Chapter 7
They had been traveling for just under three weeks.
Lincoln was pleased with their progress, but he could tell Clarke was frustrated. She felt like she was slowing everyone down. But Lincoln could not care less. He would keep them at a snail's pass if it ensured a safe end to Clarke's pregnancy. Which was fast approaching.
Bray was concerned about Clarke's blood pressure. The physically taxing journey and the stress of the coalition were raising it too high. Bray had been brewing her a special tea each morning to help lower it. It had worked somewhat, lowering it a bit, but not as much as they would have liked. Bray had told him that if it continued to rise it could lead to premature delivery and excessive bleeding during the birth which may cause Clarke to bleed out and die. He appreciated that the girl's candor. Normally she was very soft spoken and sweet but when she was in healer mode she was not afraid to say what needed to be said. It was a skill Clarke had said could not be taught.
By trying to lower her blood pressure Clarke was stressing herself out even more. She was now worrying about how she was affecting the baby on top of everything else. If she continued on this path Lincoln would have to take action. To do what he wasn't sure, but he would think of something. They would not lose their child. And he would not lose his wife.
The novelty of the trip had worn off on Wells after the first week. Although, he still enjoyed terrorizing his new acquaintances, he missed his friends, his toys, his home. Lincoln was proud at how well his son was putting up with everything though. He wasn't overly hard to get moving in the morning, he rarely complained, and he helped with the things he could. Setting traps, gathering firewood, and getting his mother to slow down and relax. Like he had done an hour ago.
They had been setting up camp for the night and Clarke had insisted on cooking dinner, saying it was the least she could do. After she had placed their cooking pot in the fire Wells had taken up the task of gathering water to boil rather than let her make the few trips it would take to fill it. The problem had arisen when Clarke went to remove the finished product from the flames. She had not the strength or balance to pick it up and had ended up dropping it, it spilled and the boiling stew had almost burned her. Not all of it had spilled out, there had still been more than enough food to go around, but Clarke was upset, and Lincoln was upset because she had almost hurt herself.
She had stormed off frustrated. He had followed her, ignoring a snarky comment from Octavia, but kept his distance knowing physical comfort at the moment would be resented. She had stormed off in her frustration because the pregnancy made her prone to crying when she became upset. Clarke hated crying, especially in front of others. The only time she allowed it was when she was overly happy or when a great tragedy, like Atha's passing, occurred.
He knew that when she was ready she would approach him.
They were just barely illuminated by the distant campfire. Her back was towards him and he could hear her sniffling slightly. Occasionally, she would lift her hand to roughly wipe her noise.
He didn't have to wait long. She turned to him, eyes teary and walked straight into his waiting arms. Lincoln enveloped her lightly in his arms, as she rested her forehead against his shoulder, hiding her face from him.
"How am I supposed to represent them at the conclave if I can't even make dinner," he could barely make out from her muffled voice.
Lincoln couldn't help but laugh, a hearty laugh that only she could pull from within him. Intentional or not. Clarke took offense and leaned away from him, though, not breaking his hold on her. She knocked a fist against his chest. He laughed harder and pulled her face to him giving her a deep kiss despite his laughter. When he pulled away her eyes were a little dazed but he could tell she was still cross with him and upset about what had happened.
"Clarke, do you really think any of the clan leaders concern themselves with things like making dinner," he paused letting her soak in his words. He saw when she begrudgingly accepted what he said.
"That's not the point. If I can't do a simple task how will I be able to handle what is needed of me."
"The same way you always have, my love," his hands still framing her face, her eyes slipped closed, letting his words flow over her. This was not just the pregnancy hormones, he knew. This had been building up since their friends had arrived. Clarke had not had the responsibility of leading in so long she was afraid she would fail. In their village Clarke had taken roles with leadership aspects but it was not the same. "You will be patient," he kissed her forehead, "wise," he kissed her eyelid, "clever," he kissed her other eyelid, "forceful," he kissed her nose, "and most of all strong." Again, he kissed her on the lips. She responded in kind. Her own hands reached up to capture his face as well. Her thumb ran softly up and down the tattoo that ran from just behind his ear to down his neck, while his hands tangled themselves in her hair. Her other hand dipped so that a couple of her fingers rested just under his shirt against his neck.
He shivered at the feel of her cold hands. Where Clarke had often told him, she loved how warm he was. How every time he touched her it was like he was scalding her sending every nerve ending into overdrive. He likewise loved her cold hands, they always sent a shock through him as they ran up his body leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. They exactly what the other needed.
Despite his pep talk, Lincoln knew that her fears weren't completely abated. He could feel it in the way she held him, the way she kissed him. There was a distance there that hadn't been there since they had first started partaking in a sexual relationship. She was trying to distance herself from him just as she had tried to run from him before. She wanted to protect him and Wells. And she thought that meant distancing herself from them. From her enemies, from her responsibilities, from her people. But he also knew she wanted this life with him. She clung to it like it was air. Clarke wanted to be more than wanheda. She wanted to be mother, and wife, and fisa, and simply Clarke. As long as that was what she wanted, truly wanted, he would not allow her to run.
Lincoln finally pulled away and hugged Clarke, pulling her back into him so her head settled right under his chin. She grabbed his shirt in her fist, holding onto him as if he would disappear if she didn't.
When they heard a noise, they turned to find Wells approaching them. Lincoln kept his arm around her soldiers as she turned to greet him with a smile, brushing away the last of her unshed tears. He walked up to his mother and hugged her around the leg. His head just being high enough to rest against the top of her thigh.
"Don't worry, mommy. It still tastes good."
Clarke laughed lightly, "Are you sure? I didn't ruin it?"
Wells looked up at her with wide innocent eyes that were a mirror of his mother's and shook his head. "No. Your dinner's always come out good." He thought for a moment and then added, "Except for that one time when you burned the pie and the house got all smoky and smelled funny."
Lincoln and Clarke laughed at the memory. Clarke had been cooking dinner when Lincoln arrived home. Wells was in the yard playing and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with his wife. She had just put the pie in their wood burning oven when he wrapped his arms around her. He moved the hair from the side of her neck and kissed the skin he uncovered. She was flushed from the heat, her pale skin taking on a rosy glow. His right hand went to her hip holding her tightly playing with the flesh that peeked out between her top and her pants. His other hand wandered to her breast only paying it enough attention to give it a firm squeeze before he ran it down her side making her tense in the best way. Lincoln smiled into her neck at the motion. Taking his hand from her hip he captured her jaw and turned her face towards him and kissed her hard. Clarke bite his lip firmly when his hand reached around to her front and splayed across her taut stomach. He pushed against her forcing her back into his firm member. They both groaned, heating his blood as his hand wandered further down, slipping under the edge of her pants and underwear. Just when he was about to reach where he had been aiming for Clarke broke away and yanked on his other hand pulling him towards their room. She only remembered the waiting pie when they smelled the smoke.
Clarke grumbled out, "That was actually your father's fault." Staring accusingly at Lincoln who was unabashed. "He distracted me."
She thought she had said it low enough for only him to hear but Wells had excellent hearing. "What did he do?"
Lincoln could just make out her blush in the dark and Lincoln's smile turned into a smug smirk.
"Nothing," she said too quickly voice husky with the still burning memory as her hungry eyes slipped from his to their son's. Wells looked unsure at both his parents. "If it's not ruined why don't we get some of that dinner," Clarke said eager to change the subject.
In the presence of their son Lincoln had felt Clarke melt into him, the distance she had been trying to create evaporating. He smiled down in wonder at his son.
"Okay," Wells agreed easily grabbing his mother's hand. "Will you tell me a story after."
Clarke hummed her agreement. "What kind do you want tonight?"
"King Arthur!" He exclaimed loudly as they began to walk back to camp.
"And what should I tell you about? How about he got Excalibur?"
"Yeah!"
When they returned to the camp many had already finished with their meal and were simply winding down after a long day of traveling.
Octavia sat sharpening her blade, despite the fact that she had not had reason to use it and it was sharp as ever. She had stopped avoiding them, now satisfying herself with passive-aggressive comments. Lincoln knew they would need to clear the air but now was not the time. He hoped things would keep until they reached Arcadia and had some breathing room.
He truly had not meant to hurt Octavia by leaving, it was something he had had to do. For his own sanity as well as his happiness. But she was not the only one who had been hurt. He had not left without a word or a look back. He had asked her to come with him, to start over with him. It had been what they were planning on doing before everything with the mountain men had occurred. But after she no longer wanted that. He may have left, but she did not follow. He had prayed for months that she would come to him, but she never did. Eventually he had to accept the fact that they could not be together. They were walking different paths.
Lincoln went to the pot next to the fire and spooned out a bowl for Clarke and Wells as they took seats next to Monty and their grounder companions chatting amicably.
After Lincoln got himself a bowl he took a seat next to Bellamy who was sitting silently watching the dancing flames of the fire.
Without looking at him the other man asked, "Everything good?"
Lincoln released a tired sigh. He was trying to hold everything together for Clarke's sake, even though she could tell things were wearing on him. But Bellamy he could be open with. He would listen without trying to internalize Lincoln's problem's as his own or offer up empty advice.
"She is taking on too much. All this stress is not good for her or the baby. I am concerned." He said simply. But looking up now he could see how relaxed she was. With Wells leaning against her, she chatted happily letting her worries fade, if only briefly.
"And telling Clarke to relax is like telling a lion not to attack." Lincoln hummed his acknowledgment. "I'll talk to her."
Lincoln looked at him cynically, privately thinking 'what sway did this man think he had over his wife.'
Bellamy finally glanced at him and smiled, "Relax caveman. I'll talk to her ex-leader to ex-leader. Don't forget we used to run things together. I know what's going through her head better than anyone right now."
Lincoln sighed and looked through the flames towards Clarke just as she glanced at him. Their eyes locked. Her vision filled with love but then he watched as it deteriorated and her brow furrowed.
"Do it soon," was all he said to Bellamy.
...
Whatever Bellamy had said did the trick. Clarke had come to the resolution that she would only focus on the baby and traveling. She would worry about the coalition after the baby was born, compartmentalizing their difficulties until she could deal with them. Lincoln had been skeptical at first, not believing it would be as easy as Clarke was making it out to be. But to his happy surprise Bray had informed them that her blood pressure had gone down slightly and that the headaches she had been experiencing had stopped.
He would have to ask Bellamy what he said to her.
Unfortunately, a new concern had arisen. Indra dropped back to where he had been pulling up the rear to address it.
"We are being followed," she said like she was commenting on the weather.
"Yes," he responded. "Two maybe three."
"I only counted the two."
"The third does not seem to be with the others."
Indra frowned considering.
Lincoln's eyes scanned their surroundings. Their trackers were good, but they were better. He had glanced them about 100 yards off twice, he had them more though. They broke branches and scattered the wildlife causing unnatural disturbances. The singular man was better at concealing himself, he trailed behind them two miles or so. Lincoln had only spotted him the one time. The real defining factor was intuition. He knew they were being followed by the way the hairs stood on the back of his neck, by the way his skin tingled with an unseen presence. Lincoln had been a warrior for many years and he had learned to ever to take gut instinct for granted.
He looked forward towards his own party as Clarke glanced back to him. She had sensed the presence as well. He nodded towards her letting her know he was aware of the situation and was handling it. Her gaze only wavered when Wells caught her attention pointing up into the trees as two fighting squirrels. Clarke laughed at whatever he had commented. Subtly she pulled on his hand that had been entwined with hers until he was glued to her side. She then placed her arm around him affectionately. It was an understated move that no one but him would have noticed as defensive maneuver. His wife was no fool.
"I'll send Octavia to deal with it."
"I would prefer handle it," Lincoln answered. He did not question Octavia's ability he just would rather take care of the threat to his family to make sure it was handled acceptably.
"You would attract too much attention." Lincoln comprehended Indra's meaning. They had been followed long enough that their pursuers would have seen his interactions with Clarke and the boy clinging to her to discern that he held some significance to her.
Even if they hadn't Lincoln would regardless be considered a potentially high threat to them if they were to attack. They would make sure to keep him in sight. Octavia would be seen as less of a threat, due to her age and gender.
"Send the nightblood with her," Lincoln commanded.
Indra thought for a moment and conceded. Sending Aden along with Octavia would improve their likelihood of success. Lincoln also wanted to get a measure of the young man.
Indra walked ahead tapping Aden on the shoulder and telling him loudly to go scout ahead with Octavia. Lincoln knew when they pulled far enough ahead they would double back around and come up behind their followers.
It was a concern, however, that with seeing two of the warriors gone their trackers would see this as an opportunity and attack them. But not only were they still outnumbered, Lincoln was reasonably sure, being only two, that they were a scouting party. Which would mean they were sent to observe and track and not meant to engage.
He watched the two young warriors head off into the forest at a brisk jog. Bellamy slide his weapon down from his back closer to his hands in preparation for a possible attack. Monty and Bray flanked Clarke and Wells still laughing and chatting. Indra inched closer towards his family. Everything was done in such an easy manner that most would confuse it with normal activity but he could feel the tension.
Just when he thought it would drown them a masculine scream wrung out from his left side far off into the trees where Clarke knew the men had been.
In a flash, Lincoln ran in-between his companions and where the scream had come from pulling his sword from its sheath. Before he had turned his back to them he had seen Monty pickup Wells and Bray grab onto Clarke each crouching low, limiting others visibility of them. Indra and Bellamy took up positions around the small group raising their weapons.
As they stood there waiting, they could hear the faint sounds of clashing blades. When a feminine yelp was heard Lincoln was on the move. He had heard the sound before, he knew her voice. Octavia had taken a hit.
He ran as fast as he could, he faintly heard Clarke call Bellamy's name. When he stopped hearing the sound of footsteps behind him he knew the man had heeded her call.
As the sound of fighting grew closer Lincoln eyed the body of an enemy grounder fifteen feet to his right. As much as Lincoln wanted to go make sure he was dead the clashing of blades was more pressing.
Lincoln jumped over a fallen tree and slide down a small decline when he saw them. Aden was fighting with the remaining foe as Octavia scurried out of the way of their heavy feet, blood dripping from her thigh in great rivulets. Lincoln ran to her and pulled her out of the way of the two fighting men.
He had only glanced the fight but he had saw enough to know that Aden was losing. Aden was skilled but he was lacking compared his opponent. The man looked to be around thirty, wiry, and quick. Aden's strength at such a young age lied in swiftness, but his adversary was just as quick and even more experienced. He was losing steam fast as well, not pacing himself.
Lincoln sprang into action when he saw Aden drop his guard, his arm exhausted with the exertion of the fight. The man went to swing his sword down and into the boy's chest. When Lincoln jumped in blocking the blow and pushing Aden away in the same motion. The enemy grounder looked startled for a moment at the change in adversary but adapted quickly.
He swung towards Lincoln's legs with his blade, and Lincoln jumped avoiding the edge. He was then shoved in the chest and knocked to the ground. The man stabbed down with his sword as Lincoln rolled out of the way kicking his opponent in his left knee. As he buckled, Lincoln scrambled to his feet. The grounder did the same and the two warriors faced off once again. They edged around each other slowly both planning their next move. Lincoln was about to jab and fade when the other man acted. He swung out towards Lincoln, who jumped back, the swords sharp tip barely missing him. When he went to swipe at him again Lincoln grabbed his arm. The man was surprised with Lincoln's strength, being able to stop his moment dead in its tracks. He used his other arm, sword in hand, to thrust up towards him. The blade met some resistance at first but then slipped in with a sucking sound. The warrior's face registered shock as he coughed, blood spraying from his mouth. Lincoln removed his blade with a growl and watched the man fall to his knees and then face first into the dirt. He gave a couple of harsh wheezes before he stopped making any sound at all.
Lincoln took deep gasping breaths as he looked around for any other potential threats. When he saw none, he focused on Octavia and Aden. Aden had been in the middle of binding Octavia's wound when he stopped to watch Lincoln's fight. Octavia smacked him on the back of the head to get his attention back. The boy looked embarrassed but resumed his efforts.
Lincoln went to Octavia's side. The wound was not nearly as bad as he first believed. Even before Aden applied his binding the bleeding had slowed considerably. He would still feel better when Clarke took a look at it.
He asked her, "Which one cut you?"
As he was hoping, she inclined her head towards the man he had been fighting. He got up and picked up the man's sword. He sniffed it and then licked it just to be sure.
"Poison?" Octavia asked sagely. They had done this dance before. Octavia had been hit with a poisoned arrow once. She had grown delirious with it running through her system. He had feared he would lose her, he had come very close to it as well. But they had managed to get an antidote at great cost.
"No," he answered. Happy they would not have to go through the ordeal again.
He walked back to her and together he and Aden lifted Octavia into a basket carry and began carrying her back to the others. She grumbled when the motion jostled her wounded leg.
"I'm sorry," Aden said to her quietly.
Lincoln quirked an eyebrow confused at the boy's show of empathy. He had not taken him to be so compassionate.
Things cleared when Octavia scoffed responding, "Idiot, next time I tell you to wait do it."
Lincoln shook his head. The boy had not seemed impetuous but he supposed it was a habit of all youth.
As they stumbled along Lincoln had a thought. It took him a moment to capture it and by the time he did, it was too late.
Before them appeared, the other grounder who had been following them. He had a large gash to his head but seemed to be unharmed otherwise. He had his arm raised an axe in hand ready to throw. He had been careless in his concern for Octavia. His first priority should have been managing the threat when he realized she would keep. But just as Clarke, he was out of practice. He had not had to worry about people trying to kill him in a long time. They had been fortunate like that. Lincoln cursed under his breathe.
Lincoln had two options. The first, he could wait until he threw the axe and easily dodge it and proceeded to attack him. But this would leave Octavia exposed and he wasn't sure if Aden would be quick enough to do the same as him. Either way one of them would take the blow if the grounder was not aiming at Lincoln specifically. Second, he could drop Octavia and charge the man. This would lead to him most likely being hit with the axe himself. Clarke would not be pleased if that happened.
Lincoln was scrambling to think of a third option when suddenly the man stiffened. A knife protruded from his mouth. It was abruptly removed and the man fell gracelessly to the forest floor dead.
They all gave a sigh of relief. Until Octavia saw the man standing in the grounder's place.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" She demanded.
