A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've been sick and also been working more than usual. This chapter is a little shorter, because it was originally 13,000+ words, and we needed to divide it into two chapters. So chapter 13 is almost done.
"Shit." Raven hit the brakes hard, the ATV jolting to a sudden halt. They hadn't been going that fast, but she heard Bellamy swear softly as he was bounced around in the attached cart.
"Why are we stopping?" he called, "did we run out of juice?"
"Nu-uh," Octavia let go of of Raven's waist and clambered off her seat, "tree trunk." They could barely see it in the weak glow of the headlights, but Raven was suddenly glad that the track they had been following had been too narrow and twisted for speeding. From the little she could see the trunk was big enough that not even a bigger vehicle could simply go over it. They would have ended up with a smashed ATV and injured if she had been going any faster.
She heard Bellamy's footsteps crunch softly on the trail's gravel as he walked up to them, gun braced against his shoulder.
"Can you turn the lights any higher?" He asked as he nosed cautiously forward, "it's pitch black up ahead."
"Hold on." Raven switched off the engine, directing the extra power to the headlights. Night became a bit brighter around them and she could see that the fallen tree blocked the path completely. There was no way for them to go around it or over, they would have to move it somehow.
"I told you we should have stopped like, two hours ago," Octavia huffed, joining her brother who was staring at the obstacle, "we shouldn't have entered the gorge at night. I can't see a thing, let alone move a tree in this murk."
Raven had to agree, but Bellamy had been stubborn as if he thought they were going to find Clarke around the road's next bend. She tuned out her bickering companions and turned her attention to the forest around them. She couldn't really see the gorge's walls, as the moon hadn't risen yet, but she could feel them press around on all sides. The wind that had howled down the narrow canyon had died down and the few trees that grew along its steep sides had ceased their constant creaking. Raven missed the noise, the darkness around them far too quiet.
She opened her mouth to point it out and a blade was suddenly pressed against her throat, strong, lean arms going around her as she let out a small gasp.
"Hands up," a feminine voice whispered in her ear, "tell your friends to turn around slowly and there will be no trouble." The blade nicked encouragingly against her windpipe and Raven swallowed harshly.
"Uh...guys...we...have a problem…"
"Not now Raven, we're trying-" Bellamy didn't even turn, but Octavia did, and in that instant the shadows around the two of them came to life. Raven saw a short figure strike Octavia in the stomach, and a hulking one rip the gun out of Bellamy's hands as he was tripped by a kick and crumbled to the ground.
The night filled with noise, grunts and scuffles, harsh words in a language Raven didn't recognize, although some of them tickled at the edges of her mind. It all seemed to last forever, but it was over in a matter of seconds.
The blade was removed and hands grabbed her under her armpits, dragging her off the ATV. She was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, falling down face-first, a handful of rotten leaves and dirt filling her gasping mouth.
Her leg gave a vicious throb as her hip smacked against a jutting rock and she screamed, the pain only increasing when someone straddled her legs, pinning her down and yanking her arms backwards. Coarse rope tightened around her wrists, her shoulder bent at an unnatural angle that made Raven tense and fight against the restraint.
"Gyon op,"
Raven tried to pull her knees under her, and push herself to her feet, but she couldn't. She fell flat, her cheek scraping in the dirt, and she could tell it was bleeding before strong hands rolled her over and dragged her roughly to her feet. She stumbled and would have fallen if a hand hadn't grabbed her by her bound wrists and jerked her back.
She half-stood, partially bent over, as she tried to keep her weight off her leg. She could feel the blood dripping down her cheek, and her eyes clouded with tears. The pain in her leg was flaring along all of her nerves, and she bit down on her lower lip viciously in an effort not to cry. She choked, laughing roughly at the taste of copper in her mouth, as she spit a wad of blood and mucus into the dirt at her feet.
"Please, we are just looking for our friend."
Raven almost snorted at the plea in Octavia's voice. It was so unlike the angry, but self-assured young woman, but she could hear the pain and fear in her voice, and Raven realized belatedly that it was was fear for her, for Raven, and not for Octavia.
Raven could hear them muttering in their own language, and she tried to concentrate on the words, in an effort to distract herself from the pain in her leg and cheek. Sometimes the words sounded familiar, and she was almost sure she could understand part of what they were saying, their words just on the tip of her own tongue.
She heard the warrior grunt and yank on her arms, in the universal language of follow me. She stumbled, her weight crashing heavily into the warrior, and she was sure she heard the warrior swear under her breath before arms wrapped around her waist and set her back on her feet.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, her mouth dry, tongue too thick, "my leg. I can't…"
She felt a hand grab her thigh, and search along her leg, the warrior hissing when they felt the metal bands of her brace. More words were exchanged between the warriors before the one holding her huffed and pulled her towards the ATV.
Raven blinked sharply as a torch suddenly passed in front of her face, and she reared back a little, startled to see the face looming in front of her. The warrior was tall and lean, her face painted in black and greens. Her dark hair was tied back in intricate braids Her. She had been sure the voice whispering threats in her ear had belonged to a woman, but visual confirmation had Raven sighing in relief, not knowing why she suddenly felt a little reassured of their predicament just because the warrior was a woman.
The other warriors shoved Bellamy and Octavia forward, until the three of them were standing next to the ATV and wagon. The warriors held their torches high, and Raven could see them slightly better, although their faces were still partially hidden by dancing shadows. They all had paint on their faces, some wore masks made of bone and leather. But all looked angry, cold. All looked like warriors of death.
One of the warriors stepped forward, another woman, with a mostly shaved head, except for the small mohawk running down the center of her head. She seemed like she might be the one in charge. She gestured towards the ATV and wagon, miming a gesture clearly meant to relay that the two should be separated. Bellamy grunted, stumbling forward, nodding his head.
"I can separate them, but you have to untie my hands." He held them up, and one of the other warriors, a slim man with a wolf's face undid the ropes. Bellamy nodded, rubbing at his wrists, before unhooking the couplings. He pushed the wagon back, letting the hitch fall to the ground.
More talking, and Bellamy and Octavia looked at each other cautiously, before the female warrior with the mohawk untied Octavia, and shoved both Bellamy and Octavia to the front of the wagon. She gestured for them to pick up the hitch, and once they had, she tied Octavia's left leg to Bellamy's right leg, loose enough for them to walk, but too tight for one of them to try and escape without dragging the other with them. Simple, but effective.
Raven stared wide-eyed at them, realizing that they would pull the wagon, but before she could open her mouth to ask what was to be done with her, strong arms scooped her up into the air. She squealed, grabbing at the warrior's armor, and before she could formulate any words, she was being carefully deposited into the back of the wagon.
She was surprised at how gently the warrior had set her down, expecting to simply be tossed into the back. "Thank you," she murmured, slowly releasing the front of the warrior's armor. She was surprised to see the woman's blue eyes widen slightly, before the warrior grunted and pulled away from her.
The grounders fanned out around them, the lean man with the mannerism of a wolf stationing next to Bellamy and Octavia, watching their every move as they began to pull the cart. There were five of them in total, Raven noticed, three women and two men. And for some reason it was the women who looked towards them with the most heated looks, leering openly, especially at Bellamy.
"Angus," the female warrior with the mohawk, called the second man over and gave him curt orders, the words rolling off her tongue too fast for Raven to follow. The man nodded once and handed off the torch he had been carrying, vanishing swiftly into the night as if he'd never been there.
Then the woman, who Raven identified as the war band's leader since they were all doing what she said, muttered something else and they were off, the blue eyed warrior and another one whose eyes looked full of mirth in a deadly serious face moving to the back of the cart, while the leader walked alone in front.
She saw Bellamy move his head around one way and the other as he pulled the cart, clearly assessing their chances and she shook her head with a sigh.
"Don't be stupid," she hissed, tugging at his sleeve, "if you play hero you will get us all killed."
Octavia nodded along, too focused on pulling the small cart to waste breath agreeing with Raven, while Bellamy twisted around to shoot her a surprised look, evidently taken aback that she'd guessed his thoughts so easily.
Raven had thought she'd kept her voice low, but the man walking beside them had heard, because he snorted and said in heavily accented english.
"Listen to her, boy," he hefted the spear he was carrying meaningfully, "if you cause trouble...well, we don't need all of you."
Bellamy opened his mouth for an angry retort, then groaned in pain as Octavia's elbow dug into his side.
"Cut it out, Bell," his sister whispered, and in the light of the torches he could see her eyes were wide with worry and barely repressed fear, "Raven's right. Besides if we get ourselves killed we'll never find Clarke."
He knew the girls were right, but he bristled at the way they had been captured, easily as if they were children. He'd thought the gun he'd carried would have afforded some protection, but the man marching at his side had ripped it out of his hands as if it had been a toy. His shin hurt where the warrior's boot had struck him and it wasn't long before his arms began to ache from pulling the cart.
Raven wasn't that heavy, but Bellamy knew that in space gravity had affected all of them differently. Their muscles were underdeveloped as a result and while their time on earth had begun to toughen them up, they were still much weaker than the lowest grounder warrior.
He hoped the warband was just taking them to a nearby campsite where they would wait the night out and have a chance to at least rest a little. Even with the light of the torches, darkness was almost absolute, and he could barely see the terrain in front of him, with the result that more than once he staggered and tripped on hidden roots and rocks.
He lost track of time, the only sign that they had been walking for a while the burning ache that settled in his thighs. Breathing became harder, every gulp of air he took slicing like a sharp blade down his throat and he heard Octavia pant harshly next to him, their pace slowing to a crawl.
He didn't know if he fell to his knees because his feet caught on something, or his legs simply gave out, but he found himself onto the ground, hands digging into soft dirt.
"Get up, boy." Each of the man's words was followed by a vicious prod of the spear's butt against Bellamy's ribs, "nobody said you could stop."
He tried, if only to make the warrior stop hitting him, but the muscles in his thighs locked up, and his legs refused to carry his weight.
"Can't.." he gasped, fighting to not collapse face-first into the dirt, "please, just let us rest a little," every word was like grit, rubbing his tongue raw, "then we can pull more."
"Weak," the man left spat, the tip of his spear jabbing a breath away from Bellamy's face, "we don't need all of them," he repeated, looking at the other grounders, "if they can't pull, and the girl in the cart can't walk…" he trailed off, but the threat was as evident as if he had spoken it.
"Em pleni, Linus."
Raven, who had shrunk back against the bottom of the cart at the man's words, watched the blue-eyed woman move forward. Their eyes met and while the blue gaze was hard and unwavering, the brunette felt reassured by her presence.
"If they can't pull any more, I will carry her," the warrior continued and, bent down, crouching next to the cart. She motioned for Raven to scoot closer and put her arms around the warrior's neck, before standing almost effortlessly, hands going down to wrap around the brunette's legs.
"Get up, boy," the blue eyed woman shot a cold look at Bellamy who was still gasping on the ground, "Linus is losing the little patience he has left."
Raven saw him push up to his feet with a grimace, the man that her saviour had called Linus shoving him forward, Octavia following with a relieved sigh.
The mechanic bent forward, so that she could whisper in the warrior's ear.
"Thank you."
The woman didn't answer, but her hands tightened a little and Raven had the impression that her head moved a fraction as she nodded. It was too dark to tell, and she was too tired to make sure that the warrior had really heard, but when Raven glanced back to the others and her eyes met Linus' hard stare, a shiver ran down her back and her arms clutched at the woman's armor. She'd make sure that the woman knew that she was grateful.
Linus' spear looked awfully sharp even in the flickering light of the torches.
Anya woke with a jaw-cracking yawn and a lazy stretch, the end of her spine popping pleasurably as she tensed her muscles. For the first time, in what felt like a lifetime, she had not woken in a heap of messy shivers and sweaty limbs, but rather calm and rested. Content.
She could not say the same for the one still slumbering next to her, eyes flying open at the small whimpers coming from Clarke's still form. The older woman recognized the signs, the tensing of Clarke's back, the little tremors shaking her limbs and the guttural sounds coming from deep within the skai girl's chest.
"Shhh," she cooed softly, hand tangling in Clarke's damp hair, stroking them softly, "I'm here Clarke. You're safe." The words almost caught in her throat as she was thrown back to the countless times she had done the same thing for Lexa, on the long, haunted nights in which she'd held the Commander while she mourned the loss of her first love. Ever so gently, the General gathered Clarke into a soft embrace, holding her still when the blonde jolted awake with a strangled scream, legs kicking weakly.
The blonde's breaths came in short, harsh gasps that blew against Anya's neck as Clarke buried her face against the General's neck. Anya kept stroking Clarke's hair, rubbing her back and slowly the girl relaxed into her body, pulling her face back to blink up at the older woman.
Anya watched Clarke's eyes slowly clear and brighten, as the memory of the nightmare slowly lifted off the girl's shoulders and trickled away with the last of her tears.
"I...I'm sorry," Clarke mumbled, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she weakly tried to pull out of Anya's arms. She was afraid that the woman would start to think she was weak for crying so much, and that she wasn't worth her's or Lexa's time. Clarke didn't want to risk that, not now that they were finally getting somewhere.
"Stop," the older woman cooed, hold tightening, "we've discussed this, and you were the one to make me understand there is no shame in nightmares, in working our pain through them." Clarke quit struggling, shivering when Anya's calloused hands began to work their way along her sides. She was keenly aware that, besides the bandages, she was still stark naked, and that Anya wore only bindings and tight shorts, but it felt comforting to be so close, rather than embarrassing.
"I've held Lexa through hers," Anya continued, voice softening, "and she helped me through the horrors of the Mountain once you made me realize that I wasn't alone in dreaming them. And now - together - she and I will help you chase away your own demons."
The General's slanted eyes were warm, brown pools swirling with hints of gold, and Clarke anchored herself within the older woman, breath slowly going back to normal.
"Thank you," she reached out, fingers shaking slightly, hesitantly tracing Anya's jaw, and her heart fluttered wildly when the woman leaned into the touch, a smile flashing across her lips.
Clarke became aware that the other side of the bed was empty and raised an eyebrow at Anya.
"She got up a while ago," the General smirked, "muttering about making breakfast. I think she is trying to impress someone."
"Oh?" Clarke smirked, as the last of the tension finally left her. She shifted, body aching and wounds tugging painfully, but not as badly as the day before, "I thought Heda didn't need to impress anybody."
Anya sat up with a grunt.
"What Heda needs and what Heda wants are two different things," she laughed softly, and kicked the pelts to the foot of the bed, "at least you won't have to deal with burnt stew. When I took her as my seken, her cooking was tragic."
"It was not," Lexa ducked through the curtain that closed the sleeping area off from the main tent, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "the stew was well done."
"Burnt black."
"You still ate it,"Lexa placed the bundle she was carrying on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms obviously thinking her retort had put an end to the bantering.
"Of course I did. You were so proud of it." They shared a smile, and Clarke felt warmth spread inside her chest. The cold fingers of the night's terror were pushed back and away from her heart, and the blonde found solace in the obvious affection Lexa and Anya shared. It was a part of themselves they kept private, and it reminded her of the easy banter within her own family. There had been a time in which their assigned quarters on the Ark had been filled with jokes and laughter, but as life grown harder, they had all become too caught up in their problems and the rooms had grown dark and quiet.
Family was something that Clarke missed, despite her mother's best efforts, but perhaps she'd found another, she thought as Lexa handed her a shirt. Their fingers brushed, and Clarke's skin tingled faintly with the contact. As she pulled it on with Anya's help, worry came back in a dark tide, doubt gnawing at the edges of her mind. Her friends were still inside the Mountain and the rest of her People might still end up in a war they would likely lose. And her mother….
Bile rose up her throat, and her fingers tightened around the hem of the shirt. She struggled, taking deep breaths for a few moments and then stood on shaky legs with Lexa's help as Anya helped her pull small clothes and pants up her legs. She didn't really know what had happened to her mother yet and would have to trust Lexa's word. The Commander had promised her that the scouts would try to find out.
In the meantime she could help with the plans for the Mountain, and perhaps find a way to mitigate the effects of the blockade, hoping that whoever was in charge back at Camp Jaha would decide to accept Heda's terms for resuming negotiations.
Once they had dressed her, Lexa knelt in front of her, helping her with boots that laced up to mid-calf. They were new, like the clothes, understandable since those she had worn upon leaving TonDC had probably been reduced to bloody rags.
Clarke shuddered, the air of the room suddenly heavy, and took a half-step towards Lexa, feeling lightheaded, vision wavering.
"Come," the Commander grasped her elbow gently, eyes full of concern, "you need some food. It'll make you feel better."
When they stepped into the main tent, Anya shrugging into a wrinkled shirt and hurrying after them, pants still only halfway up her thighs, Clarke noticed that part of the war table had been cleared, parchment and wooden markers piled up to one side. Plates had been laid out in their place, three empty ones with cutlery on one side, arranged so that they could all sit side by side on the long side of the table. Other plates sat within easy reach, loaded with cheese and slices of meat, fresh fruit and some round shaped, brownish things she didn't recognize.
"Sit," Lexa pulled the chair in the middle for her and Clarke dropped on it with a small, thankful groan, fingers pressing against the wound on her shoulder. She felt better, but even a few steps had left her weak and trembling, breathing ragged.
The Commander went to a side table and puttered around briefly, coming back with mugs full of tea. Clarke took hers gratefully, blowing on it a few times before taking careful sips.
The other two women sat on either side of her and Anya took her empty plate, starting to pile it with food.
Once the General was done, she placed it in front of Clarke encouragingly, and the blonde picked up a fork, poking at a slice of meat doubtfully. "Uhm…" her eyes went to the women on either side of her, "isn't it a bit too much food? I don't think I can eat it all."
"Your body needs the energy you will get from food to heal you faster, Clarke," Anya replied, watching her expectantly, "you have had nothing in your stomach since we came back, besides some water and a bit of broth. You need food."
"Yes, but I don't need indigestion," Clarke grumbled, rolling her eyes. Anya didn't seem willing to relent so she looked at Lexa, but the brunette simply shrugged and grinned back, clearly amused.
Clarke opened her mouth again, hell-bent on listing all the medical reasons on why she should not eat everything that Anya had piled up for her, stomach clenching with the knowledge that while she was being doted on, her people were suffering and some of her friends may already be dead in the Mountain. The realization that she felt guilty for surviving hit her like a freight train, why had she made it out almost unscathed, where Malcolm - a seasoned, hardened warrior - had been left unmoving on the ground?
Words died on her tongue, mouth opening and closing as she fixed her eyes to her lap in shame, then Anya's rough fingers were cradling her jaw, forcing her to lift her gaze and meet mocha colored eyes, soft with understanding.
Clarke wasn't prepared for what came next as Anya closed the distance, lips ghosting against her own, then pressing more firmly to her mouth. The kiss was tender and chaste, but the air grew heavy with unspoken promises. The blonde's heart stilled, and she felt Lexa shift closer, the Commander's hand finding her own and squeezing softly, just as Anya pulled back.
"Eat." The General's voice had grown hoarse and gritty, and Clarke could do nothing but nod weakly and pick up her fork, spearing a piece of meat to bring to her mouth. She chewed slowly, cheeks burning, lips still heated by the kiss.
"Does she always win arguments so easily?" She managed to ask after a while, breaking the companionable silence that had descended between them.
Lexa laughed, but before she could reply, there was a rustle outside the tent's entrance.
"Heda?" One of the guards called hesitantly, "may I come inside?"
"Sha." The smile fell off Lexa's face as if someone had flipped a switch and she stood, striding towards the entrance just as the man stepped inside. It took her only three paces, but by the time the man leaned in to whisper into her ear, Heda had taken up residence, the brunette's softer side hidden underneath.
Moments later, the Commander dismissed the guard and turned towards them, a grave expression on her face.
"Angus is back," she said, coming to stand next to Clarke's chair and placing a hand on her shoulder, "a patrol has captured some Skaikru miles outside the blockade's perimeter. They are bringing them in."
The meat soured in her mouth, and her stomach roiled as she carefully swallowed, grimacing. She set her fork down, and lifted one trembling hand to her mouth, pressing her fingertips harshly against her lips in an effort to squelch the sob threatening to break free.
She looked up at Lexa, tears turning her eyes a brilliant cerulean, that shone starkly in her pale face. "What will you…" she hesitated, swallowing harshly, not wanting her next words to sound like an accusation. "What will become of them?"
Lexa looked away from Clarke's eyes for a moment, catching Anya's gaze over the top of Clarke's head. She easily recognized the firm resignation on Anya's face, the tight press of her lips, her eyes shadowed with something like sorrow.
Lexa crouched down next to Clarke, her hands hesitantly finding Clarke's, not sure if her touch was welcome, but realizing that she needed Clarke's touch to ground her. And she wasn't even sure when the desire to touch Clarke had become more than just a fleshly want, but had become an emotional need. Denying her own needs and desires had become second nature, and she had always comforted herself with the knowledge that it was for her people. But she felt her heart lurch in her chest when Clarke grabbed her hands, holding them tightly in her own, grasping at Lexa as if she was the only lifeline left in a storm-tossed sea. And suddenly self-sacrifice didn't seem as honorable or comforting anymore.
"I will hear them out, Clarke. You have my word." She stroked her thumbs across Clarke's knuckles, hoping the simple touch would reassure her.
"And then…?"
Lexa looked down at their hands, not sure how to answer her, knowing that the skai girl might not like the answer, knowing that Clarke might not understand the harsh choices she might have to make in the name of the Coalition.
"I promise you, Clarke, that whatever happens will not be done in the name of vengeance but of justice. I am not anxious to go to war with your people, but they will have to answer for what happened to Malcolm and you."
Clarke nodded slowly, it made sense. She squeezed Lexa's hands, knowing what she needed to do. One more time, for her people. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, "I understand, Heda. I will bear it so they don't have to. Punish me."
Lexa hissed under her breath, jerking her head. Her lips twisted, anger flooded her chest, clawing at her ribs like a hungry winter wolf. But before she could spit out the words screaming in her head, Anya pushed back her chair violently, causing it to scrape harshly along the ground.
"No! You have done enough for your people, Clarke. Your sacrifices are not needed."
Each word fell angrily from Anya's lips, as stones cast into a lake of water, and Clarke shuddered under the weight of them, silently aghast at the turmoil she she could feel filling the room. But even as she gaped in surprise at Anya's vehemence, and Lexa's silent storm building sliding against her skin; she couldn't help but feel relieved, even giddy at the thought that they cared so much already, and seemed ready to do all they could to keep her from harm.
"Clarke, you have already borne and paid your people's sins once. They need to understand that if death has no cost, than life has no worth." She stood, carefully pulling Clarke up with her, "They won't be here until much later, and you don't need to worry about it now." She directed Clarke into Anya's arms, "You need to rest. I need to meet with some of the ambassadors."
Anya nodded, wrapping one arm around Clarke's waist, slightly worried when Clarke let Anya bear most of her weight. She carefully guided her back to the bed, glad to see that the handmaidens, had stripped the bed and put fresh furs on it. She carefully eased Clarke down on to the bed, wiping the hair from her face. "Rest, Clarke. And trust Lexa. She will do what is best for both our people."
Clarke looked up, raising her hand and tracing Anya's high cheekbones, letting her fingers dance across her lips. She smiled when Anya kissed her fingertips, and she let her arm fall back to her side, yawning loudly. "Stay with me," she muttered as her eyes closed of their own accord.
"You kissed me," she murmured sleepily, eyes closed, as she snuggled into the pillow, one hand reaching out for Anya.
"I did," amusement colored each word, and Anya couldn't help but smile as she looked down into Clarke's face. She was relieved to see the lines that furrowed her brow slowly easing, as sleep started to claim the girl.
"I liked it," the last words was almost unintelligible, as Clarke finally drifted off to sleep.
Anya smiled, amusement making her lips twitch. She carefully eased back down onto the bed to lay next to Clarke for a few minutes, at least until the girl fell asleep. She pressed her lips gently against her forehead, content for the moment, despite the war brewing on the horizon.
A/N: Thoughts?
