AN: Jo Hamel, I feel sorry for Bellamy too. I adore him, so torturing him with his sister's disdain isn't fun. Glad to hear you're a Roarke shipper! I can see Clarke with a lot of the characters, honestly, because she is such a complicated person herself, but Roarke and Bellarke are my favorites. I think you're right- some of the others from Skaikru might should branch out into the other clans... Thank you so much for your reviews. I'm so excited at how into it this story you are!

Mallow87, thanks for the review! Glad to know you're still reading!

Chapter 25

Day 98, Polis

The morning began even before breakfast, when Clarke rose silently to slip from her bed, where Miller quickly followed her from, though they went their separate ways once they left her room. Noticing the lack of a guard at the door, Clarke entered the room she'd been directed to the night before, and was greeted by the commander alone. Soon as she crossed the threshold, Lexa's lips curled into a slight, pleased smile.

"Thank you for joining me."

With a brief glare, Clarke snapped that she had to promised to, and did not break promises she didn't have to. Attentively, the commander began to lead Clarke through a quiet, intense workout, beginning with slow, steady stretches, leading up swift moves, repeated until her muscles burned in the exertion.

"This is like - some combination - of pilates, - martial arts, - and boot camp - exercise - dosed in - sadomasochism." huffed Clarke as tried, both grudgingly and in vain, to keep up with the bruising pace set by Lexa.

The commander offered her only a quirked brow and titled head, but Clarke was in no mood to explain pre-Catalyst terms to the older girl. Instead she went back to trying to control her breathing. Her goal was rapidly becoming "don't pass out." Perhaps thirty minutes after stepping inside Lexa's private training quarters, Clarke was ready to rethink this theory that Skaikru, including herself, needed to become physically stronger. Her promise to Lexa to commit to this aim was feeling less critical with each, increasingly rapid, heartbeat.

Swearing in a frustrated mix of English and Trig, Clarke flopped down onto the thin leather mat without a hint of dignity nor pride. As a doctor's kid, she'd been raised to keep the routine of daily physical fitness that was encouraged for all residents of the Ark. With such confined space, it had been a concern right from the beginning. But the mildly invigorating methods of pilates, zumba, and aerobics slow, in Classes, much less the calming rhythms of yoga within the privacy of her family's quarters had not prepared her to keep up with the commander who was apparently an unlimited well of endurance.

"I'm slow, and I'm soft. This isn't working." announced the blonde grimly, still sprawled flat on the leather, eyes closed tightly.

Snickering softly, Lexa ceased her own sit-ups to lean over Clarke. "You are adequate as you are, but Wanheda must be strong enough to stand upon her own."

Lunges were hell, and Clarke swore that Lexa was not actually human after watching the commander effortlessly show her how to do them before performing it herself over and over. Squats were only slightly tolerable because even the graceful commander looked just a bit ridiculous doing them. Push-ups had Clarke back to laying on the mat, this time face down, ignoring the lightly musty smell of the leather in favor of remembering the quiet hours with her mother, moving smoothly through each pose, in stolen hours away from the med bay.

By the time, an hour into the ordeal, that a barely sweating Lexa begun to lead her through hand-to-hand sparring, a soaked, darkly flushed, and panting Clarke had somehow passed exhaustion and adjusted to her embarrassment at being so pathetically weak compared to the commander. Maybe she'd keep her promise after all. Lexa kept the pace much slower than before, as she showed the Skai prisa different ways to throw punches, block hits, and move around her opponent carefully, having Clarke practice each new movement a dozen times or more before going on to the next, allowing them to talk more easily as they went on.

"There is no news from Azgeda except Nia remains on her throne." announced Lexa as she adjusting the angle of Clarke's wrist for throwing a punch.

Flexing her hand slightly, Clarke tried the altered angle, glancing a calculated hit at Lexa's gut, not that the commander noticed except to murmur off-hand that it was well done. She absorbed the comment silently.

"If Roan fails, then Azgeda will be left to the ashes of history." continued Lexa after letting the other girl block a very slow punch of her own.

"You're saying we're going to just abandon an entire clan? Refuse them their hundred beds because of their leaders?" asked Clarke even as she kept up the rhythm they'd built between them.

"There is no room for war in the sanctuaries. We will take in more animals, and the chosen will benefit from the lack of a strife filled clan." retorted Lexa coolly.

"Roan was my ally. I believe he will be again."

"Obviously he is failing to be so."

"There was an Azgeda woman released from the mountain. She might have more loyalty to the common people, and the coalition than her queen. What is the plan for mount weather anyway? We're getting it ready, but who's going to live there?"

"Indra will lead Mount Weather in my stead with Trikru's hundred chosen." announced Lexa coolly.

"Only a hundred? The mountain could support four times that easily!"

"As I said, we will survive equally- one hundred, and no more, from every clan who keeps the faith. You suggested we bring animals in to save. So we shall do."

"Then we split the populations up more than that so that there's enough people to take care of as many animals as we can fit in." said Clarke.

"If you are not occupied while your second is training-"

"Charlotte will not be training today." snapped Clarke.

"She could spend the morning with the healers as well as the afternoon." suggested Lexa calmly.

"Guards will stay with her." offered the commander, though it sounded more like an order. There was so much to be done, Clarke knew she couldn't truly stay with the younger girl every moment.

"Do not forget we shall return tonight to improve your handling of weaponry." reminded the commander calmly, ignoring the glare Clarke tossed over her shoulder as she left as quickly as her tired muscles would carry her.

Two hours after she'd left her room, a hot bath that smelled strongly of peppermint was waiting behind a pair of screens when she returned, and a hasty note lay on her bed from Octavia telling her to that everyone would be eating a late breakfast in their communal room. It was at least somewhat soothing that Raven, Monty, and Wick were all as worn out as she was during breakfast, but it was overshadowed by Charlotte's shifty, anxious mood.

The moment they were out of the tower, Charlotte's spirits rose, and she led her mentor with their arms linked together, pleased to be showing Clarke around. Walking on the young girl's other side, Costia explained that the main healers center was only a few minutes walk from the tower, close enough to be well-protected by mere proximity to the commander. It was one of the few things Costia managed to say because Charlotte was eagerly chattering on about what she'd learned recently.

"Did you know that Lemon Balm Leaf can be used as a sedative? It doesn't really grow around here, but when traders came from the south, Precep bought tons of it!" continued Charlotte brightly.

"No, I didn't know that." assured Clarke kindly. "Maybe I should get some to bring back to camp just in case."

"Oh, but I think the those traders have already left! But maybe Precep would let you have some?" mused her young second uncertainly.

"I will ask her." interjected Costia hastily, drawing a snicker from the younger blonde, and a questioning glance from the elder. Poorly hiding a grimace, Costia tried to explain quietly.

"Precep is not her name. It just means a healer's teacher. Mine is Sabine kom Trikru. She is my grandfather's sister. She is a gifted healer, and teacher... but she is a... severe woman."

"Heda says Precep is the oldest person born on Earth!" chimed in Charlotte.

Costia nodded vaguely. "We don't really know that, of course." she tried to explain. "But Sabine has seen more than sixty-five years, she has tended to the commanders, novitiates, and the people of Polis for more than forty years- ever since she left Ton DC as a young woman. There may be elders who outmatch her farther away, but some have forgotten how old they are."

"Well, the eldest Skyborn left is just under sixty years." offered Clarke.

Charlotte continued on unabated, as soon as Costia paused. "Oh, Costia, please, ask Precep if she will give Clarke some fenugreek too!"

Costia began to speak, but Clarke cut her off. "Actually, Nyko brought me a whole bag full of herbs, and already mixed remedies."

Charlotte, who'd grabbed Costia's arm to link theirs together as well as they walked, froze, pulling both of the older girls to a quick stop as well.

"Aden says that all the men on Earth want to marry you." yelped Charlotte, as if she'd just remembered.

"Is that why Nyko brought you a present?"

Her face was screwed up anxiously, as she implored Clarke with her pleading eyes to explain. All three of the girls ignored the snorts from behind them, where Lexa's guards were stifling their reactions.

"No!" assured Clarke quickly. "No. Nyko has not even hinted at that. His son, Artigas, is nearer to my age than he is! He's just helping to prepare for Mary's baby. Honestly, Charlotte, it's only really one man from each clan, and I haven't met hardly any of them anyway. It's just politics. Don't worry about it."

Charlotte gazed at her mentor for a long moment, before slowing nodding, and allowing them to tug her back into motion. They were still talking of the marriage proposals when they arrived, Costia offering discrete tidbits about each of the suitors that had the backing of their clans, and which offers had been rejected out of hand by either their own clan leader, or Titus. To know that Titus was somehow involved in all this just made Clarke chew her bottom lip anxiously. What a mess! It was interesting to hear about grounders' marriage traditions- such as that the Order of the Flame performed most marriage ceremonies, but that any village chief, and clan chief, could do so as well. Few couples actually bothered with it though- for a wedding meant a massive party, with much to do, because it wasn't seen as the norm. Only leaders, including war chiefs, and the highest ranking warriors, really bothered it much. The exception being couples from different clans.

The healers center, that Costia explained was where all the healers could use, so long as they had the approval of the commander's chosen healer, as the heda supported the center with protection, and funding supplies. It had once been a shop, perhaps, or... an office building, Clarke mused, considering what she'd learned of pre-Catalyst Earth back on the Ark. It's thick stone walls kept it's two stories standing all this time, and though vines covered the outer wall, the scents of herbs, filled it, and Clarke knew the moment she crossed the threshold that it was a well-tended space. The front room was lightly furnished, mostly containing a wide assortment of chairs, sofas, and low pallets. On one of them, rested a woman that both Costia and Charlotte let go of each other to greet respectfully.

The woman's skin was darker than Clarke had ever seen, absolutely ebony, and heavily wrinkled, far darker than Costia's, but there was something about their round, faces and high cheekbones that spoke of their relation. The hair that made a wispy halo of curls about her head was pure, snow white. Thin, and sharp eyed, Sabine ignored the trio of young girls to glare disdainfully as Lexa's guards did a sweep of the entire building. Only once they were done, stepping outside to where they'd wait out of the way, did the elder healer acknowledge the girls. She turned her intent gaze upon them silently.

"Precep, this is my mentor, Clarke kom Skaikru." explained Charlotte hesitantly.

"I am honored to meet you, and grateful for you teaching Charlotte." said Clarke formally, her eyes set respectfully on the elder.

"Have my ears betrayed me, or did I hear the commander is allowing men to bid on you like a mare for sale?" snapped the old healer, and Clarke jerked backwards a step in surprise, not even noticing Costia's muted sigh.

"Well, girl, have you lost your tongue?" chided Sabine sharply.

Clarke looked between Costia and Sabine confusedly, before jerkily shaking her head.

"No. Um, no. Lexa is just not forbidding it, and ummm, no one is bidding on me." stuttered Clarke awkwardly. "Titus said this was... not unexpected? But it's still my choice to accept one, or none of them."

Sabine snorted in disdain. "Titus would say that. Well, girl, are you actually going forth with this nonsense?"

Clarke's mouth opened, but nothing came out, and she closed it again uncertainly.

"I mean, I haven't even met any of them, well, except Caliban kom Trikru, so no, I mean, I'm not really... umm, I don't know. It's not like I'm making a decision anytime soon? I have not even had a chance to talk to Caliban since this came up, much less any of the rest..." she left on a questioning tilt, uncertain of her own mind, much less able to explain it.

The old healer's eyes narrowed into slits. "Little sky princess, beware an old man in a profession most men die young."

Costia's groan this time was painful, but she was ignored, except for Charlotte's anxious glance. She'd taken hold of Clarke's hand, and was gripping it tightly.

"It means that he is lucky, and brave, and strong." retorted Clarke slowly, her temper slowly coming to rescue her from the baffled surprise.

"Precep, Caliban is not yet forty. He could hardly be called old. Only thirty-four, I believe." added Costia.

"Old enough to have fathered her!" hissed Sabine in irritation.

Clarke's stomach rolled at the thought. It wasn't like she was actually considering it, but it that comment still left her queasy. If Costia was correct about his age, he was a whole decade younger than her father, but still... sixteen years older than her. It was a generation's worth of a gap, on Earth, even if not on the Ark.

"And crippled at that! That is who Indra sees fit to offer for a young girl as the best man available from our clan!" continued the elderly healer.

"He is hardly crippled. The man rides, and hunts, and trains the youth as well as ever. Indra choose him because he was one of the best warriors our clan has ever boasted-" began Costia patiently.

"Before he was left injured- unable to even defend a wife!" cut in Sabine bluntly.

"As well as because he's actually met Wanheda many times, unlike the suitors from every other clan, and most of Trikru's own men." continued Costia smoothly as if she had not been interrupted.

"Bah." muttered the elderly healer in annoyance.

Soon as she could, Clarke excused herself, and on the way out, ordered the guards to remain behind, with Charlotte. She wasn't expecting a sly comment from one of the pair as she turned to leave.

"I heard that old forest man is trying to court you." said one of the guards, though the other pointedly kept his eyes fixed forwards, ignoring the exchange.

Clarke turned back around to face him, with affront raising her brows and pursing her lips, she looked him up and down. Broad shouldered, golden skin, with little more than a hint of golden brown fuzz close cropped to his head, he couldn't be even Bellamy's age yet. So powerfully built, Clarke wondered if his biceps were thicker around than her waist, and she knew she was no sylph model of days gone by.

A thick, raised scar bisected his right eyebrow, and forehead above it, and there were plenty of scars marring the exposed skin of his arms and legs, but still, with his classically sharp, strong features, Clarke would have called him breathtakingly handsome, if not for the smirk on his face that reeked of arrogant disdain, and self-satisfaction which soured the effect of his features swiftly.

"And who are you?" asked Clarke curtly.

"Wade of Blue Cliffs, warrior at Heda's command." he replied, his smirk only widening at her sweeping gaze across him.

Briefly glancing at his partner, she found the older of the pair with his eyes fixed skywards, avoiding the brewing scene before him. Helpful, thought Clarke dryly.

"Hmm, well, yes, Wade of Blue Cliffs, Caliban has presented his suit on behalf of Trikru, and I have not refused it. Not than it's any of your business at all. I did notice that yours is not the name that the leader of Blue Cliffs sent to me." retorted Clarke caustically, spinning around without hesitation, to storm off into the city.

Instead of returning instantly to the tower, where she knew there would be yet more endless discussion of everything, everything, everything that needed attention, she found herself quietly drifting. Wandering around the city that she knew would be irrevocably changed after Praimfaya, and wishing she had time to sketch it, as it was now. Perhaps, once within the bunker, there would be time for her to try to do so from memory. It wouldn't be the same, she knew, as finding spots around the city, to sit and draw what she saw. Though she had none with her, and knew there was no time, her fingers itched for colored pencils, to capture the city, overfilled and practically bursting with liveliness in preparation for the summit.

Arkadia Med Bay

While Reese was once again being harassed by the doctor, cause Ms. Martin had overheard her complaining about seeing little dots, Orion let himself tune out, eyes wandering over the med bay. He'd seen way too much of it already, but now one of the beds at the back was always taken up by an old man. The oldest man in Arkadia, Orion was pretty sure someone had said. Mostly the old man seemed to sleep, but when Orion glanced at him, he was dully watching the harassment going on just a few beds away. Nothing better to watch, he supposed.

Once the children had been rounded up by the awfully cheerful girl, the old man turned his eyes on the only other person left in the med bay. Jackson hustled across the small ward to the bedside.

"Mr. Himura, you've got two hours before the next med round. Is there anything I can get you now?" asked Eric kindly.

Spyros huffed, closing his eyes wearily, before a thought occurred to him. He opened his eyes to find the young doctor still gazing down at him pityingly.

"There was a boy, from Argo Station, Jordan, sent down on the delinquent drop. What's become of him?" asked Spyros grudgingly.

Jackson' blinked in surprise, opening his mouth automatically to respond, only to realize he didn't know the answer. Shifting slightly, he tried to remember if Clarke had ever mentioned that name at all, and couldn't think of a single time.

"I don't know." admitted the doctor slowly, and Spyros' huffed again, but Eric rushed to continue. "But they gave a list of the dead, and the unwell, when they came, and his name wasn't mentioned."

"Humph. I know that, don't I? The boy never came in the wall, and the guards didn't let anyone out. And then drove off the lot of them before anything could come of it!" grumbled the older man angrily.

Jackson' winced, but nodded politely.

"Your grandson?" asked Jackson kindly.

Spyros snorted. "My daughter was floated before she had a chance to give me a grandson."

His manner became even grimmer in a flash, and he closed his eyes tightly, ignoring Jackson' hesitant attempts to continue the conversation, till finally the young doctor murmured a quiet farewell, walking away.

Polis tower

The novitiates quarters were all on the same floor as Lexa's, as was Clarke's, but the other side of the building. Aden and Crest held similar furniture, but beyond that there were trinkets that hinted at their individual personalities.

The Delphi's symbol, a circle with four equally spaced arrows pointing inwards, was carved, messily, into the wall over his bed. Clarke admired it for a moment, the first sign she'd ever seen of Aden's lingering connection to his clan. Lexa had said they must be above clan, but her obvious loyalty to Trikru could not be denied, so perhaps it shouldn't be surprising.

"The Delfikru are sometimes thought of as... odd. By the other clans." admitted the boy somewhat shyly, watching Clarke closely as she looked around his quarters curiously.

She only asked "Why?" calmly, glancing his way briefly before going back to admiring his bookcase.

"They have the least warriors, and the most... scholars, I think is the word. They build things, even for other clans, and... try... to do things in good ways... even if it is not the usual way. They collect books, and teach everyone who wants to learn how to read them. They make some too, but in our language. Other clans will sometimes trade for the books of healers, but the rest... no. The rest of our people do not believe we should keep such ties to the language of the mountain men." explained Aden slowly, as he fidgeted with the miniature ball in his hand.

Humming as she thought over his words, Clarke smiled at him after a moment.

"Sounds like a good legacy to me- the clan of readers and thinkers."

With armor and clothes thrown about, it was messier than Clarke would have expected in a building with servants. Aden a tall, slim bookcase, nearly full of tattered, pre-Catalyst books- the titles and sizes ranging drastically from the 5th century Chinese ancient military work, The Art of War, to the early 20th century U.S. novel, Faulkner's As I Lay Dying.

It was the largest collection of physical copies Clarke had ever seen in one place, outside of the chancellor's office on the Ark, or the medical officer's private library. Both of those were kept under security, and within preservation cabinets. Neither she nor Wells had even been allowed to handle any of the contents despite their respective parent's being the last guardians.

They were obviously frail and falling apart, yet he invited her to enjoy them with a brief grin. With a sudden jolt, Clarke realized that except the books locked into the bunkers, there would be none to survive. Grounders didn't create books, as far as she knew, many were mostly illiterate, and she'd never seen any pre-Catalyst books being traded in the market.

It only took a little nudging for the boy to sit up straighter and tell her about his people- the Delfikru were a bit infamous among the clans for how many of their people kept up the language of the mountain men- even teaching their children to read and write in it, unlike most were only warriors and healers ever learned it. That he'd been born on a farm, the youngest of three, and matter of factually stated that his eldest brother had died in Lexa's conclave. Most couples did not have anymore children after birthing a nightblood, but his parents had taken the risk- having his sister, whom was not blessed, before himself. They had no more after him.

"My father brought me to Lexa when I was seven." finished Aden easily, his cheeks a bit flushed.

On the other hand, just next door, Crest' room was neater than the younger boy's, but one entire wall was covered in weapons ranging from delicate throwing stars to massive swords. Others were carefully laid out on a table across the room.

Never had she imagined that she'd be threatening a child, yet here she was, standing furiously over a boy little older than Charlotte. Another line crossed. She shoved away the fear that there might be none she would not. Focusing on the second eldest of Lexa's novitiates, she met the boy's amber brown eyes. He was hardly bigger, a bit wider of shoulders, maybe an inch taller at best, than Aden. Not that it mattered much when he apparently contained enough blood-lust and ambition to attack a girl two years younger than himself. The fourteen year old nightblood glared up at her.

"Lexa says it has been made clear the severity of your actions, but Heda does not speak for me. My second's presence here does not mean she falls outside of my protection. Touch her again, and I will teach you what it worse than death. Your blood is no more sacred than my own. I will spill it without hesitation."

The hard swallow that was Crest' only reaction was loud in the large, high ceiling room.

Letting the door swing shut hard behind her, Clarke didn't look back. So she missed the ashen look to Toms kom Trikru' face. Once she was far enough away, he turned and knocked hard four times upon the door, relaxing only when his charge bellowed out "enter!". The novitiate lived for another day. At least the kid wasn't slaughtered on his watch.

Clarke's gut clenched anxiously more and more as the day passed without Arkadia's arrival. It was nearly sunset before a messenger arrived to her room to tell her that the delegation had been spotted, still far outside of Polis but moving, sluggishly. The tension was rising as Skaikru tried to wait without drawing attention to the delay. Clarke walked with Bellamy to have dinner with the rest of her people that were residing in the tower for now, trying to ignore how Monroe had stopped dead to wait behind, when they'd run into him.

"They're our parents- the other half of our people, we can't just-" argued Wells once again, following Octavia, who spun around with all the vicious grace of a panther, striking a heavy backhand across the much taller, bulkier teenager's face, sending him backwards only a half-step despite her force.

Clarke gasped out loud in surprise, and Nathan tightened up, hand going to his rifle by instinct at a blow being thrown, but Wells just clenched his jaw, staring down at Octavia without backing down.

There was something in the way he looked at the dark haired girl, his own dark eyes and hard glare, displeased, but not surprised, that suggested to both Clarke and Nate that this wasn't the first time she'd do something like this in an argument.

"I told you- do not hit me unless you want a fight." reminded Wells tightly, eyes fixed solely upon her own, not bothering to reach for the sword at his hip, or to look to his best friend in appeal to Clarke for interference.

Octavia let out a wordless hiss of frustration, but did not move to strike out at him again, staring him down, furious, and ready.

"We can't punish people for things we think they MIGHT do." continued Wells grimly, earning another fierce sneer from the younger girl.

"There's proof enough in the past." countered Octavia.

Having seen enough, Clarke stepped to them, Nate following only a heartbeat later, moving to crowd them, Wells stepping away politely, though Octavia just watched him intently as she held her ground.

"Ok, seriously, what the hell is this?" demanded Clarke angrily.

Wells shrugged one shoulder with his eyes on Clarke's while Octavia kept her glare fixed upon him.

"We don't know Arkadia's going to betray the coalition, and we're not going to lash out preemptively." ordered the young leader, glaring at Octavia, before switching her gaze firmly to Wells.

"But we have no reason to trust that they will keep the alliance in good faith, so we will be prepared for if they do turn."

"Even if they turn, we've got Jackson, and Sinclair ready to abandon ship, and we'll still flesh out our numbers with whoever we can." added Nathan.

"Look, maybe we should, grab some food and head back to our rooms." suggested Harper awkwardly.

"That works." agrees Wick immediately, eyeing the others carefully.

Following their lead, the group dispersed in pairs and trios, with Clarke tugging Wells with her, leaving, Bellamy and Octavia behind with Nathan Miller sitting firmly, yet ignoring the other two. The odd guy out with the Blake siblings began to eat without making eye contact with them, and Clarke suspected he was there to act as mediator if need be. It was probably a good idea, considering the volatility of the Blake temperaments.

Wells followed her easily, and when the doors shut behind them, he looked around her room curiously. With a start, Clarke realized how little time he'd spent here with her, and with her at all, since they'd landed. Miller's pack was beside "his" side of the bed- nearest the door, at his silent insistence, but otherwise there was no mark of his upon the room. Clarke looked at the room, with Wells, wondering what he was thinking, and saw that in truth, she'd left very little impression on the room herself. It was almost identical to the last life, when she'd done literally nothing to change it from how it'd been presented to her.

Curiosity seemingly sated for the moment, Wells dropped down onto the couch, and looked back at her expectantly. Still standing just within the door, she was chewing on her bottom lip, and avoiding his warm, dark eyes. Shifting her weight, she took a deep breathe...

She announced quietly "I've been awful."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, still keeping her eyes fixed somewhere around his worn, simple boots, that were certainly not Ark issue.

"I blamed you, and since we've come down, I've barely even spent any time with you." she continued tremulously.

He tried to meet her eyes, but when she avoided him, Wells patted the couch beside him heavily. As she settled beside him, he took a moment to breathe in her presence- the aura of ceaseless will, and bottomless emotion. But she trembled lightly, just enough for him to tell, and he sighed, knowing that, in a way that was simply Clarke, she was fragile. Not like a flower, easily crushed, but like a bomb that'd use itself up taking everything around it down if it had to. Slender shoulders, bruised heart, and deep, pained eyes... were as much as part of her as that spine of steel is. Even if no one else seemed to see how the burdens shoved onto her wore her down.

He leaned closer, taking a hold of one small, calloused hand, and when she squeezed his own in return, remembered she wasn't just fragile, but strong, too, through sheer determination to not fail. Not a girl, but a living contradiction, flesh and iron, bruises and scars.

"You really think I don't see how tired you are? How you never stop to rest? That every minute of every day, you're doing something for someone, and it's never for you? Give me some credit, Clarke." he chided firmly, his eyes fixed on her even though her head was bowed towards their intertwined hands. She swallowed heavily at his words.

"But you came down here for me, and I just put you to work without bothering to spend time with you." she whispered, the guilt of having ignored his existence, his survival, for months, as she dealt with everything, and everybody else.

He laughed softly, but cut it off when she flinched. Lifting her head, she met his eyes finally, and bit her lip to keep back the words she wasn't sure of.

"I miss you, but I'd rather be here being useful with my head instead of learning how to cook squirrels or carrying water all day, alright?" insisted Wells, nodding at her when she quirked her lips up hesitantly.

"Is Octavia too much to deal with?" asked Clarke quietly, her eyes wide and worried.

He laughed again a bit, but shrugged when she kept watching him closely.

"Arkadia's her sticking point, I guess, but she's not so bad about most stuff. I can handle it." he assured her.

As she continued to eye him doubtfully, he slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side. Stiff at first, she slowly melted into the embrace, and let the bout of nerves ease off. They sat together there in the quiet, the only sounds disturbing them being the tinkling of the wind chimes in the night's breeze, and the distant noises of life from beyond her room. Wells lowered his head to rest against hers, and they soaked in the comfort of their long friendship.

"Something is bothering you, though, isn't it?" asked Clarke quietly, but he noticed her voice was more normal now- brisk and assured, without the wobbliness of before.

He shrugged ever so gently, not jostling her hard.

"Wells..."

"Our hotheaded excuse for a diplomat aside..." he trailed off as the admittance cost him too much.

As he stalled, he slipped his hand into her hair to twirl one messy slim braid through his fingers. She waited patiently, but wasn't about to let him off the hook. It was bad enough that Nathan was obviously hiding something that was bothering him, she couldn't stand to let Wells do it too.

"It's probably nothing." offered the one-time chancellor's son.

Her huff was enough to let him know she wasn't buying it.

"I admit I am slightly... concerned... with Charlotte's... stability." hedged Wells slowly, and quietly, and Clarke's stomach lurched sharply. Bile rose in her throat in panic, and he pulled her to him in a hug as soon as he saw the ashen look taking over her face.

"I'm sorry! It's nothing, really! Shit, I didn't mean it." rushed Wells, squeezing her tightly, even as she gasped, trying to get her panic reined in.

"Why?" she yelped as soon as she could make herself force the word out.

"Look, it's nothing. Seriously. I'm sorry."

"Why?" insisted Clarke anxiously, her hands gripping his arms so tightly he could feel her nails biting through the coarse fabric of his sleeves. She pulled back from his hold far enough to look at him, and he looked stricken. She shook off the panic that had hit so hard, and tried to smile at him, needing to know whatever had... caused this.

With Wells gone, and nothing settled, Clarke quickly choked down a bit of the bundle of bread and roast she'd grabbed before fleeing the common room. Now she still had to meet Lexa.

Thankful that the commander had only nagged her for an hour about proper use of a bow and arrow, which Clarke refused to admit she actually preferred over a sword, Clarke hastened back to her room, worn out too much to bother going look for her people to see if Octavia had calmed down, or if the rest were settled for the night. Instead she laid down alone, her mind still churning over the unanswered worries, and curled up into her bed... as she tucked her hand beneath her pillow, it brushed against something, and she flinched. Taking hold and pulling whatever it was out swiftly, she stared at it in confusion. Merely a single piece rough paper, clearly grounder-made, with just one line written across it.

"Prisa, keep faith. From the ashes, we will rise."

The tight, slanted handwriting was a far cry from the Times New Roman-style script most common on the Ark. With the spiritual phrase, and the title used for her... it had to be a grounder... but who? Falling into an uneasy sleep, she kept a hold of the note, safe beneath her furs. So exhausted was she, that when Nate entered the room she rolled over, but didn't wake. Dropping his boots with a muted thud, he crawled into the bed, but left a space between them.