Clarke remains unconscious on the bed.
Her wound is stitched and the healers have done all they can for now. Wishing to provide Clarke with a little more dignity in her nakedness, Luna ushers the healers out so she can bathe Clarke. She keeps her on the bed and spot washes her as best she can. Her hands are trembling because Clarke is still so cold, still unconscious and grimacing in pain. Whether it's physical or mental, she can't be sure.
What has Luna's heart beating irregularly though is that Clarke is covered in blood; both her own and not. She smells of sweat and tears and blood; she smells of death.
She doubts Clarke will ever be able to get the smell out of her new clothes. She has them burned. Clarke can get a new cloak.
Once Luna has Clarke cleaned she covers her with the furs. She remains at her bedside. Sometimes she paces. Sometimes she cuddles up next to her. Sometimes she holds her hand. Sometimes she strokes her hair.
she often whispers, she tries to comfort and soothe her while she's trapped in her mind.
Clarke twitches and trembles in her sleep. She flails and groans, she shouts and screams. It is all Luna can do to keep her from falling out of the bed at times.
Clarke will not wake.
It is nightfall when Octavia comes bursting into the hut. She doesn't even glance at Luna as she enters, falling to her knees at Clarke's bedside instantly. Luna disengages her arms around Clarke's shoulders and stands to give her space.
"You made good time," Luna says as Bill and Beland enter the hut.
"Sha, Heda gave Octavia and Beland Icarus and Daedalus so we would arrive faster," Bill informs her.
"Has she woken at all?" Beland says watching Clarke closely before looking at Luna. His frown evident through his beard.
"No," Luna shakes her head sadly. She feels Beland's large hand, incredibly gentle, squeeze her shoulder to comfort her. She gives him a weak smile. "She's trapped in her head."
"Sha," Beland agrees.
Luna narrows her eyes, "You can hear her can't you?"
Beland nervously glances away but nods. "It is hard to ignore…"
"What do you hear," Octavia's low gravelly voice comes from the bed where she has curled up to Clarke and is gently stroking her hair.
"…Her screams."
Clarke has had this nightmare before.
She's experienced this hell in her head many of times.
She remembers it like it was yesterday. She carries it with her every step she takes in this world.
It started after the mountain, it followed her through the wilderness, it burrowed into her in Polis and it was kept at bay by Lexa's presence.
But now it's back. It's back with a vengeance.
And it started the same way it always did…
She was lost in a sea of green. She felt heavy, as if an anvil had been planted inside her - right in her chest; her knees felt weak, her breathing was uneven and she was pinned to the ground.
No matter how hard she urged her legs to move forward they remained rooted in their spot. Her eyes burned, they ached to close but she wouldn't let them. She couldn't let them. Everything was happening at once, she couldn't keep up with the pace. This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening, she felt dizzy before her mind ran itself blank and all that was before her was those piercing green eyes.
"May we meet again."
It's nothing more than a whisper; but it's louder than the war horns, the sound of armour and metal, and deafening compared to the rush of blood in her ears. It's a second blow, one Clarke feels in her bones.
What was worse was that the whisper wouldn't stop.
It was now on repeat.
Slowly getting louder with each repetition, but somehow remaining a whisper. She tried to shake her head, she tried to scream, and she tried to move. The burning in her eyes is worsening and the weight in her chest is steadily pushing her deeper into the mud. Her mind reeling, she tried to swallow her silent scream of protest. She willed herself forward. "Lexa!"
She had to stop her. Her surroundings began to swim around her, her vision blurred in and out of focus; a wave of nausea overtook her before everything went black.
Then, she could feel herself wandering; she was searching the black expanse before her, everywhere she turned she could see nothing. I need light, she thought as she reached her hands forward into the darkness. As if on cue a spotlight lit above her; casting an eerie shadow around her, making the darkness beyond the spotlight even worse.
She felt her body shudder. And then she felt it in her right hand. A heavy object…metal, evenly balanced.
Clarke shook her head, panic setting in. She was holding her gun. What was worse, she involuntarily found herself raising it. She stared at the gun and her arm curiously before searching out beyond it and looking for her gun's target.
Dante Wallace.
BANG
The old man crumples before her. Blood escaping his lips as he hits the floor. No… No… No! Not again… Clarke said silently to herself, more of a prayer than anything else. She looked at the gun in disgust, she didn't even remember pulling the trigger; she just did it. As though the gun and her right arm had a mind of its own.
Turning her head away from the gun, Clarke noticed a small light in the distance.
She didn't remember starting to walk but she was never the less moving forward. Or was she? Every step toward the light she felt like it was farther away. She tried to run. She had to get out the darkness. Move Clarke, she silently willed herself. Just move.
It felt as though her feet would give out from under her, she couldn't take another step, yet she did. She trudged toward the light as though on a mission to save her own life, she quickened her pace.
Finally, the light began to grow. How long had she been moving for? Her legs ached and burned screaming for oxygen that her lungs just couldn't supply. Clarke's breathing was just as ragged as when she was lost in the sea of green… No Clarke, just move your fucking feet. And she did.
All at once the light spread out before her. Finally, Clarke thought. Just as the thought finished all the air was sucked out of her body as the light touched what was before her.
A putrid smell filled Clarke's nose, a bitter taste filled her mouth, and ragged gasps escaped her body as she took in the sight.
Bodies. Clarke took in the sight, combing over each and every one, seeing it all absorbing the sight before her. She knew this place. She's been here before. This nightmare is not new.
She was standing in the dining hall of Mount Weather. Clarke gasped again. She whirled around on the spot, the bodies were everywhere she turned, she couldn't escape them, and then she smelled it.
Fire.
Clarke whirled around and her eyes burned all over again at the sight. The entire room was on fire. A whole new wave of panic set in. She had to get out of here. She had to find an exit, something, anything.
Clarke stumbled in her blind panic and she struggled to stand again. She pushed with her hands and found not cement but flesh. Clarke reeled back, pushing herself to a kneeling position as she looked around in shock. The bodies, they had multiplied. She was no longer only with the dead mountain men, she was kneeling right on top of Anya and underneath her were hundreds of grounders.
She screamed aloud and shot straight to a stand still as she absorbed the horrific site. She stood atop a mountain of bodies and below her the fire danced, slowly enveloping each corpse as it rose toward Clarke. No, no…no…please…
The flames rage higher and she feels them swarm her all at once. Her body is burning but doesn't, she can feel the burning sensation but see's no melting skin. Pain rifles through her, bubbling inside her veins and throbbing between her ears.
Then everything goes black.
And there is where her nightmare changes.
Clarke opens her eyes to blinding sunlight and sand beneath her feet. The flaming star is so large and hot she feels that if she reaches out to touch it she could. She stares and stares at the flaming orb, it should be burning her; she should feel it's burning glare and rage but she doesn't.
She can hear Claire's whisper in her ears, " without your heart there is no Clarke, no Wanheda, no life, there is only death."
A part of her is trying to remember. Trying to listen and heed her advice.
But all too soon the sun begins to set.
Whispers of Wanheda fill her ears.
She pulls at the ropes that bind her hands behind her back. She is struck by shadows to the face; again and again they lay into her. She is kicked in the stomach, thrown to her knees.
She stands again and grins a blackened bloody smile. "Is that all you got?"
Another punch is thrown.
The image blurs; her binds are checked and tightened. She tastes her own blood. She is shoved forward into the night. The wind kicks at her cloak and hair.
Her breath quickens minutely and her heart begins to thump with it. She stalks forward into the on setting darkness. Her bloody smile present through every step.
She is the night, she has been waiting, she has been watching.
She had planned this from the start.
Being a prisoner is kind of her thing; at least now, it is by choice.
They are following her plan without even knowing it.
They are until they aren't.
Plans really don't last long in battle. She didn't account for the wind. She didn't account for the dryness. She didn't account for a lot of things...
The wind picks up around her, there is a bite to the air; it pulls at her hair and cloak. The sand grains rip at any bare skin it can find.
She is not surprised to find Her blades have been kept on her, she is seen as no real threat; she's alone, she's dehydrated, and she is out of her element.
She is not concerned. She is fearless.
In underestimating her they have made their second mistake, the first - 'capturing' her.
Only the strongest survive the desert.
And Wanheda is nothing if not strong. She has a caged lion beating beneath her ribs.
She is thrown to her knees in front of a gigantic crowd. They have been summoned from the surrounding villages; they have come to see a new Wanheda be ushered in upon the death of the old.
There are hundreds...
She takes the chance to speak; to warn. Perhaps, to give them a chance.
"If I were you, I would send the elderly and the children away to the next closest village. I did not come for their deaths. I come for the guilty!"
"Death has no reign in the desert. Not by you," comes the icy reply and a figure steps out of the darkness.
Her breath hitches and she works hard not to show it though her mind is screaming in protest. This wasn't supposed to go this particular way...
The figure before her changes everything.
Her bounds are cut but she makes no move.
She waits.
Wanheda growls, she seethes. She hardens. Clarke's eyes narrow as she steels herself.
A child steps into view with a flaming torch. The child is the one that spoke. He speaks again, "Do you know who I am?"
"Goufa," Wanheda answers refusing to be intimidated by an adolescent teen that has yet to have his balls drop.
The child - the cocky, little, bald Titus looking shit - smiles, "Wrong. I am fear."
Clarke laughs in his bravery; Wanheda eats fear for breakfast, lunch and dinner. "I am Death, nice to meet you."
Her first mistake.
The child comes forward menacingly, she tries to pull back when he places hands on either side of her head.
Pain rockets through her. Ice runs through her veins. It washes over the flames, they flicker and wane. She struggles, her body buckles. Images flash before her eyes.
Raven dead. Octavia dead. Her mother dead. Bellamy dead. Luna dead. The nightbloods dead.
The people she fights for, dead.
Kai dead.
Lexa dead.
The dead rising. The dead walking.
Clarke is screaming; her voice is hollow. Her body shakes and curls into itself as she sees the cause of each death.
Wanheda.
Her screams continue. They rattle from her chest with each fresh, hard fought for, breath.
The torture continues; she writhes in the child's hold over her. She convulses. She fights against her arm, vaguely aware that it's moving on it's own. She feels the handle of her dagger, she knows how to end this, how to save everyone...
"NO." She doesn't recognize her own voice breaking through. "No!" it repeats but her arm continues to move. A new pain, a fresh pain, a very real physical pain cuts into her side.
And then she hears her…
Claire.
Fight.
You must fight Clarke. Love is strength, and it will see you through the darkness.
Keep your heart open no matter what comes. Without your heart there is no Clarke, no Wanheda, no life, there is only death.
Have her, have the light…
Her saving grace.
Her Lexa.
Green, beautifully lit and sparkling eyes begin to break through the flashing images of corpses.
Energy courses within her, it hums, it bucks, it promises…
Clarke fights. Wanheda fights with her. She begins to steal her mind back from the boys clutches. The flames inside catch oxygen with each breath.
She's strong. She's stronger than they know. She's stronger than she knows.
She is loved. She is driven by love.
It refuses to let fear overshadow it.
And their love love is the strongest of them all.
Her lionheart roars and her vision comes back. She begins to break through the mental hold on her mind, the child falters before her. The hands on her head twitch and Wanheda makes her move.
"Ai laik Wanheda, the only Wanheda; and I warned you! Your time is up!"
She pulls the dagger from her own side as anger boils over and takes her. She lets it. The drive to survive, the instinct to overcome breaks through.
And just like that the monster is unleashed.
Just like that, all she can see is red.
Her hands ignite, her wrists flick and flames ignite the guards behind her. She sends the flames high arching in the air and they catch the wind. A tornado of flame and sand kicks up and begins to engulf the crowd. The sand storm morphs as Wanheda's rage builds, the fires alit in it's core spread and rage higher. The tornado splits into three.
The crowd erupts and chaos ensues.
Amidst the out of control flaming sand storms the desert kru does not yield; no, it raises their weapons.
Her body count rises instantly.
It happens in split seconds.
She pushes herself to a stand, grabs the boy by the throat and raises him off the ground. Her palm burns her handprint into his throat.
Wanheda breathes deep the smell of burning flesh and smiles as she brings him closer. He fumbles for her head once more; he tries to force her fear back into her, he tries to break her.
But Clarke is strong. Clarke is stubborn.
And Wanheda is livid.
Wanheda is unleashed.
Wanheda laughs in his face, "Branwadesh Goufa!" foolish child, "I am fear. I am death and I bring you to yours!"
She lets her hand burn more, the flame melting and curling the flesh away where her hand lies. He pushes against her hold, he screams into the night.
She smiles as flesh gives way to blood and the light in his eyes flicker and wane.
She drops the body unceremoniously to her feet and launches further into attack. Every person she sees dies by flame or blade. She pulls none of her own out, she uses their own.
They wanted death; they wanted to command it, wield it, lord over it.
They cannot have what is not theirs so she delivers their end.
That night, Clarke breathed fire.
The tornado's rage and rip as the battle continues. Clarke sends flames in any direction she chooses, she needs more. She wants more.
She does not stop.
Wanheda travels even as the main village of Sana burns. Her fires spread, she is unstoppable. She stalks the light of day as well as the night.
She vows to end the desert clan.
And She doesn't stop until she has.
The tornados still fly in the desert when she leaves. Smoke travels on the wind; a message, a warning. An omen.
Only the strongest survive the desert.
And Wanheda is the only one to leave.
Blackness encompasses her. Black remains.
The pain and fear doesn't fade.
It billows, it surges, it poisons…
Clarke jars awake with a howl. She frantically looks around; she reaches for non-existent blades.
"Clarke!" Octavia shouts, "You're safe, it's okay! Shhh." She tries to embrace her, after a few shoves she holds her tight in the bed. She pulls her head to her chest, "Shhh, it's O. Ow! Fuck, stop! You're okay. You're in Botta, it's just me and Luna. Shhh Clarke, breathe."
Breathe, Clarke.
She does, it's laboured. She shakes her head sadly, still too worked up to process.
Clarke's breath is shallow and unsatisfying. She feels Octavia's hands on her; stroking her hair, her back, her cheek. She holds her close and tight. She's trying to keep her steady, trying to bring her back to reality.
She struggles.
Her eyes burn against the light in the room, she's disoriented. Confused.
"Lexa?" her voice crackles and she groans in protest, reaching for her throat.
Instantly, a cup is at her lips, while her head continues to rest against a warm chest. She sips and sips; it does nothing to quell the burn in her throat.
"She's in Polis, she's safe, shhh," Octavia coos lowering the cup.
Clarke nods and looks at the furs. She's aware she's naked; she doesn't care. She tries to take comfort in her friend. Her side hurts like a bitch.
"How long was I unconscious?"
"A day and half," Luna's voice carries from the doorway as she enters.
Clarke nods taking quick glances around the room. She works to slow her breaths and calm her mind. It's a struggle to come back from the nightmare.
It is obvious Wanheda does not eat all of Clarke's fear. The child's touch lingers in her own self doubt.
"How mad is she?" Clarke croaks nervously.
Octavia and Luna exchange nervous glances that don't go unnoticed.
"That bad?"
"She's not angry, she's hurt," Octavia blurts out. "Confused."
Clarke nods slowly as she pushes to sit up. Octavia helps her and Clarke winces in pain.
"She'll get over it," Clarke says calmly.
"Like hell she will unless you help her," Octavia says glaring at Clarke. "You show up close to death. You tell her little to nothing. You block her out for days even when unconscious…"
Clarke purses her lips. "It's not safe for her to feel me right now. I'm trying to protect her."
"Gee, doesn't that sound familiar."
Clarke glares up at her. "You don't understand."
"Try us," Luna challenges sitting on the end of the bed. She shoves a plate into Clarke's hands. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry," Clarke pushes against the plate.
"Don't care. Eat."
Clarke relents under the two sets of glares she receives and nibbles on the food. It tastes like ash in her mouth. She swallows anyways.
It hurts.
she remembers breathing fire and her body trembles as her hands move mindlessly.
After the bits of food she manages to swallow, Clarke is handed an herbal tea to help her nerves. After that, another to help her heal.
"You look like hell."
"I'm not surprised, I feel like I was just there," Clarke shivers.
Her nightmare flashes before her eyes. She feels Octavia's hand running against her back soothingly. She tries to focus on her warmth. She melts into her chest again. A tear escapes her and she shudders in breaths. She cannot help the crying. She slowly feels her walls crack but not break. They remain tall.
It's just a leak.
"Clarke. What happened?" Luna says softly grabbing her shin.
Clarke looks up at her, "I had no choice." Her voice breaks again, her chest wracks in a sob. She see's the boys face. She feels her own smile when his blood pools around her hand and his boiling flesh. She swallows the razor blades in her throat and she clenches her eyes shut against Octavia's chest.
The woman's arms tighten around her. "You're safe. Talk to us."
Clarke swallows again, her tears keep leaking from her eyes through closed lids, "I- I killed them all. The desert is no more. I had no choice."
She can feel Octavia hold her breath but nod against her head. Clarke sobs again.
"He was just a kid…"
"Clarke-"
She cuts her off. Wanheda driving her forward, her strength of mind returning, her will and her determination. Her fucking stubbornness coming through.
Her lionheart. It will see her through.
She uses it to speak for her.
"When I arrived I waited, I found them and spied on them. Three villages I visited, I watched. I was a ghost among men. Me but not myself." She swallows. "I was afraid, I had a… feeling that things would be more difficult there. I played to my strengths and my enemies underestimations; I let them think they captured Wanheda." She feels Octavia stiffen around her.
"I planned it out. I calculated everything carefully. I made it difficult but easy enough that they would doubt my abilities. They called the villages, sent word of Wanheda's capture; professed to have the next Wanheda ready to take my place. …They brought everyone."
Clarke shivers and the squeeze around her and on her shin bring her onward. They keep her present, rooted, keeps her from falling back into the dark.
She follows her heart.
She speaks.
"They brought the warriors; the army and the mercenaries. They brought the children, the elderly. They planned a party to bear witness to the second coming of Wanheda…" Clarke clenches her eyes tighter at the images. "…he was just a kid."
"What?"
"They wanted a kid to become Wanheda?" Octavia asks.
Clarke keeps her eyes shut and nods. "…Just a boy; but he was different, he was special. He was dangerous."
"He had a gift?" Luna's voice perked.
"He said he was fear. He proved it." Clarke swallows.
"He touched my mind; he broke my barriers I had been working on keeping up while in wait. I didn't want Lexa to worry… I was working to keep her from this, from my fear of what I felt coming but did not have the foresight to see…" She takes a deep, slow and shaky breath.
Clarke feels fragile. Small. Her heart remains strong, purring and urging her to further press her cheek into Octavia for strength.
It works.
"I saw my greatest fears; I saw your deaths." She swallows the bile in her throat, "I saw Kai…I saw Lexa…" She quakes, "all dead because of me…" She shakes her head trying to rid the memory, "And then you all rose, you walked… dead but undead…"
Clarke breaks in fresh sobs. She bawls and shouts and screams as the images of her dead loved ones come towards her.
"Clarke!" Luna shouts. She feels the bed dip and Luna crawls onto the other side of her.
"Shhhh, it's okay. It's not real Clarke. We're here." Octavia's own voice breaks as she tries to comfort her.
Clarke is enveloped in a cocoon of warmth as Luna's arms encircle them as well. The furs are brought further up and Clarke's shivering and sobs begin to lessen…
"You don't have to continue," Luna says softly against her head.
"Yes, I do…"
She again, needs to heed Claire's advice and follow her heart. Follow her instincts. This mistake she made cannot be a mistake in the long run. She won't let it. She didn't let it. That is why she remained in the Desert. She saw Wanheda's work through, she made sure blood must have blood with the Desert clan ended with Wanheda collecting theirs.
The desert was no more.
"I made a mistake. I didn't account for them to bring the women, the elderly, the children… They are- were different. The desert is harsher than our lands, they are unforgiving in ways we will never comprehend… They all fought. They all tried to kill me…" She swallows. "So I killed them first. I killed them last. I ended the desert…"
"Clarke," Octavia whispers.
"Don't. I don't need your sympathy, it'll only make me feel worse. They left me little choice, and though it's not okay, it has to be. I did what I needed to. I made sure it ended that night. Their fights are over. I burned the desert, I sent them on to whatever comes next..."
There is silence in the room that follows as Clarke's sobs stop. Octavia wipes her eyes but neither women let go of her.
She doesn't want them to.
"Explain the wound Clarke…" Luna finally says softly. "The healers say it was self inflicted."
Clarke stiffens, "…It was."
The women around her stiffen.
"But it wasn't me, not really, the goufa… he made me do it. He made me believe it was the only way to save you…"
Another bit of silence. She feels Luna stroke her hair and whisper, "Then explain why you left Lexa, why you tried to refuse treatment, why you ended up on my beach…"
"I – I wanted to see the Ocean one last time."
"Clarke," Octavia's breath hitches and Clarke feels warm tears land on her nose. She nuzzles closer.
"…It's difficult to explain… Though I know I pushed through his control, it lingers… I can still feel it… the fear is not gone."
"Clarke you won't hurt any of us."
"I will. I will hurt Lexa, this will hurt Lexa. I have already hurt her. She can't be in here right now feeling what I'm feeling; she feels enough pain on her own. I can't add to it. It's not fair to her."
Again, her words are followed with silence and uncertainty.
"So what do we do? How do we help?" Octavia asks gently.
Clarke pauses.
An image before her eyes appears; at first, it's nothing but a sea of green, but this time it is not foreboding, not scary, not pushing her to desperation.
It's soothing. It's home. It's purpose.
It's home.
"I need therapy," Clarke finally answers.
Soft chuckles emit in the room. "What kind of therapy?" Luna asks.
Clarke finally opens her eyes and looks up, she turns her head to meet both eyes.
"I need to go to TonDC. I have to make things right. I have to make it up to her."
"Road trip! Nice."
