You Ask My Name (and All I Do is Listen)
Pairing: Clexa
Rating: Children be Wary (K+)
Notes: This story is 100% written, so the wait between chapters shouldn't be that long. (I'm thinking I'll post one chapter a day) There is no Black Blood in this because it just made things complicated.
The rain was pounding. Had she not been covered from head to toe in leather and furs, Clarke was certain her skin would have been dotted with bruises long before she'd even gotten to the trading post. She'd needed a new clay cup after she had stupidly knocked her last one over, but now she was debating if the trip had been really worth it. She had gotten the cup, sure, but now she was trudging back to her little cave through freezing rain, getting soaked to the bone. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, leaning over and supporting herself on her knees. As she remained still, she allowed the sounds of the forest to wash over her. The pounding of the rain against leaves and wood, the rustle of the wind through wet foliage, the distant chirping of birds, the sound of someone stumbling through the underbrush….
Clarke straightened slowly, remaining quiet. Turning at a snail's pace towards the sudden noise, she scored the surrounding forest with her eyes in an attempt to locate the obnoxious perpetrator that had disturbed her brief peace. She caught sight of one, no two, figures tripping through brush, obviously trying to remain quiet and on the small path they had found. They looked as though they were drunk, leaning to one side every so often, then suddenly righting themselves.
She focused on the figures, trying to see through the obscuring sheets of rain. The lead figure was slim, and shorter than their companion, gender ambiguous to the passing gaze, while the follower was larger, broader, and obviously male. They appeared to be warriors. Clarke could see weapons peaking out from across their hunched shoulders. She paused, shivering as she considered this. Clarke knew that there was interclan conflict going on. The Trading Posts were great places to learn of such things. The Ice Queen and the Azgeda had declared war on the Coalition and the Commander now that they no longer feared the shadow of the Mountain. The Ice Nation, being so far in the north, had taken the fewest casualties during the conflict with the Mountain, and the Queen had taken advantage of this, hitting the villages that lined her borders hard, while the other nations had their warriors exhausted and scattered. If the people she was observing were indeed warriors, they could have come from a conflict on the border. They were travelling south after all.
Clarke continued to observe, undetected, as the warriors slowly made their way below the ridge she had stopped on, Trikru markings becoming more apparent with every step. They limped on. That is until the back warrior falters, tripping and falling, making no attempt to get up. The front warrior turns, hood and cloak fluttering, and shakily treks back for their compatriot. The slim warrior kneels, body trembling as it attempts to remain upright. They check their partners pulse, form sagging as they appear to feel nothing. With wobbly hands they cut a braid off of the mans tangle of thick hair, tucking it somewhere inside their cloak. With a visible breath, the small warrior heaved them self up, attempting to continue to their destination. They dragged their feet several more steps, placing them directly under Clarke. She could now see small drips of dark blood dropping onto the ground, mingling with the rain, creating a crimson trail.
She debated on intervening, helping the obviously wounded warrior. The doctor and healer within urged her to help, to heal, but the desire for solitude and isolation deadened her movements, forcing her to remain still to continue observing.
Only when the small warrior finally fell did she move. The cloaked form fell to their knees, then tipped forward, torso falling with a splash into a shallow puddle. Clarke adjusted the bag on her hip to keep it secure, then slid down the ridge, biting her tongue to keep herself from calling out. If she was quick and quiet, maybe she could save them, bandage their wounds and leave them somewhere for their clansmen to find them. She hoped that could be the case. It would ease her conscience and it would allow her to continue remaining unseen and in seclusion. Kneeling down next to the warrior, she pulled back the hood and recoiled violently, falling back against the mossy rocks of the ridge.
Lexa.
The girl who had betrayed her and broke her heart lay before her, wounded and bleeding. A mixture of rage and concern flooded her being. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the girl's face, furrowed in pain and splattered with blood and war paint, the brunette looked as though she had gone through hell and had just barely come out the other side.
'Good, she deserves it for what she did.'
The blonde's hands hovered over the other girl's body, half way between being splayed wide and clenched into fists, creating claws out of her fingers that itched to tear into the form laying defenseless at her feet. Rage boiled beneath the surface, urging her to hurt, kill, destroy the reason for all her pain…
But the sight of blood and rain streaming in rivulets down Lexa's face and the small wisps of steam that signaled shallow breathes locked her in place. Clarke sat, shaking, caught in a conflict within herself. Her pain and rage fought tooth and nail against her compassion and urge to heal the injured. A low growl rumbled in her chest. The vibrations tore at her throat, making it ache. The sensation gave her focus. Breathing deeply, she observed Lexa.
The older girl was laying face down, body battered and beaten, head resting in an indention within the earth. The impression was shallow, but filling with water quickly. Clarke watched as the water gathered around Lexa's head. If she just left… If she just left, the puddle would grow, covering the Commanders face. The blonde would tell that being as injured as she was, the brunette wouldn't wake up before she drowned. All she had to do was leave. Or even stay, and watch as the most powerful person on the continent drowned pathetically in three inches of water.
The liquid would slowly rise, fill her mouth and nose, blocking all air flow. Her body would cough and convulse, to expel the deadly substance, to wake up its host so it could move away. But she wouldn't. She would lay there; Clarke was certain. She would lay there as her body shut down, unaware of the danger, unaware of the pain. She would die, and Clarke would be rid of her.
'Or you could save her.'
A quiet voice that sounded suspiciously like her father called in the back of her mind. Clarke clenched her jaw, the muscles aching as she debated to herself.
'Everyone deserves a second chance.'
The blonde groaned to herself, continuing to watch as the water slowly rose. Lexa's breath created ripples on the liquids surface, signalling that a decision needed to be made. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut tightly, willing her thoughts to war faster. Only the tell tale sound of Lexa coughing forced her into action.
"Damnit, I'm gonna regret this later."
She grumbled sourly as she scooped her arms under Lexa's limp form, and heaving her over her shoulder. She could decide whether to kill her or not later. Right now, what mattered was getting out of the rain.
The Commander was heavy, weighed down by rain and wet furs and armour. The surprising weight made Clarke consider just dropping her and walking away, but her conscience wouldn't let her. Grumbling, she trudged towards her cave.
"To the Clarke Cave, wooo."
Her tone was thick with sarcasm and bitterness. Normally the time it took her to reach her secret abode from the Trading Post would just barely exceed ten minutes, but with the extra weight it took her over twice the time. The cave was more of a tunnel, cracked into the side of a cliff, it extended into the rock face several meters and then widened slightly, creating a tiny room that was just barely bigger than the cell she had been kept in on the Ark. She had discovered it within the first week or so of her self imposed exile, and had in the following months made it rather comfortable.
Bundles of herbs hung drying from the ceiling, a fire pit had been scrapped out of the sandy floor, and a bed had been created from a pile of furs. It was this bed that Clarke unceremoniously deposited Lexa on, breathing heavily, trying to get air back into her crushed lungs. She sat down heavily in the makeshift chair she had made from piled sand. She ran her hand through her berry dyed hair, sighing when red came off on her hand. Or was that blood. She couldn't really tell.
Clarke looked over at the form curled on her bed, once again debating with herself. She should probably tend to the other girl's wounds or the effort she had expended to carry her to the cave would be wasted. Of course, that could wait a moment until she could breathe normally again.
Leaning back for a moment, she allowed herself to rest, fingers toying with the carved wood that she had left next to the chair. She didn't have the resources to paint or draw, so she had taken up carving. Despite having cut herself several times and sacrificing literal blood to her projects, she had finally produced a product she was happy with. The large chunk of wood had been whittled down, and shaped. It looked almost like a skull, which had inspired her to attach a leather strip to create a mask. It cradled the bottom half of her face, reaching up above her nose and resting on her cheekbones. She had debated on selling it, but had become surprisingly attached. Laying it on her face, she let it rest there, not bothering with the strap, and closing her eyes. There were holes that let her breath where the nose would be, letting her smell the soothing scent of sanded wood. Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes again, sitting up and letting the mask fall off.
Heaving herself off the chair, she quickly gathered stripes of cloth, water, bandages, herbs and a needle and thread. Settling herself next to her patient, she got to work. Methodically, she stripped the other woman down, removing her armour, leather coat and weapons, leaving her in bindings and boy short like underwear. Cuts littered her arms, torso and legs, oozing blood sluggishly. With how many wounds there were, it was surprising nothing vital had been hit. Forcing herself to focus and ignore who exactly it was she was working on, she began going through the motions. Cleaning the wounds, stitching them shut if necessary, rubbing a disinfecting herb paste on the wound, then bandaging firmly. The process was soothing. Familiar.
As she worked, her hands glided over bruised skin, dark patches and angry red welts mottled the normally smooth surface, creating a mosaic of blues and yellows and sickly greens. She could feel the flesh swelling along the brunette's ribs, where an expansive welt spanned from her side to her sternum, almost as if some, someone incredibly strong, had hit her with a hammer, crushing her torso. Feeling along the afflicted area, the young healer could confidently determine, with how her breathing was rather regular, that her patient's ribs were most likely only bruised.
Moving on to other injuries, Clarke gently prodded at Lexa's hair line, where a lines of blood had streamed down and crusted on her face, making it seem as though she were crying rivulets of red. Finding the split flesh rather shallow, she forwent any stitches, only wrapping a strip of cloth around the wound after disinfecting it like the rest of the cuts. Next, gently taking the brunettes face in her hands, she slowly slid up an eyelid revealing a green iris, angling it to catch the last of the dying sunlight, and watched as the pupil retracted into a small point, responding to the brightness. For some reason, Clarke felt relief at knowing there wasn't any sign of brain damage, but before she could think on it, she pushed the emotion down.
Finished bandaging the last of the severe wounds, she sat back on her heels, gazing at her work. The injured girl looked more bandage than person at this point. Both arms wrapped from wrist to shoulder, stomach to collarbone, one leg from mid thigh to lower calf. Leaning over the brunette, she gently pressed her fingers to her pulse. It beat regularly, if a little weak. Nodding to herself, she drew her arm back to her body. Turning, she started up the fire, scraping a flint stone against the metal of her knife, showering sparks over dry tinder. She was so engrossed in her task that she almost didn't realize that Lexa was slowly stirring. Her heart jolted in her chest.
'I can't…I'm not ready to talk to her! I have to run or hide or…'
Thinking quickly, she lunged for her mask, slipping it on and throwing her hair over the exposed parts of her face. She felt reassurance as the mask slipped over her features. Anonymity made her calmer, bolder. Lexa continued to stir, eyes flickering under their lids. After a moment, her eyes opened, staring blearily up at the jagged stone of the caves roof. Turning her head, she caught sight of Clarke, or rather her mask, and jerked back, trying to get away, winced and collapsed back into the furs weakly. Breathing a sigh of relief at not being recognized, she inched closer. Slowly, in an attempt not to startle her, Clarke reached over and retrieved the clay cup she had traded for, now full of water, and offered it to the injured brunette. When she didn't attempt to take it, Clarke moved forward. Knowing the injured girl needed to drink to replenish her lost blood, the blonde lifted her as she struggled weakly, bringing the cup to her lips.
Lexa continued to struggle stubbornly, pushing pathetically against the cup. Honestly, did she think she think she was trying to poison her? Clarke could have killed her at any time. She scowled under her mask.
'I should have just killed her.'
She thought grudgingly. As Lexa continued to act like a small child, Clarkes frustration grew, making her growl deep in her chest; the only evidence of irritation she was willing to show the infuriating girl. Surprisingly, the growl caused Lexa to stiffen, wary of the threatening sound.
'Well, that worked surprisingly well.'
Clarke mused as she once again pushed the cup against the brunette's lips. She drank with little resistance, filling Clarke with inexplicable satisfaction. She held Lexa's life in her hands and the feeling of control gave her a rush. A slight whimper from the body in her arms, snapped Clarke from her thoughts. Loosening her suddenly tight grip, the rush of power quickly turned to guilt as Lexa shivered in pain against her. Setting the cup aside, and gently laid the brunette back against the furs, and gently massaged the wound on her ribs in apology. She refused to abuse the position she was in. Lexa had toyed with her emotions and betrayed her at the mountain, but Clarke refused to sink so low that she found pleasure in harming her, despite the constant urge to do so.
Sighing, she turned back to the fire to prepare some food. She knew she would need her energy, as did Lexa. Lexa, for healing, and herself for fueling the battle of emotions within herself.
Endnote: If you guys wanna talk fanfic with me, feel free to come find me on my tumblr under GillyTweed.