Clarke followed the Grounder commander into the woods, the early light of morning barely breaking through the thick ceiling of leaves and branches. She had no idea where they were going, nor why.

All she knew was that Lexa had said "Come."

And, without question, she'd followed.


They walked for a long time, and by the time they came to the small clearing, it was mid-morning and the sun bright and warm on their faces.

"What is this place," Clarke asked, watching as steam rose from a small pool of water.

It was beautiful. The sun shining, the clear blue sky above. Everywhere greens and browns and little bits of color that hadn't yet succumbed to the coming winter.

It was everything that the Mountain Men had taken from them, everything their enemies had destroyed with the push of a button, a missile as their messenger.

It was the promise of life, when all they'd left behind were memories of death.

Lexa looked at her, saying nothing, and Clarke felt tired, exposed. The Commander's eyes seemed to cut right through her, right into that wide ache, that empty chasm inside of her. The one filled with all the knowledge that she could have saved their dead, the people of Tondc, but had not. The knowledge that she'd let them die so that others, including herself, might live.

"We don't believe in gods," Lexa said, eyes not leaving Clarke's, as she started to pull off her armor, her layers of leathers and clothing, "not in the ways of old. But this," she extended her hand to the steaming pool in front of them, "this we believe in. The earth, the land and the dirt. That we come from it and that we return to it."

Lexa stood before her now, naked and strong and proud. Her body was marked, scars and tattoos winding around her muscled limbs, the curves her armor hid from sight.

She was beautiful, Clarke realized, maybe truly for the first time. She was beautiful, and there was something in the blonde that desired to look, to drink in the sight of this vibrant, mysterious, amazing woman standing bare before her.

"That," Lexa continued, not unaware of Clarke's gaze but unbothered by it, "when we are broken, in body or in spirit, it can make us whole again."

The Commander brought a callused hand up to the blonde's face, so gentle it brought tears to Clarke's eyes.

"You are weary, Clarke of the Sky People. Your spirit aches and your heart is heavy. The survival of our peoples demands sacrifices that we do not think we are strong enough to give. And maybe we are not, not alone," Lexa said, her eyes thoughtful and sad, "but together? Together, Clarke, we are strong. We are whole. We are one. Together, we are the Earth and the Sky, and no matter how hard they have tried, no one has ever torn the two apart."

Clarke did not bother to wipe away the tears that fell down her face, that ran over Lexa's strong, dark hand. The other woman would understand.

She was the only one who could.

The dark-haired woman walked over to the pool and slipped in, hissing as the hot water hit her naked skin, the new scratches and wounds from their recent troubles.

"Come, Clarke," she whispered.

And Clarke, helpless to anything but, followed.