This takes place after season two finale (Mt Weather's fall) and is in Clarke's POV. Specifically how she handled the events that transpired at MW. I may add more chapters onto this, depends how much people like it, so if you do like this story and would like to see additional chapters, please speak up so I know
Also, I'm not good at Trigedasleng by any means, so I'll do everyone a favor and not butcher it. I'll simply be italicizing anything that is meant to have been said in Trigedasleng
Thanks and enjoy!
-KellyDeaux
Clarke had done it. She infiltrated and rescued her people from Mount Weather, even after Lexa had ordered her people to leave, thereby shattering what shaky of an alliance their people had together. All too well she remembered searching Lexa's eyes for signs of her spoken words being a charade tactic for Mount Weather's benefit and that she would indeed follow through with their alliance and crumble their mutual enemy. Instead, all she could see was the massively annoying, stoic mask of Heda.
Even when the Grounders left, Clarke was unyielding in her desire to get her people the hell out of the mountain. Unfortunately, doing so hadn't been a lighthearted tale, as she couldn't find a compromise to the situation that didn't involve ending hundreds of innocent mountain men, women, and children's lives to save her own people's lives. Included in the slaughtering was the people who had aided her and the other sky people, hid them and attempted the best they could to help get them out of the mountain.
Every single one of them perished with the simple drawing of a fucking lever. Something Clarke had done herself––no matter what anyone said, she knew that she was responsible for every single dead body in Mount Weather. In her heart, she knew it was the right thing for her people, but she couldn't help but feel hollow and torn up inside.
Clarke was a murderer. The lifeless bodies of the mountain's civilians would forever be burned into her mind, willing to happily haunt her for the rest of her days.
It had been three days since the collapse of Mount Weather, since she hugged Bellamy and walked away from Camp Jaha. She couldn't stand to look at her people, her friends, without a constant, sharp stabbing pain in her chest, knowing what she had to do save them. She sacrificed her own mental state to save each and every one of them.
The blonde had left only with the clothes on her back, a small knife, and her gun. That was it. In hindsight, she probably should have opted to sneak out in the middle of the night or something instead, so she could have grabbed some food and supplies, but all she could think about was putting as much distance between her and any reminder of Mount Weather as possible.
Unfortunately, the blonde wasn't as savvy with hunting or building fires or, well, really anything for self-survival. Everyone else had always made the fires or taken the kill-shot on the game they ate.
In short, she had little to no genuine survival skills. She was insanely resourceful and incredibly stubborn, but her resourcefulness was getting herself out of a jam and her stubbornness could often be hindering. Neither of which would aid her in building a damned fire or hunt for food.
Clarke walked for three days with no destination in mind. The jungle terrain hurt her feet, branches and shrubbery poking out at her with every step she took. For the first two days her eyes were often bleary from openly sobbing as she trekked aimlessly. She hadn't found a body of water to drink from or any small game she could even give a stab at hunting. Since she wasn't light on her feet and sneaky like the Grounders, she could only assume the smaller animals heard her and bolted off.
Tired, hungry, thirsty, and incredibly sore––both mentally and physically––Clarke struggled to come up with a game plan. She had no idea where she was and no matter how much she tried to concentrate and form a logical plan, her brain was too foggy and exhausted. Her mouth was drier than beef jerky, she was achy and cranky, and her stomach continued to remind her that she hadn't eaten in far too long. Overall, she felt like crap.
Often her mind would betray her and drift back to the moments in which Lexa bid her a farewell and left her alone on the mountain. Each and every time she would see the woman's face, the impassive Heda mask on her face, Clarke wanted to scream bloody murder or withdraw her gun and try to shoot at that very face. Over their time together, the blonde had begun to trust Lexa, to see not just as a fellow leader, but also as a friend, a confidant. She had grown to really care for the brunette with alluring green eyes.
However, it appeared it wasn't as mutual as Clarke thought, considering how easily Lexa threw away their alliance and abandoned the sky people. People of whom she agreed to work together with, to slaughter a common enemy with.
Deciding to stop for the night, the blonde sought out firewood to build a fire with. Eventually she gathered up enough sticks and broken branches to, but she was unable to rub the freaking stick to the bundle of wood at precisely the right angle and swiftness to get the fire going. It wasn't for a lack of trying, either, as she sat there for at least ten minutes doing everything she had remembered seeing others do to try to coax a fire to life.
Clarke eventually resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't getting anywhere with the fire and kicked out at the pile of sticks bitterly. She perched herself up against a sturdy tree and tried to huddle more into her dirty and now tattered jacket for warmth.
Shivering for what easily felt like forever, Clarke kept herself leaning against the tree, trying to empty her thoughts enough to drift off to sleep. Sometime later she did manage to doze off, but it wasn't because she had managed to close herself off from the plethora of lingering thoughts. No, it was because her body had no more energy to keep her eyes open.
Behind her eyelids, however, Clarke was plagued by flashes of the dead souls at the mountain. She seen each and every face, remembering only a couple dozen of their names. The entire time at the mountain, she really didn't take nearly enough time to get to know the people. In some regards, that was good because it made the overwhelming her mind less brutal to see, but in other ways, it made her suffering and guilt even worse. She killed hundreds upon hundreds of souls and didn't even know a third of their names.
Knowing she could be so disgusting and heartless made her quake in mental agony. Unknowingly, the blonde was literally shaking as she was sleeping, both from the detrimental dream state and the cold weather.
Later that same evening, the dreams behind her eyelids were so bad that it woke her up. She jolted forward, a panicked scream escaping her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. She dreamt that the mountain men had found a way to reanimate themselves and sought out revenge. They tied her to a pole like the Grounders had done with Finn and were each taking turns cutting her for every one of their deaths.
Reeling from the awful dreams, the blonde leaned over and dry heaved. Since she hadn't consumed anything to throw up, her body went through the motions of dryly. She couldn't stop the tears that stung her eyes and the pain in her head from dehydration and sleep deprivation. Since what she did in Mount Weather, she couldn't close her eyes and not see them.
She knew that was the price of saving her people––to suffer for an eternity on her people's behalf. To wither in mental and physical anguish.
In her eyes, she didn't deserve it any other way. No matter what way it was looked at, Clarke ended those people's lives. Most of them were innocent to what was going on, but that didn't stop her from ceasing their existence. It was unforgivable.
Once her body calmed enough for her to stop dry heaving and weeping, the blonde curled into fetal position with her spine pressing against the tree and passed out.
The blonde awoke to nearby voices. She wasn't sure how long she was out for, but with her instincts kicking in, Clarke darted to her feet in an ungraceful motion and withdrew her knife, holding it out in front of her. Dehydration and lack of food made her movements stiff and delayed. Hell, she knew she probably looked as frightening as a field mouse in her current condition.
Unable to make out the words spoken, Clarke pressed her body against the thick, sturdy tree she slept against last night. She could tell that there were at least two people, a man and a woman, from the pitch of their voices. Additionally she could tell they were getting closer to her because after a couple of sounds the words sounded less and less muffled, but she still couldn't tell if they were speaking English or Trigedasleng.
A minute passed before she could confirm that it was only two individuals heading her general direction and the language spoken, Trigedasleng. Her understanding of the language was a mere dent in the bucket. She had tried to learn the language and culture, but the importance of defeating the mountain men overshadowed everything else.
"–footsteps lead in this direction," the feminine voice said softly, just above a whisper. "Let's keep going, the Commander wants us to find her."
Of what was said, only Lexa's formal title, Heda, was distinguishable. Panic stole her breath away, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Now that their alliance was over, did Lexa intend to kill her?
"The Commander of Death isn't trying very hard if we've been able to track her this easily," the man noted halfheartedly.
"Agreed," pipped the female.
Clarke could understand an occasional word or two, but not enough to form a conclusion on what was being said. One thing she knew with certainty, she wouldn't be able to protect herself against Grounders in her weakened state with only a knife and a handgun. Guns were handy, but loud; who knew how many other Grounders were close by.
Normally she would contemplate what to do, really think it out. However, since the incident at Mount Weather, she really didn't stop to think about anything. Lingering thoughts were dangerous. Bad coping method? Maybe.
The blonde pushed herself off the tree she was leaning against and bolted, running as fast as she could. Her footsteps were definitely audible, her breathing was labored as fuck, and each bone in her body protested with every step, but she just kept going. Instinctively she zigzagged a bit to try and avoid potential flying arrows or spears in case the Grounders were ordered to end her life.
No arrows or spears flew at her, though.
Clarke tried to steal a glance back and see if she was being followed, but before she really got a good look, she miscalculated her next step. Her ankle twisted with a loud, wince-worthy crunch. She cried out in pain and tumbled forward to the ground, rolling clumsily to the forest floor.
The pain was deafening as she cupped her hands around her injured ankle, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. Despite the pain and the tears and the urge to give up and just die right then and there, she remembered what she was doing, trying to run from the Grounders, and it motivated her enough to keep going. She pushed herself onto her stomach with her uninjured leg and kept moving by crawling on the forest terrain, digging her hands like hooks into the ground and pulling her weight to meet her arms. Her arms burned and the pain in her ankle was searing, but she ignored both.
"She is injured. Cut her off!" The male voice called out, his voice clear and concise, indicating he was really close to her.
There was no response from the woman, which made Clarke's panic grow more. She sped up her movements, clawing the earth forcefully and grunting as she struggled to draw her body up near where she clawed her arm. By this time, the blonde had scraped herself against every tree branch and twig, leaving her hands and arms with small, bloodied cuts. Her articles of clothing were ripped in multiple places and beyond dirty.
"Commander of Death," the blonde heard directly in front of her from the woman Grounder.
Acting on fear, Clarke pushed both of her dirty hands into the dirt to propel her body into a leaning position. She howled in pain as her body shifted too much onto her wounded ankle. Her vision was blurry from tears that littered her face and putting up with far too much pain, the blonde ungainly withdrew her faithful handgun and aimed it at the woman who stood only a couple feet in front of her.
Realization flickered in the woman Grounder's eyes, but she made no movement. In fact, she didn't even seem to be breathing, nor shift her weight. It was calculated, too calculated…
Before Clarke had the opportunity to put two and two together, she felt the gun she was holding forced from her hand. Caught by surprise, she yelped, but balled the hand that wasn't holding the gun into a fist and lashed out at the man who had grabbed the gun. Her punch must have felt like a pillow because the Grounder didn't so much as grunt.
"Wanheda, we mean you no harm," the female Grounder said in English. At this point, the blonde had both her hands balled into fists crossed in front of her face in a last effort to defend herself.
"Why the fuck should I believe you?" Clarke spit back, her voice raspy, but filled with venom. She hadn't spoken in days, not since she spoke to Bellamy before leaving Camp Jaha.
"I am Shae of Trikru," the brunette continued before pointing to the man who stood diagonal of Clarke. "My brother, Rhett of Trikru."
Taking a moment to digest the words Shae said and calm her nerves, Clarke studied the two Grounders.
The woman, who called herself Shae, was about as tall as Clarke herself with braided brunette hair. She wore light armor with two sheathed swords at either side of her hips. Multiple scars littered the visible skin of the woman's arms.
Rhett, on the other hand, was much taller and built like an ox. He, too, wore light armor with visible scarring down his arms and a few on his face. His hair was short and darker than his sisters. Similarities could be seen in Shae and Rhett's facial features. Both had gray-green eyes with rounded noses and gaunt cheeks. There was no doubt in the blonde's mind that they were related.
"I'm Clarke," the blonde replied at last, unsure what else to say. It felt like the right thing to do. Though she had a feeling they knew who she was.
"We know who you are, Wanheda," Rhett replied calmly.
She wanted to ask what the hell 'Wanheda' meant, but Rhett continued speaking before she could interject. "After we left the mountain on the Commander's orders, she pulled me and Shae aside, told us to keep an eye on sky people. Specifically on you." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he seen Clarke narrow her eyes and clench her jaw at the newly discovered information. "The Commander wanted us to track you, to make sure you were okay. We mean you no harm. She wishes to see you safe."
"Why?" The blonde asked bitterly, "Why does Lexa care?"
"Don't know," Shae answered, shrugging her shoulders lightly.
Clarke scoffed. "You can tell Lexa to eat shit and die."
Both of the Grounders stared at Clarke confusedly. Apparently that was yet another expression the Grounder culture was unfamiliar with.
"Tell Lexa that I don't fucking care. She left my people to die on that mountain. She left me there," Clarke clarified, her voice cracking toward the end of the sentence. She stared down at the dirt, not wanting either of the two in her presence to see the tears that pricked her eyes.
"The Commander figured you would say something to that effect. She instructed us to tell you in reply that she 'commanded with her head and not her heart, Clarke'," Rhett said simply.
"Are you serious?" The blonde retorted snappily, clenching her hands into the ground. "If the Commander wants to speak to me so badly, she can track me her fucking self and not send her damned messengers."
Clarke rocked her weight back, then forward and pushed her palms into the dirt to help get herself into a somewhat standing position. Knowing the level of pain that was to come, the blonde had bit her lip to stifle the urge to shriek at the blazing pain in her ankle. Jaw clenched and fists balled, she continued on stubbornly trying to stand.
She wobbled and nearly fell back on her ass, but Rhett had closed what little distance there was between them and placed his arms on her shoulders to help steady her. Clarke flinched like she was being punched when the man's hands touched her. She stiffened herself and a beat later swatted his hands away obstinately and found her balance teetering again. He didn't seem to be affected by the blonde's idle attempts to dismiss his help.
"What does she want?" Clarke challenged, her voice laced with acid. Did Lexa truly had the audacity to leave her at the mountain to fend for herself and then feign care for her thereafter?
"To ensure your safety," Shae responded, her voice mildly bored.
"Somehow I doubt that," the blonde retorted, attempting to limp away from Rhett. "She didn't care at the mountain." She tried to put a little weight on her ankle and wailed in pain as a blister of pain cascaded up her ankle.
The brunette sighed and looked over at her brother. "Rhett, carry her. We'll bring her back since she's not listening. If she wants to talk to the Commander so badly, let's give her that."
"Yes, sister," Rhett replied with a solemn nod before leaning forward and picking Clarke up bridal style with little effort. The blonde squealed in surprise and whacked at the man forcefully when she was in his arms, demanding he put her down, but he didn't listen, simply followed behind his sister.
Besides Clarke's protests and punching out at Rhett weakly, they walked in silence. Ultimately the blonde gave in after she realized she was simply too weak and in too much pain to fight because her punches were about as strong as pokes.
During the walk, Clarke blacked out.
"Ahh!" Clarke screamed as she sprang upright from yet another nightmare. She let out a whimper as she began to feel the stinging pain in her body and she hugged herself in an effort to put a stop to the panic attack before it seized up her mind.
She wasn't paying a bit of mind to her surroundings, so she didn't realize that she was sitting on a bed of furs in a moderately sized tent. Or that Lexa was there.
Lexa sat up from where she had been sitting––in a chair on the other side of the tent, an effort to give Clarke space––and approached her slowly. "You're okay, Clarke," she said softly, her voice genuine.
Instantly recognizing the voice, Clarke's head snapped up to meet Lexa's eyes. Her mouth was gaped open in surprise, eyes widened and filled with so many emotions as they coursed through her all at once. Hurt, fear, anger, surprise, longing, being just a few of the many that seized her.
The moment Clarke's attention snapped to Lexa, she seen the brunette halt mid-step. She witnessed Lexa flinch as she comprehended each emotion that flickered in the blonde's eyes. The blonde didn't speak, expecting her voice to be raw and raspy, but also because she was afraid her voice would betray her by cracking. Instead of speaking, she simply stared daggers at Lexa who had yet to move a muscle beyond the initial flinch.
They went on to stare at one another like that for what felt like hours. In actuality it was only minutes, though. Idly, Clarke wondered if Lexa's muscles were stinging from awkwardly standing mid-step.
Clarke licked her dry, chapped lips and swallowed thickly before considering trying to speak. Her voice was hoarse and raw, almost like she spent all of the previous day screaming, as she asked, "Why?"
"I was trying to lead with my head and not my heart," the brunette answered plainly with her stoic, Heda mask of a face. Clarke continued to stare at Lexa as she had responded and swore she seen sorrow flicker across the brunette's face before settling back in the impassive mask.
"Yeah, I heard that same bullshit from your guard dogs, too," the blonde said, a level of rancor in her voice despite how gravelly her voice sounded.
Lexa's unemotional facial expression faltered again, this time longer, as if she were conflicted. Seizing the opportunity with the visible crack in the brunette's resolve, Clarke decided to continue, wanting to cause the Commander pain just as she herself felt. "Here I thought you were a leader who could be held to her word, but it turns out you're nothing but a fake."
An impish smirk tugged at the blonde's lip as she spotted Lexa ball her fists, clearly struggling to control the cool and collected camouflage she hid behind. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time she seen the commander conflicted. She regularly seen the woman fight between being Heda, the fierce and immovable commander, and Lexa, a gentler, more caring version of the same person.
Lexa let out a ragged breath as the Heda veil completely crumbled before Clarke's eyes. The brunette didn't look away from Clarke, even as her eyes got glossy with tears that she refused to let fall and bit her lip to minimize the whimper that was still heard escaping her mouth.
In that very moment, Clarke understood, a tidal wave of the truth hit her head on. Lexa was the commander of her people, and thus always had to put them first and foremost. She was leading with her head and not her heart, which urged her to stand tall by Clarke's side. Clarke could see the paradox unfolding behind the brunette's eyes.
That knowledge didn't change anything, though. The fact still was that Lexa left her at Mount Weather, abandoned her. She could very well have stood beside Clarke and the rest of the sky people and dethroned Mount Weather. That option hadn't been taken off the table.
"We could have defeated Mount Weather together, but you left." Clarke stated factually, her voice breaking up by the end.
"No," Lexa replied softly and swallowed thickly as if it helped keep her from letting her tears fall. "They threatened to kill every one of my people that were held in captivity."
"You're wrong, Bellamy was there–" Clarke began, but got interjected by the brunette.
"Bellamy is only one person, Clarke," she said, her voice vulnerable and soft. "As much as I would like to believe he could have been able to save all of my people, he's only one person. There were too many mountain men and not enough Bellamy's."
Shamelessly, Clarke brought her hands to her face and sobbed, knowing that Lexa was right. She hated to even think about admitting it, but there was no realistic option for the Grounders. It was just… The fact that Lexa left her, after all they went through…
"You still left," the blonde choked out between sobs. She was mentally broken by what she did, constantly reliving the aching moments when Lexa left and Clarke had to break out her people by herself.
"I know," Lexa answered, her own voice sounding like it was on the verge of tears.
For the longest time neither spoke. Clarke blubbered and sobbed quietly and Lexa fought to contain her own emotions. She had since inched closer to Clarke, but refused to close the distance all the way, too afraid of what might happen, knowing there was a real possibility she would be rejected or swatted at or hit or any other number of things. Worse yet, she knew she deserved every one of those numerous possibilities.
Alas, Lexa spoke, "I'm sorry, Clarke." In that moment everything was on the table, she was completely exposing herself in the apology. So much was left hanging in the air, unspoken, but Clarke understood every bit of it. Even more so when her ocean blue eyes met Lexa's forest green. The brunette's eyes alone conveyed so much, how sincere she was in her apology, how much she truly did care for Clarke, and just how much unexpressed love she felt towards the blonde.
"I know," the blonde managed to say halfheartedly, her cheeks puffy and eyes red rimmed from crying.
In that moment she knew one thing with absolute clarity: no matter what happened on the mountain or how badly Clarke desperately wanted to hate Lexa and blame her for what happened, she couldn't. She couldn't put all the blame on the brunette and she definitely couldn't hate Lexa no matter how hard she tried because she loved her. She loved Lexa, and she knew from that last shared look that Lexa loved her just as powerfully back.
