A/N: Surprise! Another multichapter fic, this one set in a somewhat canon universe. Hope you all enjoy :D
2128 / 2129
part one: sunburned and shoeless
"Don't walk on my drawing!"
The sudden cry makes Lexa startle.
The air is warm and the usual buzz of the village is loud on sunny days like this when people spend most of their time outside. Jortaun is only a small settlement, but it's alive with farmers and hunters and their tiny houses and the few stray dogs.
Lexa's feet are bare, her toes digging into the rough combination of cracked concrete and dried earth that covers the ground. When she looks down, however, she finds herself standing in the middle of blurry lines drawn into the dirt. They stretch out around her, probably forming a bigger picture that she can't make out.
Next to Lexa, a girl is flushed with anger. Her round cheeks are tinted red, a sharp contrast from her summer light hair. She must be new here, because Lexa does not recognize her. After all, there are only five other children in the village and Lexa thinks she certainly would have remembered her.
The blonde girl angrily throws down the stick she had been using to draw and takes a bold step forward to shove Lexa's shoulders, her own feet smudging whatever was left of her drawing on the ground.
It's not that hard of a push, but Lexa takes a step back to keep her balance. Her eyes widen as she watches the girl's face get intimidatingly close to her.
"You walk – on my drawing!" the girl claims exasperated, stepping back again and looking bewildered at whatever must have been her proud creation only moments ago.
Tears are starting to brew in her shiny eyes and Lexa stands there uselessly, not sure what to do. She ruined the girl's drawing and now the girl is upset and Lexa doesn't know how to fix it.
Right at that moment someone appears from around the corner of the hut, dirty blond hair, a dead deer slung over his shoulders. "What's wrong, Clarke?"
Clarke, Lexa makes herself remember, her name is Clarke.
"She broke my drawing," Clarke sobs, frown in place.
Lexa feels her stomach sink to her feet. She broke the girl's drawing.
"Really? I think it looks great," the man tells her, and Clarke abruptly has to silence her sobs to figure out what he means.
"Look," he says, walking up to them and using the nose of his boot to add a single line in the blur of dirt. "It's a tree."
"No," Clarke frowns through forgotten tears, "it's a horse."
Lexa watches them quietly and when she glances down at the ground it really does look more like a tree, but she takes a step back and nods at Clarke.
It's a horse.
She barely notices how the man with the deer on his shoulders (Jake, she'll know someday) leaves them again, smiling.
"You're new," Lexa says, watching as the girl crouches down again to work on her ground-drawing like nothing ever happened.
Clarke doesn't respond immediately, too focused on the new lines she's carving into the dirt. Then she looks up at Lexa, as if studying her, considering something.
"Do you want to draw with me?" she asks, ignoring Lexa's words about her being new here, as if that didn't matter, as if it didn't need explaining. (Healers are scarce and Clarke's mother is the newest blessing to the village, but that's something Clarke will only come to understand with time.)
So Lexa nods and sits down next to her. The girl is a curious sight, blowing strands of blonde hair out of her face when they get in her eyes and frowning when she makes a mistake, and Lexa gets caught up in the freckles on her cheeks and the small pout on her lips. The sun crosses its midpoint and steadily covers them with the shadows of the village's small buildings.
(She makes sure no one else walks on Clarke's drawing.)
Lexa had been born on the brink of winter, early in the year 2128. Clarke had come into the world almost a year later, during the last days of summer.
(Whenever Lexa subtly mentions that she's the older one, Clarke just responds by sticking out her tongue.)
(It's not important.)
Their first years had been simple, wrapped in warm blankets and hidden away from the outside world. But since they've been old enough to walk, there hasn't been a day that the soles of their feet weren't covered in dirt.
It is a time of relative peace, one that is not granted to most kids growing up. The only evidence of their awaiting lives is the blood on Abby's hands that she washes off every night, the groaning of her patients who are sprawled out in a nearby hut and waiting for the antidote to sweep away the newest poison, and the deep scars that run over the bodies of horses and riders.
Other than that, the world is grand.
They grow up in a small village called Jortaun, surrounded by a dense forest to which their people owe their name. Houses are built from scraps of metal and junk, but lined with animal skins and wooden furniture inside.
Lexa has always wondered if their ancestors used to live in the actual trees (great tree houses and hollowed trunks decorated with the glow of blue flowers and fireflies in jars – she imagines it could be quite wonderful) but the elders say they're just called Trikru because they live among one of the greatest woods.
Still, Lexa likes to believe that there is something ancient, something hidden in the trees surrounding them that has the smell of forest running through their blood and making them a species of their own: Tree People.
(One day many years later Clarke will tell Lexa her eyes are green like the trees and Lexa will think that maybe she was right after all.)
(She'll think Clarke's eyes are more like the sky, and therefore the universe in its entirety.)
Lexa stumbles in place, trying to keep her balance as uncle Gustus pulls the straps of her makeshift armor tighter.
"Good?" he asks her, and Lexa nods. The leather fits snugly around her chest and stomach, making her straighten her spine and stand a bit taller.
She's five summers old now. Not big enough or strong enough to start brawl training with the older kids – at least not without 'accidentally cracking her skull', as their trainer put it – but uncle Gustus had decided she was more than ready to learn. She knows the basic things already, of course: how to hold a knife, how to recognize different animal tracks, how to tackle someone larger than her. Things all children should know; their parents or uncles or cousins teach them, and all other things they learn from simply being outside, surrounded by farmers and hunters that don't mind telling stories.
But today will be different, Lexa knows, because uncle Gustus insisted she wore the extra padding. For a moment she had felt insecure, not ready for real warrior training yet, even if it was only with her uncle. What if she couldn't keep up? What if she turned out to not be good at it? What if her arms were still too weak to hold up a sword, or her shoulders too thin to carry the armor?
But uncle Gustus had crouched down to her level as if already knowing what troubled her, and had told her not to worry, that she'd only grow stronger before next year. That this could only give her an advantage. Then he had showed her the leather armor, and Lexa's nerves had turned into excitement.
"Who is this beautiful girl? No one told me such a handsome warrior was coming to visit today."
Her mother's voice makes Lexa turn around with a smile.
"Lexa? Is that you?" Jasmin pretends to be surprised and leans down to kiss her daughter's cheek. "You look very pretty."
Lexa scrunches her nose at the kiss – warriors don't do hugs and kisses from their moms, even if she can't deny that her mother's lips feel warm and comforting against her cheek.
She proudly glances down her own figure, deciding that her mother is right and that she does look like a brave warrior, ready for her first day of training.
Uncle Gustus waves her towards the door, urging her to go ahead outside. He stays behind to share some mumbled words with her mother – they do that often, like Lexa won't notice there are things she isn't supposed to hear. (She does notice.)
It's a bright day. Summer hasn't quite arrived yet but it already promises to be warm and suffocating (to bring dehydration and sickly fevers, to be a heavy burden for the village – but that's not for Lexa to worry about).
After she steps outside, it doesn't take long for her to wander towards a familiar hut. Uncle Gustus will know where to find her, she thinks. She's glad to see Clarke outside and when the girl notices her as well, she runs up to Lexa with a grin and pulls her along to show the newest creation she made.
"It's a bird," Clarke tells her, proudly looking at the blurry lines in the sand, and Lexa is glad for the explanation because now she can't accidentally get it wrong.
"Oh," Lexa says. "I like birds."
Crows are her favorite, though uncle Gustus had once told her that they clean up the dead on a battlefield by pecking the flesh off their bones. That had scared her a little, but they're still her favorite.
Clarke looks at her, studying Lexa's outfit. "You going to fight?"
"Training," she says. "Uncle says it'll make me stronger."
Clarke's eyebrows scrunch together. Lexa doesn't notice; she gets distracted by the pack of hunters that arrive back at the village gate, loudly cheering their victory. Two boars are tied by their hinds on a log the hunters carry between them, while another carries a few bloody rabbits strung together – a proud display of tonight's dinner. A crowd gathers to welcome them home and Clarke and Lexa get swept up in the excitement.
Later, Gustus indeed knows where to find her. They train for a full candle mark and the armor doesn't protect Lexa from bruises. She's tired and frustrated afterwards, and thinks she'll never be ready for a real fight – but she and Clarke play by the lake for the rest of the day, trying to scare frogs so they jump into the water, and training seems like such a trivial thing to worry about.
If there is such a thing as time, a clock counting down the seconds of their innocence, they don't notice. Every day feels like a bright new adventure, even if the world dims around them.
Clarke's melodic laugh rings out from below and Lexa smiles at the sound. She looks down to see her friend grasping onto tree branches and trying to make her way up to where Lexa sits. Her movements are clumsy and Lexa bites her lip in amusement.
She reaches out a helping hand and Clarke doesn't hesitate to take it, huffing loudly as if saying finally. Clarke swings her other arm around the thick branch and it's not long before she sits across from Lexa with a proud smile on her face.
"You really should get better at tree climbing, Clarke," Lexa says, pretending she doesn't like the way Clarke reaches out for her hand even when she doesn't need it.
Clarke averts her eyes down, a blushing grin on her bright cheeks. She blows a strand of blonde hair from the side of her face. "Why do you always have to climb so high?"
They're seven feet up in the air and it really isn't that high; but to them, it seems like they're on top of the world. Balancing herself carefully – one hand on Lexa's shoulder and the other gripping the tree bark – Clarke reaches for a pair of green apples that hang on a branch above them.
Lexa shrugs. "It's nice. I can see everything." The tin roofs of their homes and the hills in the distance, the half-broken wire fence that circles Jortaun. She can even see the northern tree line, where no one ever goes.
Clarke hands her one of the apples, wearing a cheeky smile because she knows Lexa prefers the red ones.
"Look," Lexa says, smiling to show off the gap in her mouth. "I lost one of my teeth."
Clarke grins at her through a mouthful of apple, wiping off some of the juice on her chin with the back of her hand. They don't talk much; the late-afternoon sun shines on their faces and they are free.
There's a trail of blood leading from the medic tent's entrance to the table where the hunter lies. A deep gash on the side of his chest reveals angry red skin and bone. Abby presses an alcohol-doused patch against the wound and the young man groans through his clenched teeth.
"Lincoln." Abby calls for him, nodding towards the patient, and her second dutifully tips the jug of alcohol to the hunter's lips until he swallows.
"Say there's no alcohol…" Abby starts, her hand still firmly in place. "What else could we use as a disinfectant?"
Lincoln glances at the powdered herbs lined out on the shelf. It's a hypothetical question, he knows; they always have alcohol, even if they run out of herbs and food and water.
"Yarrow."
Abby nods without taking her eyes off her work. Lincoln almost wants to smile in pride at getting it right, but it's a grim job they have and it never feels appropriate.
He's eight summers old and softer than his father would like, but bright. When Abby and Jake moved into the village, it had been a relief for everyone to have a healer nearby. Before, the nearest medic was a day's walk away – sometimes too far to even risk.
Lincoln hadn't expected to become a healer's second and it was probably not what was planned for him, either. But Abby had seen him sketching in his little notebook, drawing meadows and blackbirds and familiar faces, and just like that it was settled.
"There are others," Lincoln had said, sure that she was making a rushed decision, "older than me, better."
"You're calmer than they are," she had said. "I need steady hands."
He turned out to be a quick learner and when he helped Abby save a life for the first time, he realized there are different kinds of honor. His father still says that enemies don't cower before a healer, that it doesn't show the strength and bravery of a warrior or give him scars to be proud of – the cut on his lip and the bruises from training don't count – but at least he's doing something useful.
The smell of blood is one that Clarke has already learned to recognize. Her nose wrinkles as she and Lexa enter the medic's hut. Kids aren't really supposed to come here; it's said they're too vulnerable to fall sick – but it's where her mother spends most her time, so Clarke never hesitates to go in anyway.
The two sickbeds in the room are empty and the only patient lies on the table, barely conscious. Potted plants stand in the corners of the room, and on the walls hang dream catchers and old drawings of the human anatomy and detailed flowers with complicated names.
Clarke is careful to avoid the blood on the ground as she steps closer to the table. Lexa follows beside her, looking out of place.
"What happened?" Clarke watches as her mother finishes closing up the wound.
Abby's brow furrows. It's no surprise she dislikes Clarke showing up in the middle of the sick and wounded. It's an instinctive feeling, the need to protect her daughter from the sight of decay – irrational, too, because it's something to get used to.
"They say a boar attacked him," Lincoln answers. "Took him to the ground and dug a tusk into his side before the others could catch it."
The wound is sealed with a green ointment and a bandage around the hunter's chest. Abby washes her hands at the rusty sink in the corner and tells Lincoln to do the same.
She looks tired, Clarke thinks, and the sun hasn't even gone down yet.
"Nothing we can do now. He needs rest," Abby says. Her hands still look pink as she dries them on a towel. "You can go, Lincoln."
He nods.
"You two as well. Go on," Abby shoos them away but not before giving them a small, reassuring smile. "I'll see you at dinner tonight, okay?"
But dinner isn't for another three candle marks at least. Outside, Lexa toys with the buckle on her leather vest. She's barely taken it off since uncle Gustus gave it to her; although it's almost too warm on days like this, she likes how the makeshift armor makes her feel safer.
They still have a whole afternoon to fill and Lexa tries to think of something to pass the time.
"Let's go out," she says. Out of the village, into the dense tree line that always has new places and hollows to discover. Sometimes they find teepees made from sticks, probably built by other kids from the village, or rabbit and pheasant traps set by the hunters.
Lincoln looks skeptical at first, probably thinking of the boar that attacked the hunter and the blood he had only just washed off his hands. Clarke, on the other hand, grins excitedly as if it's the best idea ever. She's grabbing Lexa's hand and leading them towards the woods.
"Okay," Lincoln says as they leave the village's perimeter, "but we shouldn't go too far."
Clarke doesn't seem to hear him. She's glancing around nervously as they step through a broken fence that might've once kept things from going in – and out – of Jortaun. It suddenly feels as if they're doing something dangerous, as if they should fear getting caught, but Lexa pushes down her worry. The woods close to the village aren't too dangerous; they've gone out there plenty of times before.
Lincoln probably knows they would've gone without him as well – so he follows them anyway, with a tight grip on the stone dagger that hangs from his belt.
They're five minutes into their adventure and the forest canopy lets through rays of sunlight, highlighting their path through the thicket. The sound of a woodpecker echoes above them. Clarke is leading them down some invisible path, using a stick she found to swipe at random branches and bushes for no clear reason.
"Okay," Clarke says thoughtfully, swiping at a particular branch they pass. "Would you rather fight a super big squirrel, or… a very small wolf?"
Lexa rolls her eyes. "You always ask weird questions, Clarke." Like, why is the sky blue but not always; and where does the wind come from. Lexa's answer is usually the same: I don't know, and somehow that's often enough for Clarke, like it's okay if they don't know the answers together.
"Wolf, definitely," Lincoln says, climbing over a fallen tree in their path. "Then it's just a puppy."
"No, it's a big wolf, with teeth and everything," Clarke clarifies. "Just smaller."
"Oh."
"I think the squirrel would be better," Clarke continues, turning to look at her two friends earnestly. "'Cause if you want to tame it, it's easy. You just have to collect a lot of acorns."
Lexa doesn't quite know where Clarke comes up with these imaginary beings (there are many animals out there but she's fairly sure there's no such thing as giant squirrels), or why she kind of loves hearing about them even though they're very much not real. "I don't think general Voros would like it if we brought home a very large squirrel."
"General Voros doesn't like anything," Clarke grumbles. "We wouldn't have to tell him."
Lexa has to smile at that, not sure how they would hide a giant squirrel between the village huts. She's watching the ground as she follows (much more quietly) in Clarke's footsteps, avoiding twigs and leaves if possible. And it's not good to keep her eyes down like this, she knows – but it's really hard to move quietly and be aware of her surroundings at the same time, and she's still practicing. Besides, Lincoln is with them so she doesn't have to be that alert.
The sound of running water makes Lexa look up. "We're at the river already." The stream runs from the east down south, though they're not sure where it ends or starts. Crossing it would bring them to the dirt road that's used by travelers. They say the road eventually leads to the capitol if you follow it far enough, but they're not really supposed to cross the water.
Clarke looks almost surprised they've come this far. She frowns, looks around restlessly. Trying to decide whether they go left or right. Right is where Quint and his brother often play, climbing trees and digging holes, so it's no surprise when they go left. They follow the shallow stream of water, frogs croaking before jumping away at the sound of footsteps.
They've never gone too far in this direction. The ground is a little slippery upstream so they usually circle back to the village.
"We should be back before dinner, Klark," Lexa thinks out loud as she follows her friend, climbing up the slope towards a small waterfall.
Clarke grins, waits a moment for her friends to catch up. "Or we can build a hut and stay here forever."
Lincoln has collected a handful of blueberries from bushes they've passed and looks doubtful as he passes a few to both of them. "Not forever."
Clarke rolls her eyes and stuffs the blueberries in her mouth and Lexa laughs; when Clarke says forever she means half a day at most. They've built huts before, secret hideouts that only she and Clarke know about (broken branches stacked against fallen logs, big enough to fit only the two of them). But they always return home.
In the corner of her eye, Lexa notices movement near the water. A doe is leisurely drinking from the cool stream, unaware of them until someone lets out a quiet gasp. The deer freezes, it's big eyes and ears turned towards them, before sprinting away from the stream. The three of them share a quick look – excitement in their eyes, mutual agreement – before breaking into a run to chase it.
(It's the only logical reaction, really – if they catch it, they'll bring it home like the hunters do and everyone will cheer for them.)
The deer is too fast for them and gone before they know it, but they're jumping and dashing through the woods as if they could keep up with it. The air whooshes around their ears, hands scraping the bark of trees, and for a moment Lexa feels like she could fly. This has to be one of her favorite feelings in the world: where they're free and unstoppable and there's nothing else but the forest around them.
Without warning, Clarke skids to a stop. Lexa bumps into her and they almost lose their footing, clumsily pulling each other upright.
"What is it?" Lincoln asks, but there's no need for an answer once he sees it too. The entrance to a large, pitch dark cave lies in front of them, hallowed out underneath a small cliff. Moss covers the stones on the outside and a spider web stretches to a nearby birch tree.
Lexa swallows. She feels Clarke reach for her hand. "Do you think there's anything inside?" Or anyone.
Lincoln stays quiet. He steps closer to the hollow, holding his knife tightly. Then: "I think it's a bear cave."
Lexa feels her heart speed up. They've never seen a real bear – not a live one, anyway. On cold days some of the villagers wear bearskins, and Lexa is fairly sure that one of the large, brown pelts on their bed is from a bear as well. If she remembers correctly, that means bears are much, much larger than they are.
Lexa takes a breath, rounds up her courage. She's not sure her leather vest is going to protect her from the blow of a bear claw, but they have to investigate this cave. They can't just leave and go back home without ever knowing what was inside – that would be a coward's route, a shameful story to never be told.
With quiet footsteps the three of them move forward.
"If there's a bear," Lincoln whispers, "wave your hands above your head so you'll look taller."
Lexa shares a look with Clarke and knows they're thinking the same thing. If there's a bear, they'll run. Adrenaline is rushing through them and suddenly every sound is much louder, every movement is careful.
Once they step inside the hollow, it's not as dark as they expected it to be. Light bounces off the walls and it's not long before they can see the end of the cave.
"It's empty," Lincoln says, and all three of them release a breath.
A drop of water falls from the ceiling, echoing through the cave.
"This is so cool," Clarke says, still half a whisper.
Lincoln nods, his eyes roaming over the cave walls. He sheathes his dagger and reaches inside his pocket, taking out a piece of charcoal.
"What are you doing?" Lexa asks. She watches as he starts scribbling black lines onto the stone.
"Drawing us," he answers, his eyes narrowed in concentration, "so everyone knows we were here."
For some reason that sounds like a great idea. Lexa thinks maybe she and Clarke should do that as well sometime; mark their hideouts to show it's theirs.
Lincoln doesn't spend much time on the drawing, leaves out the details, and it's perfect.
Jasmin smiles warmly when Clarke follows Lexa into their home that evening, and places a kiss on both their heads.
They climb up to sit on the dinner table and with a small frown Jasmin scolds Lexa for the rip in her trousers, made earlier that day by a particular branch that had gotten in her way. Clarke watches the interaction quietly from where she sits next to Lexa, legs dangling off the table and with a small, mischievous smile.
"We found a cave," Lexa tells her mother, as if the discovery is compensation for the hole in her jeans. "We thought there was a bear but there wasn't."
A small, worried frown creases the woman's forehead and Clarke is quick to assure her, "Lincoln was with us."
With a relenting smile, Lexa's mother shoos them off the table and gathers a few bowls from the cupboard. "There are things in this world even brave Lincoln wouldn't stand a chance against."
She cooks up food for the girls and Clarke doesn't worry; her parents will know where to find her. When they're seated around the table, Lexa bumps her shoulder to get her attention and reveals a handful of acorns from her pocket, quietly collected throughout the afternoon. Clarke giggles until there are tears in her eyes, because if there's a giant squirrel, at least they'll be prepared – and Lexa has never looked happier.