A/N: So...no sex in this chapter...but in the next chapter...*insert eye wiggle here*
"What do you suppose they are doing?" Bellamy asked his sister, jerking his head towards the group of grounders laboring under a weak sun. He sat on a wooden log, Octavia and Raven on either side of him, as they used their time to observe the camp and its inhabitants. Heda had been true to her word, and they had been able to walk around the village and the rows of tents unmolested, but the dark looks most people threw their way had convinced the three of them it was best to stick close to the quarters that Octavia and Raven had been assigned. For his part, Bellamy had left the Sekens' tent as soon as the sun had risen, Fen practically kicking him from his blanket roll as the other youths left for their daily training.
The girl didn't seem particularly hostile, but neither was she welcoming, and he'd rather keep an eye on his sister anyway. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of Clarke, maybe exchange a word in private, but the blonde had been nowhere to be seen, much to his dismay.
"So?" He insisted, more to fill up the quiet than real curiosity, "what do you think they are doing?" Another team of warriors trudged by, bearing bundles of wood. One of the men met his gaze, and Bellamy flinched when the warrior sneered and spat on the ground next to him.
"They are building a pyre," Raven answered laconically after the group was out of earshot, "to burn the one our guards shot."
"How do you know?" Bellamy asked, eyebrows raised.
"She told me." Raven looked to the warrior woman standing watch over them. She leaned nonchalantly in the shade of a nearby tree, and Bellamy could almost believe that she was lounging from the way she slumped back against the trunk of the tree, except her blue eyes never rested in one spot for more than a few minutes and her hand tapped the hilt of the sword at her waist, as if she was ready to bare steel at a moment's notice.
Bellamy waited for Raven to elaborate, but the girl just sighed, eyes returning to a patch of dirt between her feet. She had been quiet and withdrawn since telling Clarke about her mother, and judging from her reddened eyes he thought she had been crying. He opened his mouth to ask Octavia, then reconsidered. If Raven wanted to a shoulder to cry on she knew where to find him. She'd been ready enough when she had found out her now ex boyfriend had slept with Clarke.
He shook his head sadly and bent down to pick up a small rock, juggling it between his fingers as his thoughts invariably went back to Clarke.
Bellamy couldn't say he'd known Abby well, but he knew what it felt like to lose a mother, and when Clarke would need someone to help her through her grief, he wanted to be there for her. He couldn't deny that he had missed the camaraderie that had grown between them - the long days since they had been separated after the attack at the Dropship had made him see that - and while he'd tried to hold on to the hope they would find her alive and well, he had felt lost and floundering up to the moment he had laid eyes on her in the Commander's tent.
She had looked tired and drawn even before they confirmed her mother's death, her skin much to pale and clammy as if she was just getting better from a long sickness. And then, when she had hunched over under the weight of grief, he had seen pain flash through her face and his blood had turned cold with the realization that Skaikru guns had not only killed the Chancellor, but also gravely wounded her daughter.
Bellamy clenched his jaw and let the pebble drop back to the ground. He could not fix what had happened, but he knew that they needed Clarke back at Camp Jaha now more than ever. He knew she would see that, she just needed to get better, and then he would take her back and keep her safe.
He owed Abby that much.
Kane followed Jackson into the med bay without speaking, heart and footsteps equally heavy. Abby's assistant strode quickly to the only occupied bed, checking the woman's vitals and the readings on the machines she was hooked up on, before stepping back and pulling a curtain to hide her from view.
Marcus hadn't particularly wanted to look, but he forced himself to, wincing at how fragile Abby's body looked under the blankets, how broken.
"You mentioned you have an idea," he urged quietly, wanting to hear Jackson out before his meeting with the remaining members of the Council. A message from the grounders had come through hours before, words hastily scrambled on paper and shot over their wall tied to an arrow. He had already argued with Byrne and the others about it, maintaining that what the grounder leader offered may be their only way out, but the Council felt if the guards were to be punished it should be done following Ark law, and Byrne didn't want to give up her men in the first place. It wasn't even clear yet which one of them had started shooting.
But Kane knew that as much as they could bide for time, this so-called Heda wouldn't wait forever. And winter wouldn't either, and when it came he doubted the space they were being allowed for foraging would be enough. They needed a solution now and, as he cast a sad glance to the closed curtain, he keenly felt the absence of Abby's "no nonsense" attitude about things. She would have put her foot down, not allowing the other leaders to bicker indefinitely.
"My idea. Right." Jackson led him to a nearby table where he'd laid out prints of aerial photos that had been taken while they were still in space. "The main problem is I don't have better equipment, or better meds to help Abby recover. Should she need a transfusion for example…" he opened his arms, looking defeated, "blood needs to be tested for compatibility and treated before a transfusion, which I can't do right now because I lack most tools, but I know where we may find them. " He tapped a finger on a particular photo and Kane nodded, Jackson's words suddenly making sense.
"Mt. Weather," he said curtly, mind already pulling a plan together. A small enough group may be able to slip past the grounders' blockade, especially since it would take the enemy some time to organize a thorough watch. His mouth twisted at his own thoughts, a sneer tinted with regret at the realization he was already considering himself at war with these people. This was not the way he'd envisioned coming back to Earth. Jackson was still looking at the map and missed the emotion flashing across Kane's face.
"That was the original plan when we sent the kids down. Mount Weather was a military base so there will be some equipment I can use there. Something better than what I got here at least."
"Alright," Kane agreed, "draft a list of items I need to look for. I'll go organize things with Byrne."
"You want to go yourself? But the Council…" Jackson trailed off, evidently unused at contradicting a ranking officer.
"The Council can keep stalling with the grounders, focus all their attention her while we sneak out and back with supplies." He was about to add a snide remark about the other council members when the doors hissed open, a worried-looking Byrne stepping inside the med bay.
"Sir?" The woman halted her advance long enough to snap off a sharp salute, "sorry to interrupt sir, but we have a situation…" she closed her mouth and shot a meaningful look towards Jackson.
"It's fine, Major," Kane waved her on, "say whatever you need to say."
She nodded, even though she clearly would have preferred he send the other man away.
"We've received a radio transmission. It's one of the kids and...and it comes from the Mountain. He says there's people in there, sir."
Clarke's hands shook, and she stepped back from the body with a weary sigh, hands reaching out to grab at the nearby table and hold herself upright. Sweat had plastered her shirt to her back, and she tugged at it fastidiously, wincing when her healing wounds sent a blaze of pain down her spine.
"Sit," Nyko ordered without looking up, intent on straightening Malcolm's armor. She had insisted on helping, brushing off Lexa's and Anya's concerns, and the healer had agreed after staring for long moments into her haunted eyes. She watched as he placed Malcolm's hunting knife atop the warrior's chest, before bringing his hands to close over the hilt. The corpse had been preserved in the cold of a deep cave, and Nyko had treated it with special balms to stave off decomposition, so that the appropriate number of days could pass, and the spirit leave the body completely before the last rites.
The body would be burned as was the grounders' way, but there were rites to observe first, and spirits to appease. She watched, eyes burning with unshed tears, as Nyko eased a small metal disc inside the corpse's mouth, before dipping a slender brush in kohl and applying war paint on his face.
He'd explained to Clarke that warriors who died in the service of their Commander received the token, engraved on one side with Heda's holy symbol. It was a testament to their sacrifice, and represented a promise on the Commander's behalf, to care for the families they left behind.
"Would you seal the shroud shut, Klark?" He said after some time and she raised her gaze to meet his, noting he was holding needle and thread out to her.
"Sha." She stood, clenching the muscles in her lower back and locking her knees to keep from wavering, then took the needle from Nyko's fingers. His calloused hand closed around hers for a moment, and his dark eyes filled with warmth. "Mochof, child."
Clarke merely nodded, a reply she couldn't voice stuck inside her throat, and bent down to begin sewing, as the healer held the edges of the funeral shroud together for her. The needle was thick, the cloth coarse and she had to push into the fabric forcefully, her back aching with every stitch, but she grit her teeth through it.
It was just a little pain, and she would honor the warrior and show no weakness.
The blonde was aware of Anya's eyes on her, like a firm touch on her back. The General had become a second shadow since the moment Raven had confirmed her mother's death, rarely leaving her side. And when she was called away to follow duty, Lexa took her place, as if the two of them had agreed to keep constant watch on Clarke despite her protesting that she was fine and they didn't need to do it.
"I remember this one time," Nyko mused softly as she worked, "he was a yongon still, barely reaching my chest, and he came back from a hunt all trussed, his ribs bloody," he laughed, shaking his head ruefully, "you saw the scars across his torso, yes?"
Clarke nodded. She had noticed them when she'd helped the healer wash the body, claw marks faded white with time.
"A shadow cat!" Nyko resumed, voice ringing with pride, "he'd brought it down all by himself and that winter he wore a cloak made from his fur. All the other youngsters envied him."
"I wish I could have gotten to know him better." Clarke murmured sadly. She had sewn up to Malcolm's face and she stopped for a moment, fingers gently tracing his cheek. Nyko's hand went over hers and she looked up,
"The last stitch through the nose, Klark."
She blinked confused, and behind her Anya spoke softly.
"It's tradition. A stitch through the flesh to ascertain death."
The blonde nodded numbly and allowed Nyko to guide her hand. They finished together and then she staggered backwards and Anya's hands went to her shoulders, holding her upright. The warrior's touch was fleeting, but enough to lend her strength and Clarke nodded gratefully, as they watched Nyko call for a pair of warriors to take the body to the pyre that had been erected just outside the village, in the same spot where Clarke had taken punishment on behalf of her people during a life she felt belonged to another person.
Clarke followed outside more slowly, Anya matching her step for step, mind filled by only one thought.
She didn't have a body to burn.
Kane sat at the small desk in his quarters, staring at the list of medical supplies needed by Jackson. The mountain had them all, at least Jasper believed they did. He had already seen the inside of their infirmary. He still couldn't believe that people had survived so long in the mountain and had apparently even flourished to a certain degree.
He rubbed at his face, the bristles of his beard scratching his palms as he recalled his conversation with Jasper.
"...President Dante, he's smart and kind…"
"...he's an artist…"
"...the people here have survived for a long time…"
"...President Dante will want to meet with you…"
"...we can help each other…"
"...Dr. Tsing has all the medical equipment…"
"...Cage Wallace...he and Dr. Tsing…"
"...blood. There is something about the blood…"
"...they are like us…"
He sighed and dropped his head into his hands for a moment, weariness pressing heavily on his shoulders as he thought of what this could mean for their people. The radio connection had been unsteady, and he'd had trouble understanding everything Jasper said, and he wished Raven was available. She would have known what to do. He grimaced at the thought. She, Bellamy, and Octavia had disappeared, taking a few supplies with them. He was going to send out a search party, but then the damned arrow had flown over their walls, embedding itself deeply into the ground.
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the scroll, carefully unrolling it and laying it next to the list of medical supplies from Jackson. He ran his finger lightly over the scroll, his finger scratching lightly on the rough material. It appeared to be made from vegetation or bark perhaps, maybe even from rags. He had to admire the craftsmanship. The paper was rough, the letters etched crudely into its surface, but it worked. It was more than serviceable, and the ink used hadn't smeared. He wanted to know how to make it, and it relieved some of his worries about the grounders. They could read and write. They obviously had found ways to survive on earth, but their ways were...savage.
He read the words again. They were stilted and a little awkward, but the message was clear: turn over the guards who had killed one of their own or suffer the consequences. And the consequences...he shuddered. War. They could not afford a war. They needed a way to survive on the ground, they needed allies. They needed Abby. He needed Abby, and there was only one way to save her.
He carefully rolled the scroll back up and put it in his pocket, before grabbing the list from Jackson. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would talk to President Dante.
Clarke slipped out of the back of the tent and quickly walked to her own tent. Anya had persuaded her to take a nap after she had helped with Malcolm, and while she'd been exhausted, her mind wouldn't slow down enough to let her sleep. She soon decided it was pointless, and the better idea would be to find Raven and Octavia.
She had only spent a few minutes with them last night, slipping out of the tent while Anya and Lexa were otherwise preoccupied with dealing with the ambassadors again.
She'd been relieved to see them looking somewhat clean, both eating stew they scooped up with chunks of bread. She'd been surprised to see Linnea in the tent, and the general had assured her she was only relieving Trin from guard duty so she could eat, but judging from the way that the general watched Raven out of the corner of her eye; Clarke was sure it was a flimsy excuse at best.
She'd left them to eat and sleep, promising to see them tomorrow, and now it was tomorrow.
She knocked on one of the wooden posts at the entrance of the tent, before poking her head in, only to find it empty. She frowned, before retreating, looking around the village, not spotting many familiar faces. She started walking, hoping to bump into them, but she didn't see a familiar face until she reached the training grounds.
"Skai Clarke!"
She turned quickly, smiling when she saw Callum sitting on a stump, his broken leg stretched out in front of him. He waved her over, dagger in his hand. Once she stood next to him, he shifted and patted the seat beside him.
"Sit. Sit."
Clarke laughed and sat. She liked Callum. He was young, prone to telling jokes, but he took his duties as one of her guard details seriously. But she sobered quickly, as her gaze landed on his broken leg. It had been splinted and wrapped tightly in rags. A rough, wooden crutch lay on the ground next to him, within easy reach.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she gestured towards his leg, guilt making her drop her eyes.
"You didn't do this." He shrugged.
"But my people…"
"Your people did this, not you. You are not the sum of your people." He nudged her in the shoulder.
She glanced up at him, surprised by the seriousness of his words, but it made her smile slightly. Maybe he was right. She looked down again, noticing the pile of daggers for the first time. She nudged one with her toe. "What are you doing?"
"Ah...well, I can't really train again yet, so I thought I would make myself useful by sharpening my daggers, and those of some of my fellow warriors." He scooped one up, pulling the foot long blade from its leather sheath. The blade sharpened on both sides and glinted in the sunlight. The handle was wrapped tightly in leather, and he was able to balance it lengthwise on one finger. "See this one? It's perfectly balanced. This is one of Je'Saris' blades. It was forged by metalworkers from the Blue Cliff Clan. She traded a horse for this." He chuckled as he carefully slid it back into its sheath before setting it aside.
He picked up another dagger, and then showed her stone in his other hand. It was about six inches long, dark gray, and slightly porous. "Here, watch. It is important to always make sure your blade is sharp. The difference between life and death can be the sharpness of your blade."
She watched eagerly for a few minutes, mesmerized by his movements, as he carefully angled the blade and drew it across the stone. So engrossed was she in the simple rhythm of his work that it took a moment for her to realize that Octavia and Raven had found her.
She jumped up or tried to, stifling a small groan as her healing wounds throbbed. She hugged them both, letting herself indulge for a few moments in the warmth of their arms. She had missed the other girls more than she cared to admit, and even though she knew that they would return to the Skaikru camp soon, she hoped they would stay a few more days - it was good to see familiar faces especially...especially…. Her heart seemed to shrink inside her chest as she thought of her mother.
She introduced them to Callum, chuckling a little when Octavia immediately started peppering Callum with questions about his daggers and how to properly sharpen them. Clarke looped her arm through Raven's, pulling the other girl away as Octavia sat down next to Callum, listening intently to every word he spoke as he showed her how to sharpen the daggers. Soon she was helping him and didn't even hear when Clarke and Raven said goodbye.
They walked for a few minutes before stopping at the edge of the village. The plopped down on the grass, Raven almost falling as she tried to maneuver her leg, before Clarke wrapped her arms around her and guided her carefully into a sitting position. They leaned back against the giant, canopied tree, staring up into the branches and leaves, watching the passing clouds that flickered between the leaves.
"Octavia fits in here," Raven murmured after a moment.
Clarke said nothing, just nodded. She'd realized it the moment Lincoln had been discovered. Octavia had bonded with him, fallen in love with him in a matter of days. She had adapted the quickest to their new life. She had found purpose here. She'd found a home.
"Will they find him?"
Clarke bit her lip, wondering herself what the answer was. She knew Lexa had been looking for him, and she was surprised, because Lincoln was apparently persona non-grata to the Trikru. He hadn't been banished, but he wasn't always welcome in every village. Lexa had refused to speak about it, simply pressing her lips together, and Clarke had quickly learned that it wasn't anger so much that made Lexa not want to speak of Lincoln, but hurt. There was a deep pain there, but it was obvious to Clarke that Lincoln was important to Lexa, even if she wouldn't admit it.
"I hope so." She shifted against the tree, trying to find a more comfortable spot, although that seemed foolish the moment she thought about it. Bark was bark, and this bark was not particularly soft. It dug into her still healing back, but she ignored it. She was learning to ignore pain, perhaps some of Lexa's stoic personality was rubbing off on her. She chuckled.
"What?"
Clarke shook her head, "Nothing. It's nothing like I ever imagined. It's so much better. So much worse."
Raven nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "Are you coming back with us? I mean assuming they let us go?"
"I don't know." It took her a minute to admit it. "The situation here is precarious. The Trikru are angry. We've done nothing but hurt them since we arrived. We burned their village, blew up the bridge. I burned their warriors."
"No, Clarke. We. We burned their warriors, and we blew up the bridge. I'm in it as deep as you." Raven looked down at her hands, worry burning a hole in her belly. "What are they going to do to us? The village? The bridge? Fuck, Clarke, we've killed a lot of their people."
Clarke nodded, "It's been paid for. You don't need to worry about it."
Raven turned her head, eyeing Clarke, who refused to look at her. "What do you mean, it's been paid for?"
Clarke clenched her jaw, her hand tightening in her lap. "Our crimes have been paid for. Wiped clean." She growled a little, anger fluttering in her chest. "At least our debts were wiped clean, until they opened fire on us."
"Yeah? Well what the fuck did you expect, Clarke? You came when dusk was falling, the guards couldn't see well!"
Clarke's shoulders stiffened, and she jerked her head, facing Raven and glaring at her. "You didn't have to shoot first! Malcolm is dead, and Anya…" she swallowed harshly, turning away from Raven and looking back up at the sky, salt stinging her eyes.
Raven said nothing for long moments, "So...Anya?" She chuckled and nudged Clarke's shoulder, smiling as Clarke blushed a little.
"Yeah well…" Clarke blushed again, looking down at her hands before looking at Raven out of the corner of her eye. The other girl's face was open and earnest, gentle affection warming her eyes, and Clarke couldn't help but smile. Being at odds with Raven made her stomach heave violently and her chest ache. Their beginning hadn't been easy, but they had quickly forged a bond far stronger than most she felt with anyone else. She would always need Raven, would always love her, and fighting with her made her hurt in ways she hadn't realized were possible.
"It isn't just Anya, but Lexa also," she mumbled, red staining her pale skin at the look of surprise and then glee that crossed Raven's face.
"Oh my god! Tell me everything!" Raven grabbed Clarke's hand, holding it tightly in her own, listening intently as Clarke started from the beginning, explaining everything that had happened after she and Anya had jumped from the waterfall.
Neither girl was aware of the solitary figure that stood in the shadows of the trees, watching quietly.
The pyre burned, dark, heavy smoke curling slowly upwards, making the air heavy until Clarke thought her throat would close up, and she would stop breathing. She stood next to Lexa and Anya, forcing herself to watch the body burn, even as she wanted to turn her face away and let tears of grief fall to the ground. The heat of the flames made the air of the clearing shimmer, and as she looked on, the faces of her friends who stood on the other side of the pyre seemed to shimmer, until she couldn't quite distinguish details anymore.
She could feel Bellamy's dark eyes on her, almost as hot as the fire itself and knew he had been watching her during the entire ceremony. Clarke would almost say his looks were resentful, but she couldn't understand why.
Smoke dimmed the evening's waning light even further, and Clarke was grateful in a way that she couldn't really see the faces of the people gathered around the pyre all that well, especially not those of Malcolm's children. Her heart was full of sadness for them, as well as admiration for she remembered how she had cried, pleaded and screamed when her father was floated, while the children who were faced with the loss of a father at a much younger age, had not made a sound.
Villagers were moving among the crowd, bearing jugs made of animal skin and small tin cups. Everything was passed around, and Clarke found herself holding a cup, while one of Lexa's handmaidens filled it to the brim with a clear liquid.
"Drink it slowly," Anya bent slightly to whisper into her ear, "it's a herbs liquor made by the Horse clan and it is very, very strong."
Clarke nodded absently, taking one careful sip and grimacing right after, mouth on fire. She watched with round eyes as Anya downed her liquor in one long gulp and waved a maiden over to get another.
Most of the assembled people took a few shots before dispersing, leaving the pyre to burn alone, long into the night.
"Tonight we mourn," Lexa placed a hand on Clarke's shoulder, and the blonde allowed herself to be steered towards their tent, the last rays of the setting sun ghosting across her back, "tomorrow we will feast and remember Malcolm for the man he was. That's what he would have wanted."
Inside Heda's tent, the handmaidens had prepared the table for the Commander's dinner, three sets of plates and cutlery neatly laid out and waiting for them. They sat as they had done before, Clarke in the middle and the other women on either side and the blonde didn't protest when a full bowl of stew was placed in front of her, even if she was sure that everything would taste like ashes inside her mouth.
She picked at the food, chewing it slowly as her mind emptied of all thoughts but one. This grew, until no space was left for anything else, it pressed against the bones of her skull until Clarke thought her head would crack open.
"I don't have a body to burn." She mumbled finally, softly at first, and then repeated it louder, pushing the barely touched bowl of stew away.
"I don't have a body to burn."
It had taken hours to voice those simple words, which had first echoed in her mind after they had left Nyko to oversee the remaining preparations for Malcolm's sending off and solidified when she had watched the pyre burn. The blonde had let herself drift, the words slowly revolving inside her skull, building, growing like a festering bubble inside her head until it had burst and the phrase had spilled out of her mouth.
Both Anya and Lexa stopped eating, Anya carefully placing her wooden spoon back into her bowl of half eaten stew. She pushed the bowl away and propped her elbows up on the table, resting her chin in her hands. She sat at one end of the small table, Lexa at the other, and Clarke in the middle. She didn't say anything for a moment, waiting for Lexa to say something.
Anya watched quietly as Clarke curled into herself, her shoulders hunching, her face pale, fingers clenched in her lap, and she muttered a litany of unheard curses as Lexa fiddled with her spoon, tapping her fingers anxiously on the table. She glared at Lexa, who refused to meet her gaze, focusing on her bowl of stew. It wasn't until Anya managed to kick her leg under the table, that Lexa finally turned her gaze to Clarke.
"Clarke, I...we…." her voice died in her throat, and not for the first time, she wished that she knew how to express what she felt, that she knew the words that Clarke needed to hear. It was ironic that she knew how to rouse her warriors with impassioned speeches, incite them to fight harder and longer for her, but she didn't know how to express her fear and sorrow to this girl, who had started to matter so much, that sometimes Lexa thought her heart was like the ground they stood on, revolving around Clarke's sun.
"When I was very young, too young to really remember, I was taken from my home village and sent to Polis, our capital city, to be trained for the Conclave that would choose our next Heda." Her words were slow and halting as she carefully dug and dug until she unburied a memory that she had longed to forget.
"I was so young that I don't remember my parents," she shrugged when Clarke suddenly looked up at her, a startled expression on her face, concern knitting fine lines around her eyes. "I was paired with another novitiate. He was three years older than me, a child himself, but he looked out for me." She looked up, meeting Anya's quiet stare, she too remembered this story.
She rubbed the fingers along the scarred surface of the table, her voice quiet and low, " He became my best friend, my confidante, my brother," she whispered. "I had been in Polis for a couple years, I think I had seen six summers, maybe?" She shrugged again, sighing, "The spring rains came early that year, and the river was swollen, spilling past its banks. A couple of the dams had sprung leaks. The river was a wild thing, tearing up small trees and brush. Our kepa had warned us to stay away from the South Bank, where we liked to play."
Lexa stopped, her mind flashing back to that fateful day.
"Lexa, if we get caught sneaking out, we'll be punished. And you know Titus told us specifically not to go to the South Bank!"
Lexa snorted, her mouth curling into a pout. "But Luca, we've been stuck in this tower for days! It's finally stopped raining. Come on, please?" She smiled at him, batting her eyes as he laughed. She probably made a comical sight, missing her two front teeth, hands grubby from training, her hair nothing more than a wild, curly mane that refused to be confined to a braid.
He sighed, he had never been particularly good at telling her no, so he nodded. "Ok, but we have to be quiet and careful." He held out his hand to her, and she reached out, clasping it with her own. They probably made quite the pair, he was tall and big for his age, his head shaved bald, his skin dark as the night sky, and she was small, the runt of the litter, skin pale, the mane of a lion. But they were inseparable, never leaving each other's side, until that fateful moment when she'd fallen into the river, and he had jumped in after her, managing to heave her small body onto the shore, only for a large eddy to suck him under, tear him away from Lexa's grasp.
She had run, screaming his name, her wails of fear and grief heard by the warriors on the wall. But nothing had ever been found of Luca, except for part of his shirt, a shirt torn and stained with blood. And that was how Lexa learned that sometimes the price of disobedience was the life of the one she loved.
Clarke felt the tears drip down her cheeks again, just when she had thought she was done crying for the day, but this time she didn't cry for her mother or herself; but for a young Lexa who had lost so much at such a young age.
"Sometimes, those we love….we can't bring their bodies home, we can't burn them and return their souls to the earth, from where they came. So instead we hold a vigil. We burn something that belonged to them, and we drink to their souls, and beg the All-Mother to take their souls to the stars. In Polis, we also light the floating candles, and they drift down the river to the waterfall. Once they pass the waterfall, the souls of those we lost ascend to the stars." She smiled tremulously, reaching out and cupping Clarke's wet cheek. "Perhaps it is fitting that we mourn and honor your mother this way. After all, she came from the stars, it is fitting that she be returned to them."
"That is what you did for Luca?"
Lexa felt the tears prick her eyes, and she looked up at Anya, smiling a little, "Sha, it was Anya who told me of the ceremony. It was she who snuck me out one night, and we drank this truly awful mead, that I later threw up on her shoes," she chuckled a little as Anya snorted.
"I was impressed that she even managed to keep it down as long as she did." Anya leaned forward, tapping her palm lightly on the table and then turned her hand, palm up. She grinned when Clarke placed her hand in Anya's. "But she did what was necessary. Luca liked to whittle, and so she burned some of his carvings, and then she chugged that mead like a grown warrior." Anya shook her head, chuckling quietly, but it caught in the back of her throat. She had seen fourteen winters by then, a Seken to Gustus, and in another couple years, she would officially have her own Seken. That was the night, she'd known that Lexa would be the Seken she would choose.
"Clarke, it would be our privilege to help you honor your mother's passing, if you so choose."
Clarke nodded dumbly, her cheeks burning, her mind foggy. Her body ached, and she simply wanted to lay down. "Yes," she choked out, "I would." She looked up, her hands grasping at Anya and Lexa's, "Thank you. I don't know what I would do….I...mean...I...thank you," she finished lamely, more tears splashing down her chin.
Anya squeezed Clarke's hand and then stood up, pushing her chair back. She knew Clarke wasn't going to eat anymore, and maybe what she really needed was simply a quiet place, a safe place to simply let go. "Come on, Clarke," she reached down and tugged Clarke gently up from the chair, scooping her up into her arms, worried that the blonde didn't even protest.
Anya eased her down onto the bed, and Lexa lit a few candles before sitting down on the bed next to Clarke, pushing her hair gently from her flushed face. "This will get better," she murmured. She wasn't good at soft reassurances, and she didn't know really know what to say to Clarke, so she simply carded her fingers through Clarke's hair, watching her eyes close softly.
Anya puttered around the small room, not saying much, straightening items that didn't need straightening, not ready to leave the room. "Is there anything you need, Clarke?"
Clarke opened her eyes, brow crinkled before she blushed. "Actually," she pushed herself up into a sitting position, smiling a little when two sets of arms immediately wrapped around her waist and helped her sit up. "Um...I could actually use a bath." She wrinkled her nose, "It's been a few days."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Lexa nodded, face flushing suddenly at the thought of Clarke bathing. "Anya…"
Anya nodded before ducking out of the room. She stepped into the outer room, wondering if she should call for the handmaidens to help, but decided to do it herself. She stoked the fire, and filled a few of the metal buckets with water, setting them on the large stones next to the fire to heat. She crouched next to the buckets, listening to the sounds of Lexa pulling out the tub as it thumped heavily on the floor. She could hear nervous chuckles and whispers as Lexa moved around the room, gathering everything needed, asking Clarke what kind of soap she wanted. She smiled when she heard the indecision in Clarke's voice. She supposed it was probably a wealth of choices for the blonde, considering all of their resources on the Ark had been limited and carefully rationed.
Once the water was heated, she grabbed a few rags to wrap around the handles and hefted a bucket in each hand. It took six buckets before Lexa judged the tub was filled enough to offer Clarke enough water in which to soak. She watched as Clarke sat on the bed, examining each cake of soap. They were all slightly different, scented differently thanks to the flowers and herbs and oils that had been used to create them.
"This one, I think?" Clarke held a cake of cream colored soap with deep green veins running through it. Anya was surprised that she had chosen such a strong, heavy scent. She had thought she would choose one of the cakes with the honeysuckle buds or maybe even the light purple cake with dark purple and pink swirls. It smelled liked the flowering bushes that Lexa had planted in Polis, and it was her favorite.
Anya smiled, "I would have bet you'd have gone with the purple cake." She pointed to the cake of soap resting in Clarke's lap.
"Oh well, I really like this one too, but this one smells more like both…." her voice trailed off, and she blushed before biting her lip and dropping her head for a moment.
"Like what?"
"You," muttered Clarke. She looked up and sighed, rolling her eyes theatrically, "this is the closest one that smells like both of you. It smells like those trees. The ones with the green pointed needles." She shrugged, her courage deserting her, "and you both smell like that sometimes."
"Pine. This is made from the needles of the pine and balsam trees." Lexa took the cake of soap, a small bemused smile playing about her lips. Clarke's words, her apparent desire to be reminded of how they smelled made her belly tighten and warm. She pulled a small knife out of her boot, and started to shave small slivers off the soap, letting them fall into the water. Once she'd shaved off a small handful, she motioned for Anya, who started splashing and swirling her hands in the warm water, creating small bubbles of soap.
"You can try the other one next time if you wish. You can try them all, use them all. They are yours," Lexa finished in a rush, pointedly ignoring Anya's amused look at her sudden excitement.
"Thank you, Lexa, I'd like that." Clarke stood up, moving the rest of the soap to the side and looked down at the tub and then at Anya and Lexa who were still standing there watching her. "Um...I think I can take it from here?"
"Oh!" Lexa suddenly turned, embarrassment flooding her cheeks and turning them ruby red. "Yes, of course. Right. I mean...of course you don't need us here." She looked back at Clarke and then at Anya, "um...right?"
Anya pursed her lips and nodded slowly. "Ok, do you need help with your hair?"
Clarke looked down at the tub for a moment and then back up at Anya and shuffled her feet. "Um...yes, actually, I think I do. I don't think I can raise my hands above my head enough to…they ache a bit from helping Nyko."
Clarke immediately held up her hand, stopping the protests about to fall from Lexa's lips as the older girl reached out to touch her arm, worry scrunching her brow. "I'm fine. I needed to do it. For Malcolm."
Both Anya and Lexa nodded and slipped out of the room to allow Clarke to change, just as one of the guards announced himself at the door. Lexa waved him inside to hear his report, and he told her that two of Anya's warbands had returned from patrols with news.
Anya nodded and turned to Lexa after the guard had left, "I need to hear their reports. I'm sure they are at the cook fires, so I will hear them there and then bring back food for the three of us." She turned back to the smaller room where Clarke was, waiting for the blonde to bid her enter.
Anya hesitated in the doorway, her vision filled with pale skin and soap bubbles. The bubbles were just barely high enough to hide the bottoms of Clarke's breasts, and she was sure if she looked hard enough, she would be able to see the younger woman's nipples, but she refrained. But it still took her a moment to find her voice, "I have to go and hear the reports from my warbands who've just returned from patrol. I will bring back food though. You barely ate your dinner. Is there anything you want in particular? Maybe that fruit you like so much?"
Clarke could feel the heat of Anya's gaze crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. She shook her head, before turning her attention back to the bubbles in the water. She'd heard about bubble baths, but she'd never experienced one, and she had to admit she enjoyed playing with the bubbles, scooping them up and blowing on them.
Anya smiled a little and stepped closer, grasping the edges of the tub, bracketing Clarke between her arms. She leaned down, inches from Clarke and waited patiently until the blonde leaned forward and kissed her, pressing her mouth firmly against Anya's.
It lasted longer than their first kiss, and Clarke raised her soapy palms, cupping Anya's cheeks, kissing her again. When she let her hands fall, she laughed at the streaks of bubbles she left on Anya's face. "You have a white beard, Anya."
The older woman chuckled and rolled her eyes, before grabbing a rag and wiping it off her face. Anya walked around the tub, slipping one arm around Lexa's waist and pulling her firmly against herself. She pressed her hips into Lexa's, so the girl could feel her, and she dropped a chaste kiss on her lips before stepping back and looking at the two of them.
"No, hanky panky until I get back," she teased, slapping Lexa on the butt much to Clarke's amusement and Lexa's horror, before she sauntered out the door.
Clarke laughed as Lexa continued to splutter indignantly at getting her butt slapped. "What's the matter, Heda? No one ever slap your butt before?" She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving Lexa's, "No one ever spank you before?"
Lexa choked, as heat scoured her cheeks. She shook her head and muttered, "No one spanks Heda."
"Uh huh," murmured Clarke as she leaned back in the tub before remembering suddenly, "um do you have a rag or something I can wash with?"
Lexa nodded and walked over to the chest, pulling out a rag to wash with, having at least already remembered to set out a towel. She handed it and the cake of soap to Clarke. "I'll be just outside. Call me when you need me."
Twenty minutes later, Lexa returned carrying a stool, bucket of warm water, and a mug. She set it down behind the tub and sat down. "Ready?"
She dipped the mug into the water and carefully started wetting Clarke's hair. Once she was done, she soaped up her hands and started to wash her hair. Neither woman spoke, both content to just listen to the soft sounds of Lexa helping Clarke bathe.
"Thank you."
Lexa almost missed her words, but she smiled, and scooped some clean water to splash it over Clarke's head, wringing out the soap.
"So...are you ever going to kiss me?" Clarke had been dying to ask and watch Lexa falter, the Commander's perfect facade cracking to reveal the tender woman beneath. And she'd wondered how Lexa's lips would feel against her own since she had kissed Anya. Her mouth looked a bit fuller, not that Anya's wasn't soft, and the blonde thought with a blush that she could just spend hours kissing them both.
Lexa fumbled the mug in her hand, dropping it back into the water. Her cheeks burned, and she was glad Clarke couldn't see her embarrassment. She coughed, trying to clear her throat enough so that she wouldn't squeak like a young boy. "Sha. I mean...yes...of course," she stuttered, all the while mentally cursing her ineptitude.
"When?"
She almost choked at the sound of Clarke's soft, teasing voice. And she could feel the blood thundering in her ears, and it reminded her vaguely of the first time she'd ever kissed Costia. She thought she would faint back then, and she was sure she might actually die of both embarrassment and desire while sitting impotently on the stool now. She wanted to groan and slap herself, but instead she took a steadying breath, reminding herself that she was Heda, Commander of Blood, who ruled twelve clans. The prospect of a kiss should not discombobulate her so much, nor turn her brain to mush.
She tried to chuckle, but her dry mouth made it sound more like a weary croak. "When you least expect it of course."
Clarke nodded solemnly, "Of course." Her eyes twinkled, and she looked down at the water, hiding her smile behind her veil of wet, brassy hair. She decided to take pity on the obviously flustered commander, but before she could ask her an innocuous question about something that didn't actually matter, she felt Lexa's palm close around the top of her shoulder.
"Klark?"
The voice was soft, husky, and it sent a shiver down Clarke's spine that had nothing to do with the rapidly cooling water. She leaned back and looked up, tilting her head back as far as it would go in an effort to see Lexa. She waited patiently for her vision to fill with Lexa's face. She was rewarded after a moment, when bright green eyes, high cheekbones, and a waterfall of curly brown hair filled her vision. It took a moment to focus on the upside down face, filling her vision. But the moment she saw the tender light in her green eyes, she smiled.
"Leska."
Lexa bent down, her face inches from Clarke, her hair falling down around their faces, cutting them off from the rest of the world. She cupped Clarke's cheeks, her palms warm against the side of Clarke's face, her thumbs tracing the edges of her chin, and she pressed her lips gently against Clarke's. It was awkward, her nose bumping gently against Clarke's chin, but when Clarke opened her mouth softly under Lexa's, Lexa could do no more than sigh, her lips curving into a grin against Clarke's mouth.
Her muscles trembled in excitement as her lips delicately explored the heat of Clarke's lips and mouth, and she wasn't sure who moaned, but they both swallowed it gently. She felt wet arms clasp around her neck, pulling her closer, and when they eventually broke apart, she immediately felt the loss.
Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa's neck, arching her back enough that it soon became uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feel of Lexa's lips against her's, the taste of her mouth, and the warmth of her heart. When Lexa pulled away slightly, only to bury her face in Clarke's wet neck, she could do nothing but hold her tighter.
"You've undone me, Klark. And I don't know what to do." The words were faint, painted against the skin of Clarke's neck, but each one struck like an arrow, piercing her flesh, until she felt as if she would bleed Lexa for the rest of her life.
She wrapped her arms tighter around Lexa, pulling her down as far as she could without drowning her, and she felt Lexa's arms slide under her shoulders, dipping into the water to slide around her waist. It was wet and awkward, and her muscles ached with the strain, but it didn't matter.
"Just hold on, Leska," she whispered against the salt of Lexa's cheek.
A/N: So thoughts?