Hi Readers! Bear with me here… My teachers decided all of my finals for my AP classes should be next week, so I'm pretty much studying my ass off so I don't get below a B+ in those classes (gotta keep that transcript up am I right or am I right?)
Thanks to everyone who has read, is reading, or has reviewed. It really means a lot that you enjoy my story To Guest: I think I got to excited and introduced too many things at one time, thanks for calling me out on it, I'll try to slow things down a bit.
To Life-is-rolling-keep-on-going: I know it's very AU. This story is actually semi-based off of a dream that I had. I tend to have very crazy dreams, and they haunt me until I write them down. This is my first story, but it is safe to assume when I write more they will based off of plots that come from my dreams.
Ok, Ok, I'll get on with the story.
Clarke's POV
She drifted in and out of the conscious world, sometimes swaying as if being held gently within someone's arms, other times, from the pain of her head or the terrors of her dreams. She tried to track her thoughts as they ran by her muddled brain. She wondered what had happened last night, if it even was last night, Clarke wasn't sure how much time had passed while she had slept. The only thing she could remember was the incident with the boy, a room full of darkness and shadows with a metal box that smelt like blood, and throughout all of her memories was the haunting melody that plagued her every thought.
It was lilting and sorrowful, full of forgotten hope and forbidden love. It keened and mellowed out, plucking at the heartstrings of Clarke's heart like the harps she had read about on the ark. The tune brought with it hundreds of memories that Clarke did not recognize. Events from earth: brutal wars and blood soaked battle fields, the intense look of love within the eyes of black-haired man, a howling woman who held the head of her younger sister, but what stuck with her the most a familiar shade of green that blended within each scene that painted itself upon the closed canvas of her eyelids.
She opened her eyes, unable to watch anymore of her Spirit's memories, and saw that she was in a dark, candlelit room. It was warm, the winter's cold having been cut out, and Clarke only briefly paused to wonder how. She seemed to be in a somewhat circular room, its walls were too dark to discern what was on them, but judging from the glinting metal in the firelight, she assumed that at least one part of the wall was adorned with weapons. There was table hidden in the shadows by the far end of the room, and six elegantly carved wooden chairs sat stiffly by it. Her eyes flicked from the table, onto the canopy above her. It was carved of beautiful, dark wood, with delicate designs etched into it, creating soft shadowed patterns on the furs on her bed from the flickering light of the room.
There were many furs on the bed, all of them large and soft, and she took the time to run her fingers through them, marveling at their beauty. She wished that she had been better prepared before coming to earth. If only she had known how to survive better she would not have had to doctor up the delinquents after every expedition into the forest, or see the hunger and exhaustion that gnawed at people's bodies. Her hands would not be soaked with the blood of her people, nor would her heart be drowned in their false hopes. She had let them all down. Here she was enjoying being pampered while her people could be dead inside of the mountain. She cursed herself and her selfishness, she was not here on a pleasure mission, she was here to get help from the Commander and fight for her people back.
Lexa was a distraction that she could not afford to have. She now understood the dreams that her Spirit had sent to her, they were to warn her what would happen if she did not complete her mission; memories of those before her who had failed and destroyed themselves and their loved ones. That would not happen to her, Clarke swore. They had become some twisted sort of family for her. Bellamy with his extreme over-protectiveness of her and Octavia, Finn with his gentle love of the sparky and constantly energized Raven, Wells and his quite support, and Charlotte, the girl who had become a sort of daughter to Clarke. These were her people and she would die a thousand times before losing them.
With that thought, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, trying desperately to ignore the pounding of her head, and the nausea that shot through her. She probably had a minor concussion, she concluded, and she swore again, that would only delay her on her mission. She waited for the pain to pass before she continued her rise upward. Once in a sitting position, she was able to see the small table beside her, and on it was a small wooden cup filled with strongly scented water, Clarke presumed it was tea. She gulped it down, ignoring the bitter after taste that sat on her tongue. Anything was better than feeling the sticky scratchiness of her throat after her long sleep. The drink made her feel much better, chasing away the last remnants of her nausea and dulling the pain slightly in her head.
Feeling refreshed and full of purpose, she extracted herself from the clutching warmth of the bed and strode out across the room. While the bed itself was warm, the room still held small amount of the winter chill she previously had thought non-existent. The tiled floors were cool against her bare feet, and it raised small goose bumps up the ivory expanse of her skin. She fingered the light shirt that rested upon her shoulders and came down until it covered her mid thigh. It was peasant style, with a tie up front near the neck, and loosely cuffed sleeves. She was wearing the short like underwear, and nothing more. With dread Clarke realized just what the fresh clothes and refreshing feeling of cleanliness meant. Lexa must have washed her and clothed her, she thought with embarrassment.
It wasn't so much the thought of being naked in front of the other girl that bothered Clarke; it was the feeling of exposing too much weakness. This injury had just been another vulnerability that Clarke had placed within Lexa's hands; she didn't even know the girl that well. Clarke shook her head, ashamed at herself, saving her people meant that she needed to toughen up. She couldn't simply show weakness like this in front of the grounders, especially not in front of the Commander. She needed the help, and the only way to get it was to earn it and show the Commander that her cause was worthy.
Clarke realized that she had begun pacing, a bad habit she had picked up from her father when he had been nervous or stressed. Her father, he would want her to be strong. She would do it for him, and for her people. She eyed the watch on her wrist and with even more determination than before, set off to find the door out of the room. Her fingers traced the paneling of the walls, feeling the cool marble on the pads of her fingertips. Finally she reached a small dip, and the texture under her hands changed from cool stone to textured wood. She lowered her hand and found a small handle. She applied gentle pressure, trying to minimize the amount of noise that the door would make while being opened. To her surprise, the door swung open easily on the hinges without a sound. She stepped out through the doorway and into the hallway, it was darker than her room, lit with torches spread evenly at ten-foot intervals.
She closed the door behind her, and began her exploration of the hallway. She saw the giant metal cage from her memories, and vehemently avoided it. She would find stairs, she thought to herself. And find them she did. It took her only a few more minutes to come to another door, with a small and very worn placard with writing in faded English lettering, "Stairs." She pushed this door open gently too, knowing that it would most likely make a small amount of sound.
The door hesitated at first, grunting under the movement after years of disuse, but finally she opened without any very noticeable noises. Her bare feet padded lightly down the concrete steps of the winding staircase. She walked for what seemed like twenty minutes before finally reaching the door that showed another placard reading, "Ground Level." She pushed open this door as well, slipping out quietly and into the shadows of the wall beside her. It would be foolish for her to assume there would not be any guards, and she was right. As she stood there quietly, she could see the stiff shadows weaving within the dark patterns on the floor, back and forth, back and forth. She followed the curve of the wall, making sure she was still hidden by its shadows, before finding a small crack in the wall of the building. Looking around quickly to ascertain the location of the guards, Clarke pulled slowly out of the darkness that hid her. She darted to the small opening and squeezed herself through it.
Outside, the chill was much more noticeable, and as she lifted her face towards the speckled night sky, she felt light brushes across her face, like icy feathers. She reached up to feel them, but they melted quickly on her face, leaving her hand wet with cold water. She held out the same hand and to her amazement, small white crystals began to land on her skin, stopping to stay briefly, before melting at her body's warmth. She moved the rest of her body out from the rest of the crack so that her entirety was open to the falling crystals, which she remembered were called snow. She closed her eyes, letting their frosty touches glance across the planes of her face, and bury themselves within the twisted blonde strands of her hair.
She took a step forward, and then another, her hands outstretched before her, trying desperately to keep hold of the icy beauties that kept her company in the dead of night. She moved like a wraith away from the tower, transfixed by the snow around her, so enraptured she forgot about the cold that penetrated through the thin fabric of her sleep clothes, and the nakedness of her feet on the crunchy white surface below her. She let her feet guide her, her mind too preoccupied to really care where her body was going.
She only stopped when she felt her foot collide with something solid on the ground, breaking out of her daze; she looked down and saw that it was a small bundle, already covered in a dusting of snow. She brushed it off and opened the bundle. Within it was a set of clothes and a long knife. She picked up the knife; examining as well as she could in the dim light of the stars and moon above her. It was beautiful in design. Its steel was tempered, and on it were carved patterns leading up to a pommel wrapped in relatively fresh and dark leather. She grasped the pommel in her right hand, feeling the leather mold perfectly to her grip. The weight of the knife was balanced in her hand, and she could feel its power coursing through her veins.
She continued to hold the knife in her right hand, while tucking the rest of the bundle up underneath her left armpit. She felt slightly guilty about taking something that she knew wasn't hers, but yet again, it had just been left outside in the snow. She decided that if someone came looking for it, she would give it back, but only then. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small alleyway leading away from the main street that she was on. The alley was dark, and she felt a flash of fear and apprehension, but she pushed it away as the growing feeling of curiosity overwhelmed her.
She moved forward, letting her feet guide her through its twists and turns. She slipped between houses, tents, and workplaces; they were all dark and quiet. When she reached the end of the small alley, she found herself looking at the edge of the forest. Right before it started there was a small ring, filled with sand. She drew closer, until she had all but entered the small ring. Something about it felt special, and it buzzed with a sort of quiet energy that she had not felt since the meadow. The memory of the meadow brought back the previously shoved away thoughts about her friends, and she felt a rage start to build within her, sending a red fire through her blood stream and into her brain, pushing away the haziness that the beauty of the snow had brought upon her.
She could feel the Spirit within her struggling to be released, and after a moments hesitation, she let it. She let it fill her, making her senses heighten and her body brim with awareness. She dropped the bundle on the ground and began to move around the arena, her body twirling in an intricate dance with the knife cutting out harsh patterns in the air in front of her. The Spirit continued to fight and rise within her, pushing Clarke out of the way, and replacing her with its own quiet power. Clarke allowed the Spirit to fill her, and let her own consciousness slip away, giving into Spirit within her. It filled her strength and purpose, ridding her of the pains of past memories, and the fear of what was to come.
Lexa's POV
It was after the sun's first rays had poked their heads weakly through the linens that blocked the open windows of her room, that Lexa finally opened her eyes and accepted the feeling of being awake. She lay in her bed, thinking about Clarke. The girl slept for three days, and Lexa knew that she should make the arrangements permanent for her stay. She had transferred Clarke to her own room, which was at the end of the circular hall that wrapped itself around the great building. As much as Lexa secretly craved to hold Clarke as she slept, she knew what was expected of her as Commander, and relinquished her Seelehalb to a separate room away from her.
It was the morning of the fourth day, Clarke should be awake by now, she told herself, but that is same phrase she had used to reassure herself for the last half-week. She sighed, wondering when she had let that frustratingly beautiful, blonde-haired angel worm herself so deep into Lexa's heart. She swung herself out of bed, donned some of her more simple winter clothing and exited her room, he feet obediently tracing the marbled floors down the hallway to Clarke's room. She soon found herself facing a dark, wooden door. She caught her breath and reached out a slim hand to grasp the bronze handle. It turned easily under her hand, and when it opened, Lexa found herself looking into the empty chambers of her guest room.
Without any hesitation, she barged forward into the room, her eyes searching for any sign of her Seelehalb. She found none, save the tousled furs on the large bed in the middle of the circular room. She growled in frustration. This girl was a mystery to her, and Lexa felt the sharp sting of failure bite at her. How could she have lost a girl who suffered from a mild concussion and moderate blood loss, weren't her guards skilled enough to catch an untrained and weary sky-person. She snorted at this, a red feeling of anger coursing through her veins.
She left the room with a scowl on her face, and a bitter coldness in her eyes. She entered the elevator and pressed the button going to "Ground Floor." It was a several minute ride, and although the floor was clear of blood, she could smell its tang on the air. When the elevator finally stopped and the doors swung open with a ding, she stormed out of the building, looking for the nearest guard on duty.
She could not find any, and although that brought feelings of surprise and worry to her attention, she was mostly just angered even more by this. She stalked down the main road, making sure to keep her head high, her back straight, and her face clean of all emotions. She only hoped she could say the same for her eyes, Anya had always said they were the key to her soul. The memory of Anya only pained her more, and she sped up her pace slightly. As she walked farther, she began to feel the presence of a large group of people. It was a feeling she had developed in warrior training, and it had kept her safe and informed more times than she could count. She cut through a small alley on the side, seeing the number of footprints that echoed in the building layer of snow on the ground.
Snow. It was the first snow of the season. This was always a special time for her people, but Lexa had been so preoccupied she had not stopped to realize the change in weather. She pushed that thought away, placing priority on the path of the footsteps and her fears for Clarke.
The alley twisted and turned but eventually Lexa reached its end. She looked out upon the edge of the forest, it green fir trees standing tall and reaching high into the sky. On the ground in front of the forest was a small training pit that the children usually plan in before they are called for training. There were hundreds of people standing around the pit, which unfortunately blocked Lexa's view of what they were all watching.
She moved forward, her people stopping and turning to look at her with something akin to awe and fear on their faces before moving respectfully out of her way and lowering their heads in passing. She eventually reached the edge of the clearing and stood behind the old wooden fence that stood guard around it. But the real spectacle was within the clearing itself. A girl whirled through it, her feet dancing upon the snowy sand below her. Her body twisting itself in series of complex moves that looked beautiful to the eye, but which Lexa and her warriors knew to be complex battle moves. There was a knife in the girls hand and it moved as if an extension of her body, completely in sync with the rest of her motions. It was only when Lexa caught a flash of gold did her heart sink within her stomach, and her breathing stop all together. The girl was Clarke. She was still dressed in her nightclothes, and steam rolled off her body into the cold air, pausing to play with the snowflakes before disappearing into the morning light.
She did not know where the girl had learned to move like that. It was impossible for her to have learned it since she had been with Lexa, for Lexa had observed her and seen nothing like this before from the other girl. Her footsteps were slow and loud, her body unreceptive to the intricate dance of battle. But here, here she was a contradiction to everything that Lexa had thought before. She knew the girl was fast and strong while she was in her wolf form, but she had never witnessed something like this before. She paused at that thought – wolf form… the Spirit. What she was seeing was Clarke's Spirit training her pupil in the art of fighting. While she was still amazed, it lessened the amount of curiosity she had been feeling and she allowed herself the pleasure of simply watching Clarke twirl around.
Her eyes were closed and her mouth shut firmly in a line of fierce concentration, sweat glistened off her body, and her muscles flexed and bulged against the pale ivory skin. Her feet were bare, and her hair was still in the braids that Lexa had put into her hair three nights ago, although they were covered in a dusting of white flakes. Lexa wondered how long Clarke had been out here, and she knew that even with the Spirit guiding her, Clarke was still to weak to be out here for long. She stepped into the clearing and drew her sword, when Clarke's dancing movement brought her knife close to Lexa's face, she swung her sword and parried the blow, causing tremors to shoot up her arms. The blonde paused and a shiver ran through her. Seconds later her knife clattered to the ground and the blue eyes opened. They penetrated through Lexa's mask, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She stood there enraptured by the intensity, sadness, determination, and hope that flickered throughout those azure eyes.
She was only jolted from her trance when Clarke's husky voice sounded quietly throughout the hearing. It commanded the attention of all who were watching her. "I have been with the Spirit," she says, pausing before continuing again. "The mountain is ready to fall. I must speak with your commander." Her voice is full of broken passion and hopeful promise, and it pains Lexa to think about what must come next, how she must reveal her identity to this enigma of a woman. Lexa knows that her people turn their heads to look at her, she can feel the burn of the half-hidden hope within their eyes, and knows what she must do.
"Then speak, Clarke, Prisa kom Skaikru, you have my attention."
