Chapter 1

A massive thank you to my beta, SilverDoe14!

The evening air feels cold against her face, the slight breeze sending shivers down her back. It's late, too late to still be awake, but Clarke can't bring herself to close her eyes. The guilt that is barely manageable whilst awake feels as though it will eat her alive as she dreams. No, she can't let herself sleep just yet.

She sighs, the puff of air visible in front of her face as she trudges further into the forest. Regret gnaws at her gut as she realizes she is well and truly lost. The determination that had driven Clarkewhen she left her people five days ago has dwindled. And yet, if she could rewind time, she doubts she would have stayed. Actually no, there's no doubt at all. Clarke definitely still would have left. She couldn't stay there after everything she had been forced to do. The blood she had been forced to spill, and the way Jasper had looked at her. He blames her. Clarke blames herself, too, even though there had been no other option to save her people.

Clarke feels anger prickle inside her and she lets herself slump down, sitting on the cold ground with her back against a tree. She's mad. Mad at herself, and mad at the situation. Her people look to her to protect them, and resent her once she has done so. Clarke killed scores of innocent people, even children, to save them and now she has to live with the guilt. Alone. Bellamy may have helped her to pull the lever, but that had merely been symbolic. The decision had already been made, and everyone knows it.

She looks down as something touches her hand, the small bug on her knuckle barely visible in the moonlight. Clarke gently wiggles her fingers, watching as though transfixed as the bug scuttles along her finger. She can't bring herself to kill it or shake it off, merely placing her hand into the dirt until the bug makes its leave. It wanders aimlessly in the mud, no destination in mind.

"I know how you feel, buddy." Clarke winces when her voice cracks. Her throat feels dry, making it painful to swallow. Water. She needs to find water. It's been at least 24 hours since she drank at a small river that she had happened upon, and even longer since she last ate. Her stomach constantly reminds her of this.

With a groan, Clarke forces herself back to her feet. Finding water should be easy enough, but food will be a different matter. She had gotten lucky on her first night away from Camp Jaha, finding berries that she had recognized as edible, but Clarke hasn't seen any more of them since. It's not like she could survive on just berries, anyway. At least her hunt for food will stop her from falling asleep. For now anyway. Another sigh leaves Clarke's mouth as she tries to gain her bearings, her hands resting on her hips as she stares into almost complete darkness. She now has to rely on all of her other senses, at least until the sun comes up.

Walking in the forest in daylight is hard enough, but it's obviously much worse at night and Clarke stumbles every so often as roots catch her feet. She's already exhausted and this isn't helping matters. Her legs soon begin to tire, but she refuses to stop. Her stomach growls angrily, reminding her that she no longer has time to waste. If she's going to survive out here, she needs to start taking it more seriously. The world will soon be plunged into the midst of winter, meaning she needs more than just food and water. She needs to find some kind of shelter, too. And soon.

Clarke doesn't realize how long she has been walking until she notices her surroundings are getting lighter. She's relieved. She's made it through another night. She's escaped another nightmare, at least for now, and Clarke tries not to think about what she'll see when she inevitably falls asleep. For now, she's just fine with having gone 24 hours without seeing the faces of those she has killed. Clarke wonders if the others back at the ark had these nightmares, too. Did they have to see those blistered bodies every night?

Clarke's train of thought is derailed as she suddenly slams to the ground, her hands shooting forward to break her fall. She's acutely aware of the presence behind her, and Clarke curses herself for getting distracted and lost in thought. She's roughly grabbed by the scruff of her neck and a small yelp leaves her mouth. The tree she is slammed up against presses harshly into the back of her head, scraping the sensitive skin of her scalp.

"Just the person I've been looking for," a deep voice growls. Clarke squints and, in the still limited light, she can make out the man's face. Emerson. "The mighty Wanheda," he spits out, and Clarke winces as his putrid breathe washes over her. Her nostrils flare as she glares back at him, trying to show Emerson that she isn't scared of him. It's a lie, of course. She's most definitely scared. He has her trapped and he clearly has a strength advantage.

"What do you want?" Clarke grinds out, hating how her voice cracks.

"Revenge." Clarke isn't at all surprised by his response, but her stomach still drops when she hears it. The knife that he draws from his belt doesn't make her feel any better.

"I was protecting my people," Clarke tells him, her eyes never leaving the blade in his hand. Her words, words that she has used several times in the past, somehow feel foreign and strange to say. Does she even have people anymore? "I didn't have a choice, you and the others made sure of that. I..." Clarke is silenced as Emerson places the knife against her throat, the metal cool against her skin. Her heart races as she stares into his eyes, clearly seeing hate in them. The knife presses further into her throat, the edge breaking the skin.

A loud groan comes from Emerson as he crumples to the floor and Clarke is momentarily shocked. She hadn't even realized she had raised her knee, her body acting on instinct, but it seems to have hit its mark. Her gaze lands on the knife, which is limply hanging from Emerson's hand.

"Bitch." Their eyes lock. Clarke quickly dives forward, lunging towards the man in an attempt to knock the weapon from his hand. Her attempt is futile, though. Emerson anticipates it and roughly shoves her aside, sending Clarke sprawling to the ground again. It knocks the wind out of her, but Clarke still forces herself to stand up and face him. She refuses to be beaten by him. Not like this. A manic grin crosses Emerson's face as he steps forward, using the knife to point at Clarke.

"What's wrong, Wanheda? Scared of a little one on one?" he questions, not missing the confusion on Clarke's face. "That's what they call you now, Clarke. Wanheda, the commander of death," he spits out.

"Who's they?" Clarke immediately curses herself for responding. He's trying to draw her in, distract her just enough so he can make his final move. Emerson sneers at her, but doesn't respond. He moves quickly, almost too quickly, and Clarke only just manages to avoid the knife. He charges again. He's finished playing with her;, he now just wants to finish this. Clarke throws herself down, kicking out at his ankle and sending him to the forest floor. Adrenaline courses through her, gifting her with some extra belief in herself. She dives forward, landing on top of Emerson.

Her weight on top of him takes away some of his size advantage, and Clarke presses her elbow into his throat as she battles for the knife. Her teeth gnash together as she attempts to pry Emerson's fingers from the weapon, but he's relentless. He has to be. Then again, so does Clarke. She shifts her weight forward ever so slightly, applying more pressure to his throat. Clarke desperately wishes she didn't have to take another life, but she once again has no choice. It's her life or his. His eyes are wide, and Clarke can feel his grip loosening from the knife. She has him.

Clarke yelps when she is grabbed from behind, instinctually struggling against the arms that lift her from Emerson. The arms tighten around her as she throws her elbow backwards, connecting with soft flesh. She hears a grunt of pain, but her satisfaction is cut short as she is thrown to the ground yet again. There's a sickening crack as Clarke's head collides with a rock and her world spins. Her eyes roll backwards, and everything goes black.

...

Clarke squints out of half closed lids as she slowly comes to her senses, wincing at the throbbing pain on the side of her head. She tentatively reaches up and ghosts her fingers across the painful area, frowning as she feels some kind of bandage.

It's then that she remembers the events that led to her impromptu nap. Her heart pounds as she takes in her surroundings, realizing she is lying inside a tent that she does not recognize. There's voices coming from outside the tent and she can smell smoke. Clarke is confused. One minute she is fighting for her life against Emerson and an unknown assailant, and the next she is laying on comfortable furs. Wherever she is, and whoever put her there, she seems to be out of danger.

Clarke is suspicious, though. It's hard to trust anyone. She had learned that the hard way. Her mind floods with images of Lexa, and Clarke feels fury flow through her entire body. Lexa's betrayal is still fresh in her mind and Clarke hates how hurt she feels, much preferring to be angry at the commander. It's easier that way.

Clarke forces herself upwards, only making it to her hands and knees before the entire tent seems to spin. She sucks in air, squeezing her eyes closed in an attempt to stop the dizziness. Her head pounds. Her body is begging for her to lie back down, but she has too many questions that need to be answered. Finding out what's going on is more important than more rest. She can rest once she is convinced that it is safe to do so.

Clarke shimmies her body closer to the entrance of the tent, noticing that the voices outside have stopped. Shoving the tent flaps aside, she glares out into the bright sunlight. There's a fire burning not far away from her tent, but there isn't anyone sitting around it. Her gaze lands on a pail of water and she carefully edges her way towards it, not wishing to make any sudden movements.

"Ah! You are awake." Clarke startles when she hears the male voice behind her, her hand pausing above the water. "Use this." The man steps into her line of sight, holding out a wooden cup. Clarke recognizes him as one of Lexa's warriors, but she had never spoken to him. She doesn't know his name.

"Who are you?" Clarke's voice is scratchy and quieter than she had meant for it to be, but the warrior's well trained ears catch her words anyway.

"My name is Storm," he answers easily. "Please, take the cup. It's important to hydrate." Clarke eyes him carefully, taking in his appearance. His tanned skin covers large muscles and his black hair is pulled back into intricate braids. The sheer size of the warrior makes him look like a terrifying force to be reckoned with, but it is his eyes that capture Clarke's attention the most. There's a kindness in his dark eyes that can't be faked.

"Thank you." Clarke allows herself to at least trust him enough to take the cup. She shoves the cup into the pail of cold water, greedily guzzling the liquid down. Storm does not speak as she drinks; he seems content enough to wait until she is finished. He even chuckles slightly as Clarke gasps for air after finishing her second cup in one go. It's clear she had needed this.

"The others will be back soon. They are hunting," Storm says. He holds out a hand to Clarke, helping her to her feet. "Sit by the fire," he instructs. Clarke keeps an eye on him as she moves to sit on one of the logs positioned near the fire. "I apologize for hurting you. I did not realize it was you, Clarke Kom Skaikru." Clarke studies him. His apology seems sincere.

"I'm sorry for elbowing you," Clarke says to him, a miniscule smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Storm grins at her.

"I would have done the same thing." His face suddenly grows serious. "The man from the mountain is no longer a threat to you." Clarke nods, unsurprised that the warriors had killed him. She chews on her bottom lip, looking around at the clearing the grounders have set up camp in. The long grass is flattened in several areas; it's obvious that they use this area a lot.

"Why are you helping me?" Clarke asks, her voice low. "You know we're no longer allies. Why wouldn't you just kill me, too?" Clarke keeps her voice as calm as possible. Storm does not deserve anger. No, that anger is reserved for his commander. His response surprises her,

"Heda wishes for you to live."

Clarke falters, her eyes widening. She stares at Storm, unsure of how to react and attempting to ignore the fact that her stomach drops at his words. Lexa, the woman who betrayed her and abandoned her; is protecting her? Clarke hates that this makes her feel good. She's furious with Lexa, and she's not yet ready to let go of that anger yet.

"She sent you to help me?" Clarke questions, watching Storm carefully.

He shakes his head no. Clarke can't help but frown, realizing that a part of her had kind of enjoyed the fact that Lexa may have sent warriors to help her.

"We are out here executing different orders," Storm explains, "but she did forbid anyone from harming you." Clarke blinks back tears that she had not been expecting. She cares...Lexa cares. Clarke wishes that this piece of information didn't make her feel good, but it does.

"What are your orders?" Storm laughs at her question.

"You are not shy, sky girl. I like that." Despite everything, Clarke shoots Storm a small smile. He's easy to talk to, and Clarke is actually enjoying his company.

"If your orders are just to not harm me, why are you going out of your way to help me like this?" Clarke asks him. "Why not just leave me where you found me?" Storm's bright smile drops, and he scrutinizes Clarke carefully.

"It is not my way," he answers simply. Clarke raises her eyebrows, somewhat surprised by his response. She'd expected him to come out with some shit about doing it for his commander, but his answer comes across as a personal preference. Here is this giant warrior, who had no doubt fought in several battles, who obviously doesn't wish to harm anyone. He seems more like a protector than a fighter, and Clarke wonders why he fights. Is it merely because it is his duty, or does he have his own reasons?

"Thank you." Clarke is sincere. She appreciates what Storm has done for her. Clarke frowns for a second, her curiosity getting the better of her as she turns to face the warrior again. "What are your orders?" she asks for a second time, worrying that she's overstepping.

"Heda was right about you," Storm remarks, yet another grin spreading across his face. Clarke's stomach lurches. Lexa has spoken of her to her people? "You are stubborn. Determined." Clarke wonders if she should be offended, but realizes he is correct. She is both of those things. Storm sighs softly, a small smile still playing on his lips. "We were sent to find someone important. Someone has been working against us and it has put the girl at risk. Heda ordered us to find her first," Storm says.

Clarke tries to ignore the surge of jealousy that bubbles inside of her, but it is damn near impossible. Lexa had ordered her warriors to find another girl. A girl that is not her. Clarke may be mad at Lexa, but it doesn't change the feelings she has for her.

"Who were..." Clarke is cut off by a sudden cry. Her brow creases as she watches Storm jump up and rush towards another tent that she hadn't even noticed until now. She is confused when she recognizes the sound of a baby crying.

Clarke rises to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that returns as soon as she stands. She watches with bated breath as Storm disappears into the tent, a crease forming between her eyebrows. Clarke wants to question Storm, but she realizes that her questions will be answered in just a moment. Still, impatience tugs at her. She doesn't have to wait long, though, as Storm emerges from the tent a few seconds later; a wriggling baby in his arms.

Clarke eyes Storm as he carries the baby towards the fire, noting the soft furs that surrounds her squirming body. Storm sits back down in the same spot he had just vacated, the baby in his lap. She stays quiet, watching Storm as she sits back down. He's murmuring softly to the kid, but he can't seem to calm her.

"I think she's hungry," Storm says. Clarke isn't sure if he is talking to her, or to himself. "Here." Clarke balks when Storm suddenly stands and holds the baby out to her, but she can't think of any reasonable excuse to refuse. Storm must sense how uncomfortable Clarke is as a small, reassuring smile pulls at his lips. "Please, Clarke. Just until I prepare her food." Clarke nods, suddenly feeling very unsure of herself. The only kid she has been around in ages was Charlotte, and Charlotte had been a lot older than the screaming kid that is suddenly thrust into her arms.

Clarke doesn't really know what to do, and she forces herself to try and remember how her mother had treated young patients on the ark. Gently, she starts bouncing the baby on her knee and softly hushes her. She feels stupid, but then validated when the kid buries her face in Clarke's neck.

"You're okay," Clarke murmurs, rubbing the baby's back. "You're okay." It feels so foreign to her to have a young child in her arms, but she does her best to ignore how awkward she feels. One of her hands settle on the back of the kid's head, her fingers softly stroking the baby's dark hair as she holds her close to her.

"You're a natural," Storm says, but Clarke feels like anything but. "Do not worry, I will have her food ready soon," he adds. Clarke watches him prepare, wishing that she could somehow settle the child in her arms. Storm pours water into a metal pot and places the pot onto the fire, ensuring it is stable before he steps away from it. He doesn't look at Clarke or the baby as he starts digging through a sack that sits at his feet.

"What's her name?" Clarke asks, wrapping one arm around the baby's waist; making sure she won't fall from her lap.

"I do not know. Heda only knew of her existence, nothing else." Storm seems disappointed with his answer, as though he wishes he could give a better one. Clarke frowns. A name is the most basic detail you can know about a person, how can they not know this?

"Where are her parents?"

"Dead." Clarke's eyebrows rise at Storm's reply, and she feels sorrow tug at her gut. As much as memories of Clarke's father hurt her, she still at least has a lot of happy memories of him. The poor child will never have that. Clarke wants to ask more questions about the kid's parents, but she doesn't trust herself to stay calm. She can't lose it. Not right now.

"Why does Lexa want her?" Clarke needs some kind of information on the kid she's holding.

"She is special," is Storm's simple response, and Clarke starts to feel frustrated. This child, this innocent child, should not be a pawn in some kind of power play, and Clarke wants some reassurance that she isn't.

"Why?"

"You will land me in trouble, Sky girl." Storm doesn't sound irritated in the slightest, and Clarke is sure that he'd be more than happy to share information with her. It's not up to him, though. She has so many questions, but Clarke doesn't want to keep asking Storm about them. Not when he has been so decent already.

Storm starts placing vegetables into the pot of water, that is now bubbling, and he glances back across at Clarke with a soft smile on his face.

"I am afraid that you will be eating the same as the baby until the others come back," Storm states. "Do not worry, I will not make yours as mushy," he grins. Clarke smiles back at him, adjusting the now slightly calmer baby in her arms.

"I'm so hungry that you could boil a stick and I'd still consider eating," Clarke remarks. This draws a laugh from Storm.

"Perhaps I will." Clarke chuckles softly, shaking her head at the warrior. The movement causes the baby to look up at her, wide green eyes curiously studying Clarke. Clarke smiles. She's relieved that she has been able to calm the child, and a little proud of herself.

"How old is she?" Clarke asks, her eyes staying fixed to the baby.

"She is three seasons old," Storm says. "We have been looking for her since she was born, but her parents did not know who to trust. It was difficult to track them down." Clarke suddenly feels sick to her stomach, and her eyes snap up to glare at Storm.

"Did you...?"

"No," Storm cuts Clarke off. "Her parents were already dead when we came across them," he reassures her. "They hid her and died protecting her. It is lucky that we have some gifted trackers amongst us." Clarke feels herself relax, and almost feels bad for thinking Storm would be responsible. Then again, Clarke has witnessed what grounders are capable of first hand.

They fall into a somewhat tense silence, Storm focusing only on preparing food. Clarke sighs, gazing back down at the child and realizing that she has fallen asleep. She so desperately wants to know why Lexa has seen warriors to find this kid, but she is resigned to the fact that Storm is staying mostly quiet on the subject.

"Heda thinks very highly of you." Clarke is surprised when Storm speaks to her. "She would answer your questions." Clarke's eyes narrow and she shakes her head.

"I don't think I will ever have a chance to ask her," Clarke murmurs, a frown spreading across her face.

"You may come to Polis with us," Storm says. Clarke's frown only deepens at this and she shakes her head again.

"No." Clarke doesn't offer any explanation, but Storm doesn't push her for one. She can tell that he also has questions that need to be answered. His expression makes it obvious that he is curious about the issues that Clarke has with Lexa. He knows it's deeper than anyone has let on.

"Perhaps in time you will change your mind."

"Perhaps." Clarke isn't sure that she will ever change her mind. Seeing Lexa again would just bring all of those feelings back to the surface, making the betrayal hurt even more. Clarke scoffs softly at her thoughts. Those feelings are already at the surface, and she is kidding herself if she thinks otherwise.

Clarke jumps slightly as Storm suddenly leaps to his feet, his eyes locking on something beyond the tree line. He's tense and it makes Clarke tighten her arms around the baby, preparing to protect her. As quickly as Storm had tensed up, he relaxes. A smile spreads across his face and Clarke follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing slightly at the warrior that is making his way towards them. The new arrival doesn't share Storm's smile, and his gaze hardens when he looks at Clarke.

"Ash," Storm greets him kindly. "You are further out than your usual post," he states. Ash nods, coming to a stop between Clarke and Storm. Clarke stays quiet as she studies his battle worn skin, taking in each scar and noticing several fresh ones.

"I am here for Wanheda." Clarke's heart leaps into her throat and she rises to her feet, jostling the baby ever so slightly and drawing a whine from her. She watches as Ash and Storm argue in Trigedasleng, unable to make much sense of their quick words. Ash is clearly furious about whatever Storm is saying, his fists clenching at his sides.

"No." Storm is serious, his eyes full of fire and his jaw tight. "I will take her."

"Storm?" Clarke stares at him, her features a mix of curiosity and fear. The single word, questioning, draws the attention of both warriors and Clarke refuses to look at Ash; only Storm.

"There is a bounty on your head," Storm says gruffly. "Heda ordered Ash to take you to her. She is unaware that you are with me. It is now out of your hands, sky girl. You will come to Polis with us."

"No," Clarke shakes her head, "I can't. I can't go there. I can protect myself." Storm seems to ignore this, merely turning his attention back to Ash.

"The others are hunting. Find them and inform them of this change." Ash doesn't look at all pleased about being ordered around, but he nods anyway. Clarke follows him with her eyes as he disappears back into the trees. "I'm sorry, sky girl." She turns back to Storm, surprised by the apology and the sorrow in his gaze.

"Let me leave, Storm." Clarke keeps her voice calm, but her eyes are pleading with the warrior. "Just take the baby and let me leave." Even as she says it, she knows it's futile. Even if Storm let her run, the others would find her.

"I cannot go against my Heda. You must come to Polis."

To be continued...