AND I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO SEE ME
BECAUSE I DON'T THINK THAT THEY'D UNDERSTAND
WHEN EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN
I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM
Octavia awoke groggily as the first rays of the morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the roof over her head. Wincing in the bright light, she turned her head to the side and focussed on the candle flickering on the table beside her bed.
Bed.
Along with the feel of the soft mattress underneath her came the sudden realisation that she had no idea where she was. She attempted to sit up to better gauge her surroundings, only to be met with a fierce and sudden pain shooting up her side. Stifling a grunt, she clutched her side and could only flop meekly back down onto the bed.
The pain brought back the memories of what happened the previous... day? (She could only assume it had been that long, for all she knew it could have been days ago).
She remembered being stabbed by the Ice Nation warrior, being saved by him, and then- nothing.
Him.
Aerrow.
Where was he?
Her questions were quickly answered when a further inspection of the room revealed him to be on the floor, his back sat up against the side of the bed she was on. He appeared to be fast asleep, his head bent forward and his blonde locks of hair veiling his face.
She paused for a moment just to look at him. At some point, he had taken off his heavy wolfskin coat, leaving him in just a thin animal skin vest. The vest was light brown in colour, faded and deeply weathered. The ragged holes in the vest's shoulders revealed arms that, though not heavily muscled, were extremely toned, his shoulders and upper arms displaying the lean yet pronounced definition once seen in professional rock climbers, while a dense network of veins overlaid wiry cords of sinew in his forearms.
She pursed her lips at his posture. Even in sleep he looked troubled, his shoulders hunched with unconscious tension.
She had seen it in his stance when she'd first laid eyes on him again for the first time in months. Since she had first gotten to know him as anything more than the warrior – or murderer – that most people saw him as, she had known. She had come to know who he was underneath the battle hardened exterior. He was damaged by loss, haunted by grief, and above anything else: Conflicted.
She knew that, deep down, all he wanted was to be able to feel again, to love, but at the same time he was afraid, terrified in fact, of letting himself go, because of what had happened to him in the past.
What she had seen this time though was a different sort of conflict. This was much more internal, much more personal, like the one he was at odds with feelings for this time was himself.
She was overcome by a rising sense of pity for him, so through gritted teeth she pushed herself up and reached over to touch his shoulder. Moments before she reached him however, he flinched, as if sensing her presence. She hastily pulled back, face flushing slightly as she suddenly became aware of her exposed upper body.
She sank back into the mattress in an attempt to escape the throbbing pain of her stab wound, and wrapped the fur blankets firmly around her shoulders as visions of the previous night danced through her memory. She recalled being carried through the woods, but the memories were vague, more like snapshots, and all she could properly remember was his gentle touch and warm embrace.
Her cheeks flushed even redder as her mind suddenly presented to her an explanation for both her exposure and his presence – and it wasn't because of her stab wound. She attempted to shake the thought out of her head, but was instead presented with more vague remnants – a cool breeze across her naked chest, broken by a heated contact upon her breast.
She shivered at the memories, unsure of what they were or why she was feeling this way about them. She opened her eyes, to be met by an intense azure stare.
Their eyes remained locked – emerald on sapphire – for what felt like hours, but in reality was mere moments, before finally he spoke.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was still hard edged and raspy, but far softer and slightly higher pitched than she had grown used to from him.
"Like I did after going six rounds with you." She replied somewhat sarcastically, in reference to their fateful duel inside Mount Weather.
Aerrow said nothing. The corners of his mouth cracked upwards not even the slightest bit.
"You got a spare shirt?" She asked a moment later, her voice still betraying her groggy fatigue.
He was motionless for a moment, in which time she had no idea what he was thinking, before he shifted slightly and pushed his shoulders back, shrugging off his vest.
"Sorry…" he murmured almost shamefully, "Had to cut yours away to stitch your wound."
He held the vest out to her and she took it gratefully. He seemed hesitant to help her sit up, and eventually shifted to his knees and grasped the blanket wrapped over her shoulders, avoiding laying his hands on her bare flesh. That act in combination with his explanation for her state of undress abolished any questions she had as to what may or may not have happened the night before.
He got to his feet and averted his gaze as she slung the vest around herself, only turning back around once she was finished, and she forced herself to hold back the gasp that built in her throat.
His face wasn't the only thing that had changed.
While his physique was still chiseled and his torso still adorned with angular black tattoos, gone entirely were the horrific scars that had adorned his body as long as she had known him.
She had seen his upper body exposed before, and every time had been taken aback by the sheer damage that had been inflicted upon his skin. His body, though small, had borne dozens of ragged pink lines adorning the hard flesh like a grisly work of abstract art. Remnants not only from his torture on the Ark, but also wounds further accumulated since being on the ground – neater lines of cuts inflicted by sharper blades, a number of bullet wounds and a series of ugly electricity burns on his back.
Now they had all vanished entirely, the one exception being a thin reddish mark on his right shoulder, only a few inches wide – a gap that matched the width of her swords. She knew this one well. It was the one she had inflicted on him to defeat him in Mount Weather.
The lack of marks shocked her. She had no idea why, but she winced. If it were anyone else, they would have looked much better without the ugly marks, but the ragged scars were part of what made him him, and it was hard for her to comprehend that he no longer had them. She had no idea how such a thing was even possible, and could only guess that it was a direct result of the DNA fusion that Oblivion had performed on him.
At least the tattoos were familiar. He had been given them by the grounders, in an early encounter with the Qinta warrior who would later bring him into their cult.
The man had believed him to be what the grounders called 'Naja', a prophesised warrior possessing extraordinary abilities that came down from the sky and fought battles both for and against the clans, one who would ultimately liberate them from their greatest enemy.
The tattoos on his chest were remarkably similar to Lincoln's, though a little larger and more angular while the ones on his back were a larger and more intricate copy of the front, running horizontally just underneath his shoulders, before angling sharply down either side of his spine, stopping at the small of his back. Twin jagged criss-crossing lines ran on the outside of the main vertical markings.
Sharp semi-circles were infused on each side of him, their sharply curving ends nudging the top of his hips while two more lines ran down the inside of his arms.
On his left shoulder was a much smaller design, one Octavia had never seen before. It was of two semi circles, though these ones were in opposition, the ends running inside each other. She wondered if he had given it to himself, and if so, what it represented.
His body itself was highly muscular, but in a totally different way to others such as Lincoln. While Lincoln was tall and broad, with muscles upon muscles, Aerrow was probably half his size and even more toned. He lacked any body fat whatsoever – a consequence of both his malnourishment in solitary and a naturally athletic physique further enhanced by Oblivion. Worryingly though he was even leaner than she had ever seen. He looked practically emaciated, no doubt due to his time alone in the wilderness.
"You done staring?" he asked sharply, breaking her out of her thoughts.
She snapped her eyes away guiltily. "Sorry, I-" she stumbled for an explanation, blood rising to her cheeks at the unspoken accusation in his eyes.
"How long was I out for?" She changed the topic.
The ice in his eyes lingered, fading only slightly as he looked away and pinned his shoulders back, trying to relieve some of the tension that had been built up from his night on the floor.
"Just the night." he answered quietly. "Fortunately the scout didn't hit anything vital."
Nodding mutely, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but the pain was too great and a squeal of agony escaped her. Panting, she forced herself to settle her weight back on the mattress.
Aerrow was at her side in an instant.
"Hey, take it easy, ok." He told her as he helped her lean against the wall the bed was up against. "Just because it could have been worse doesn't mean you weren't lucky not to be bleed out. Don't be in such a hurry to get back on your feet, it'll do more harm than good."
"Yeah... lucky..." She muttered before she found her eyes drawn back to his. They were softer now, full of concern.
"Thank you." She said genuinely, placing her hand over his.
Indignation flashed across his eyes before suddenly he averted them. Avoiding eye contact, he gave her a single, slow nod, before looking down at the floor and retreating back into himself.
Octavia simply stared at him, confused. She had no idea why he was so sad. She reached forward and gently brushed his cheek with the back of her palm. He looked up at her again, surprise etched faintly in his features.
"I never thought I'd see you again." She said quietly.
Aerrow winced slightly at her words. Ever since he had found her, and especially since she had woken, he had been fighting desperately to keep his emotions hidden. He couldn't let her see what he was, who he had become, and he definitely couldn't let her know of the feelings that had been racing inside his head ever since his forearm had accidently brushed her breasts the night before.
He took a slightly shaky breath.
"Likewise." The words barely got out of his mouth.
The two stared at each other in silence.
"But I'm happy I did." They spoke at exactly the same time, and both caught themselves immediately afterwards.
The silence was deafening until they both finally realised it: they had found each other again! And both threw their arms around each other in an embrace not borne of lovers, but of the closest of friends.
Aerrow was momentarily overcome. He had no idea what to do, he had gone so long without an embrace such as this, but Octavia's warm touch reminded him of how much he had missed it, and finally, he wrapped his arms even tighter around her and pulled her close against him.
"I missed you." Octavia whispered in his ear, allowing his strong embrace to whisk away her anger and her memories of the previous day.
"I missed you too." Aerrow whispered back as he buried his face in her hair, months of unshed tears carefully disguised.
It felt so good to be back around someone he knew, someone he recognised, someone who wouldn't judge him for who he was. Octavia was all of these things and more. The thought washed faintly through his mind that he shouldn't be allowing this to happen, shouldn't be allowing himself to feel again, but he forced it away. In that moment, all he was focussed on was reconnecting with the girl in his arms
"Am I interrupting something here." A soft and sharp female voice called out from behind them. The two separated immediately, and Octavia turned to see an unfamiliar grounder standing casually in the door to the room, a slightly amused look on her face.
Unsure of what to make of her presence, Octavia retreated shyly, pressing her back firmly against the wall and pulling the vest tighter across her front.
"No, sorry." Aerrow said as he got back to his feet and walked over to the grounder woman. "Octavia, this is Oceana." He introduced as he gestured to the dainty looking woman. "She's letting us stay here until you've healed."
"Th- Thanks" Octavia started somewhat awkwardly, suddenly feeling vulnerable and out of place.
"Your friend did a good job patching you up." Oceana said, her voice tinged with the harsh accent of the Ice Nation. "You're lucky to be alive."
"So I've been told." Octavia replied, glancing at Aerrow. Aerrow took no notice of the glance. He was looking elsewhere, deep in thought.
Oceana asked Octavia several more questions about her wound and where she was in pain, before placing a basket of bread beside her and turning to Aerrow.
"May I speak with you alone." She requested.
He looked decidedly uncomfortable at her question and sent a furtive glance back at Octavia.
The dark haired girl shook her head. "Go, I'll be fine, I'm sure this little lady will keep me safe." She nodded her head at Cleo as the Lace Monitor casually crawled up onto the bed, flopping lazily in the valley between her shins.
Her comment did not seem to ease Aerrow's discomfort, but in the end he acquiesced with a nod to Oceana and the two exited the room, leaving her alone with the Lace Monitor.
Though there was still a harsh ache in her side, a sudden growling from her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in almost a day, and her hands went to the crusty bread at her side.
On breaking it apart, Cleo immediately shot to attention and her reptilian head whirled around to stare hungrily at the bread.
Octavia raised an eyebrow at the lizard's antics. "No, not for you." She jabbed a finger towards her.
The lizard did not blink.
"Listen here, you little fatty." Octavia dropped her voice conspiratorially, "I missed you too, but you weren't stabbed yesterday. I didn't think your type even ate this stuff anyway…"
Cleo's mouth opened slightly and a faint hiss escaped. She raised herself up and made to jump for the bread in her hands, but Octavia's reflexes were faster.
"Hey! What did I just tell you?" she accused.
Unperturbed, the Lace Monitor tried again, only this time Octavia quickly raised one of her knees, sending the lizard flying unceremoniously off the side of the bed where she crashed in an indignant heap on the ground.
Octavia scoffed at the insulted look on the lizard's face.
"Serves you right…"
She trailed off as her gaze returned to the doorway Aerrow had left though, her lips falling as she pondered the downtrodden demeanour he'd presented.
She sent a sad look back to the plump Lace Monitor. "Good to see at least one of you has been taking care of themselves…"
…
"How is she?" Oceana asked as they entered the main hall of the building.
Following her, Aerrow shrugged. "She'll live."
Oceana turned around and sent him a piercing look. "You said she was attacked by warriors from my clan. I would like to know why."
Aerrow held her accusing stare. "So would I." he said lowly. "I'll ask her when I go back in."
"I hope you understand the risk I am taking by allowing two Sky People to stay here. Your truce is new and fragile, and my people are not as easily accepting as Trikru." She said in a staccato snap, words fast and firm.
Aerrow's eyes hardened. "I'm no Sky Person." He growled. "And believe me, I understand the risk you're taking, and am grateful to you for doing so. Your kindness will not go unthanked, I promise."
Her face softening, she sent him a wry smirk. "As long as you don't smash any more of my mirrors, you are welcome to stay."
Aerrow grimaced, swiveling his head to look at the shards of glass still adorning the ground. Subconsciously, he moved his hand behind his back. "Sorry…"
"Let me see your hand." Oceana said suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. "Glass such as that does not break mercifully."
Aerrow shook his head. "I'm fine."
Oceana scoffed. "You're an awful liar. I was awake long after yourself. You have not moved from her side while your blood stained my floor, now let me see."
Without asking permission, she grabbed his hand from behind him and held it up in front of her, taking in the faded trails of red still streaking across his hand, along with the dozen or so tiny glass shards at their roots.
"Jok branwada hef." She spat in trig, and Aerrow winced at her insult.
He let her drag him to the front of the building where she sat him down on a stool in the morning sunlight filtering through a side window. She moved to the sturdy wooden bench on the opposite side of the room. A few shuffled draws later she returned carrying a second stool along with a bottle and a rusted pair of tweezers.
"You might want to bite down on something." Was all the warning she gave before she dipped the tweezers in the bottle briefly, then upended it over his hand.
Aerrow's muscles clenched at what was evidently some primitive form of alcohol being poured over his open cuts, but that was the only reaction he gave.
Oceana settled down in front of him and began gently prying the shards from his hand. She glanced up at him in concern when he again gave no outward reaction beyond a slight tightening around his eyes.
"Just get it done." He scowled, resolutely looking away.
Oceana hesitated a moment before resuming her work, diligently removing the glass piece by piece and setting it on a clay tile at her feet.
"Why did you do it?" She asked, this time her voice soft and quiet.
Aerrow's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "Accident."
Oceana pulled the tweezers away from his hand and cocked her head to the side, eyebrow raised in accusation. She remained silent until Aerrow was forced to look at her.
"I saw the whole thing, remember. A punch like that was no accident."
Aerrow let out a heavy sigh and dropped his head into his uninjured hand. "My reflection and I… aren't friends." He offered vaguely.
He glanced back at her as her eyes narrowed with something verging on sympathy.
"Few are." She replied simply. "I don't know of anyone that fully accepts the truths shown to them by their only visage. I have to ask though, what do you hate so much about yours?"
Aerrow gave no response. His eyes hardened and his upper lip curled angrily.
"It isn't mine."
Fresh blood began to run from his hand as he squeezed it tightly.
"Hey!" Oceana said gently, laying her own hand on his wrist in an attempt to calm him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Aerrow glared down at his fist, and slowly forced the fingers to open. "It doesn't matter." He muttered, "Do you have any other mirrors?"
Oceana frowned. "One or two. Why?"
He looked at her sadly. "You might want to cover them up."
Her frown deepened. "Why would I do that?"
When he looked back at her, she froze at the look of fear on his face as it drained of colour.
"Because I don't know what I'll do if I see her looking back at me again."
She had no response to that. She could only watch, motionless, as he snatched the tiny dagger from her waist and slashed it across the back of his palm. With shaking fingers, he pulled the final shard of glass from his flesh by hand, tossed it aside and returned to the bedroom.
…
Octavia had just finished the last of the bread – much to Cleo's irritation – when Aerrow walked back through the door, and she immediately straightened. She relaxed only slightly when she saw Oceana had not followed.
"What did she want to talk about?" She asked.
"The same thing I want to." He answered as he sat on the side of the bed, one hand hidden behind him.
Leaning forward, he fixed her with a serious look. "Why did those scouts want to kill you?" He asked pointedly, "The Ice Nation can be ruthless, but they wouldn't attack you without reason."
"I don't know." Octavia replied quickly, wincing slightly at the memories from the previous day, "They thought I was looking for someone, Wanheda."
"Wanheda?" Aerrow's voice was immediately more focussed, and he straightened his head to stare directly at her.
"You know who that is?" Octavia inquired.
He narrowed his eyes and turned away from her slowly. "No." He answered distantly, "I've only heard rumours. The 'Great Wanheda'"
"The Commander of Death." Octavia translated.
"Mountain Slayer." Aerrow echoed somewhat apprehensively, as if he was afraid of speaking the words.
"Wait, Mountain Slayer?"
Now it was Octavia's turn to be interested. Cogs shifted and turned inside her head, piecing the information together. "You don't think the grounders are referring to Mount Weather do you?"
Aerrow shrugged. "I don't know. It's the only Mountain I know of, but no one slayed Mount Weather, that was-" He cut himself off, realising.
Octavia was thinking the same thing.
"But the grounders don't know about Oblivion..." She said slowly, "They only know about the Sky People. What if they're looking for one of us?"
She turned to face him, only to find him staring at her with a look of abstract horror on his face.
"Octavia, you defeated me, and Oblivion." He said seriously, "In doing so, you defeated the Mountain. What if they're after you?"
"It wouldn't make sense." She replied, shaking her head in dismissal, "They'd have recognised me if that was the case. Besides, if that logic was true, they'd have no reason to want me dead-"
This time Octavia cut herself off as her own words reminded her of something, and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. She could tell by the look on Aerrow's face that he was thinking the same thing.
The grounders had never wanted her dead.
"What if they're after you?" She told him, voice laced with dread.
Aerrow gave no answer, he simply continued staring at her, a look of worry on his face.
