right away. Instead, she flexes her hand and tests the range of movement in her arm. She had taken the sling off days ago despite Clarke's umbrage and exasperated looks, Lexa had found it all quite amusing.
The sharp sound of metal on metal and the cry of a battle in the distance abruptly wakes Clarke; she sits up, looks around and takes in the world. They are in a bright forest, west to the River Rhine. It is morning, and the fire beside her has died but the day is warm.
"It's okay. You're safe," Lexa says calmly.
Clarke turns to look at her. "What is that?"
"A skirmish nearby. Probably raiders; there are many in this area." Lexa stands and reaches for their supply pack. "We should move on."
"Lexa, we have to help," Clarke insists, scrambling to her feet. People could be hurt. Clarke's instinct is to help them; she is a healer, she could help them.
"If we die here in a petty clash we will never make it to Western territories. We will never rescue all those trapped by The Mountain," Lexa says, leaning down to pick up Clarke's bedroll.
Clarke watches Lexa methodically clear the camp; listens to the noise from the fight and she thinks, it's not okay, it's not so simple, she doesn't want to be the person who walks the other way. Not again. So, she runs – she runs towards the fight before Lexa can convince her that the risk is too high, that the mission is what's important.
"Clarke!" Lexa drops the supplies and runs after her.
A group of tattered raiders are ambushing a Roman convoy. There is a girl atop a horse that all the Roman soldiers seemed to have circled in a defensive strategy. Clarke runs into the road and withdraws the dagger that Lexa had given her – she doesn't doubt that Lexa is a second behind her, sword out and ready to fight alongside. Clarke rushes the nearest raider, stabbing him in the shoulder; he cries out, and she pulls him back by the throat, away from the convoy. Another one turns at the cry of his companion and charges at the newcomer, Clarke flinches, but Lexa is there, blocking his downward attack with her sword and then countering with a swift strike to his gut; he falls, and Lexa turns to glare at Clarke.
Clarke shrugs before lunging towards another raider.
The battle finishes quickly after Clarke and Lexa intervene. The scummy raiders retreat, not interested in fighting the additional warriors; they scatter into the woods and the Romans pat themselves on their backs by raising their weapons into the air and cheering.
Clarke approaches the convoy before Lexa has a chance to pull her back by her arm.
"Thank you," says one of the Romans who was closely guarding the girl on the horse during the fight. "I am Bellamy." He holds his arm out, and Clarke takes it in a warrior grasp.
"Clarke. This is Lexa," Clarke motions behind her, only imagining the reprimanding look that she would be receiving from the warrior. "Where are you headed, Bellamy?" She lets his arm go and looks over the weary band of soldiers.
"Thelonious."
Clarke gives a small smile. "I went there once as a kid, with my father. We can travel with you."
Lexa speaks up. "Then we must continue on. We have our own mission to complete."
Bellamy nods. "I appreciate the assistance."
Lexa flicks her sword up, around, and swiftly sheaths it at her waist. "You're quite the well-armed convoy. What are you transporting?"
"Me," the girl atop the horse says, looking down at the pair.
Clarke's eyes go wide, and she turns to Lexa, who doesn't look too surprised at the development.
Bellamy looks up at the girl. "Octavia," he warns her in a low voice.
"Why don't you tell them the truth, Bell. They did just help us," the girl spits, frustrated.
The other roman soldiers watch the exchange cautiously, shifting closer.
"Yes. The truth." Clarke turns back to face Bellamy.
"Octavia is my sister," he offers reluctantly. "Our guardian – General Servilius – has arranged for her to marry a landowner's son named Atom."
Lexa smirks, she understands these types of deals. "What does Servilius get in return?"
Bellamy looks to Lexa. "Use of the land. He wants to build more barracks in this area since Caesar's forces are pushing closer to the River Rhine."
Caesar is pushing east, and this could equate to war once again. Lexa is already thinking up a thousand scenarios for her people. "How did this Servilius become your guardian?"
Bellamy swallows and looks down. "After our mother died, he sent me to train in Caesar's army and Octavia—"
"Gets to be sold like cattle," Octavia sneers through clenched teeth.
Clarke takes a step forward. "Bellamy, this isn't right."
"I know." Bellamy looks up. "We don't have a choice." He sounds broken. He looks broken. There is a darkness in his eyes that has been placed there over time. These siblings are trapped.
"We should keep moving," one of the Centurion's interrupt, his hand resting on the handle of his longsword, emphasising Bellamy's and Octavia's exact situation.
These are Servilius's men, Clarke realises.
Lexa shifts closer to Clarke like she's realised the same thing.
Bellamy nods to the other Roman then turns back to Clarke and Lexa. "We would appreciate the aid, but I understand if you don't want to get involved."
Lexa sighs, she already knows what Clarke is going to say.
"We'll go with you to Thelonious."
The healer's hut is basic and dirty. The Empire has underfunded the Rhine's edge for decades. It is cleaner in the larger cities. In Arkadia, the people trade and work with the tribes to stay alive. They hunt together and fight together. When the legions pass through, the Arkadians manage to keep their alliance downplayed.
Clarke roughly scrubs the blood off her hands into a deep bowl of river water.
"You did well today, Clarke." Abigail stuffs the blood-soaked blankets into a sack to wash in the river later.
Clarke wipes her hands on a rag and faces her mother. "The Clans are getting more violent. Indra thinks that civil war is unavoidable."
Abby sighs and wipes the sweat from her brow. "We are too involved already. I want to help but when does the risk become too great for us, Clarke?"
They finish packing up, leave the tent and the night healers take over.
When they arrive home, Clarke's father has venison meat cured on stone slabs out the back of the poorly built stone house. Clarke is used to the smell of blood and flesh, it follows her everywhere. The deerskin is drying on a rack, and it will make a worthy addition to the household stock.
Jake greets them as they approach, encompassing them both in a long, warm hug.
Abby and Jake cook the meat over a massive fire, and Clarke wonders into the forest to collect some seasoning for the meal; she finds some edible mushrooms, some rosemary and some overripe figs. The satchel, resting lightly over her shoulder, is full enough that she is almost ready to head back home. She can hear the voices and the movements of her people, but she is just far enough away that can pretend that she is all alone, that there is no fighting, no pain, no Romans, no Germanics, only nothing.
Then she appears out of nowhere.
A tribal girl lunges out of the thicket, crashing into Clarke, and they both topple over, landing harshly on the forest floor.
Clarke groans and pushes herself up and onto her knees.
The woman is breathing rapidly while clutching at her side. It doesn't look like she has the strength to rise again.
Clarke rolls her onto her back and feels the skin of her face. The stranger has a terrible fever. "Who are you?"
"She's The Commander, isn't she?" Octavia asks, sitting down next to Clarke by one of the campfires.
The convoy set up camp in a small clearing by building a series of tiny fires and laying down furs on which to rest. The Centurions seemed to have a simple routine, a couple went to refill the water-skins, a few gathered their arrows into a quiver and went hunting – leaving their heavy weapons behind – and some started patrolling the area, ever suspicious of the night.
Clarke's eyes automatically go to Lexa, who is standing watch by the tree line. "Yes, she is."
Octavia follows Clarke's line of vision, and she smirks as Lexa glares at some of the Romans who are chatting nearby. "It's okay; I won't tell anyone. I know Caesar has a bounty on her head."
"Thank you," Clarke breathes and genuinely means it. It's almost jarring now when someone tries to protect them. She is too used to being hunted these days.
"Where are you from?"
Clarke thinks about lying – she has done it many times before... "Arkadia." The truth slips out so effortlessly, and it surprises Clarke.
Octavia's eyes widen in shock. "I heard about Arkadia. Roman's razed the town."
Clarke dips her head once. "You seem to know a lot."
"I wasn't allowed to leave home. Ever." Octavia takes in a deep breath. "I read a lot. I ask people questions; get told war stories."
"And what did you hear about Arkadia?" Clarke is curious about the stories, about how Caesar has likely twisted everything.
"The Arkadians helped the Germanic tribes, aided them, healed them, gave them supplies. Caesar had the place burnt to the ground because of it."
Clarke swallows. It sounds so simple when Octavia tells it, when in fact, it was so much more complicated. "Yeah... That's right."
"Did The Commander save you?"
Clarke turns her hands in front of the fire; she feels the heat, watches the smoke and lets herself remember... "Lexa got me out. We left everyone else. We let them burn." She swallows the emotions down. She doesn't let herself feel it. Not now.
Octavia watches the way Clarke's eyes get this intensity as she talks about their shared past. "You're angry at her for that," she realises out loud.
Clarke nods. "I am." Clarke is angry all the time. It's like a hot rage under her skin that she cannot calm. "A roman Captain called The Mountain. He led the attack; then he took a hundred slaves including my mother."
"That's the mission that The Com— Lexa, was talking about."
Clarke nods again.
Octavia decides to change the topic, only slightly. "Are the stories about her true?"
Clarke chuckles darkly. "Which ones?"
Lexa watches as Octavia and Clarke talk and laugh by the campfire, the glow of the flames highlights Clarke's face, Lexa feels breathless, but she remains stoic and still as the Roman soldiers walk around her guardedly.
There is a shadow lurking, blending within the trees. Lexa quietly withdraws her sword and slinks back into the dark; she manages to sneak up behind him as he watches the camp through the trees, he is a warrior from a Germanic tribe, he has leather clothes and dark ink across his marred skin.
He is so focused on the convoy that he doesn't sense when Lexa approaches and flicks the tip of her sword to hold beneath his chin.
"Why are you following them?" Lexa asks and when he doesn't answer, she twists the blade, so it puts more pressure on his throat. "Speak!"
The man licks his lips. "I wanted to make sure... that they got to Thelonious. Safe."
He knows that they are travelling to Thelonious. "Octavia," Lexa adds, and the man nods solemnly. "You want to protect her."
He nods again.
Lexa sighs and lowers the blade, moving it away from his throat. He must know about the land deal also. There is only one reason he would know all the intimate details of this mission. Lexa can see the truth in his eyes. "You love her."
This time his head dips, defeated. "She will marry another."
"From what I understand, that is not what she wants."
The man clenches his fists. "No, it isn't."
Lexa looks back towards Clarke. "Then I guess we will have to help you."
The man looks up at Lexa, confused. "Why would you help us?"
"What is your name?"
"Lincoln."
"Well, Lincoln..." Lexa lets her eyes fall to meet his own; they are fierce and angry, and when she speaks, it's like fire from her lungs: "You deserve better."
End of Part One.