This Black Blood is Without End

by FlyUpInSky

Post ep.3x06, Lexa and Clarke are united in their love and their mission for peace. However, all is not as it seems, as a traitor works to destroy their plans, the consequences of which cast Lexa's soul on a journey back to an alternate time and reality. Some things change, but destiny is always the same. Can Lexa stop the evil which stalks mankind and find her soulmate once more?

19. Trust the Dawn

This Black Blood is Without End

Chapter 18 – Trust the Dawn

"Is that what it's like for you every morning here?"

She turned when she heard Clarke's curious voice, her tone low and rough in that special way which never failed to set Lexa's heart racing. The large doors to her chamber had just closed behind the last of her servants and Clarke now regarded her from across the room with an amused expression. While she had waited in the small adjacent washroom and donned her own clothes, Lexa had summoned her personal attendants to bring her clean clothing and re-do the complicated braids in her hair. The two older women had much practice at the task and were used to their Heda being impatient and in a hurry, and so it had taken them less than ten minutes to tame her wild brown locks into something more befitting her station. She had dismissed them immediately afterwards, feeling unusually aware of the rumpled state of her furs and the hidden presence of the Skaikru Ambassador just a few feet away.

Seeing Clarke standing there now beside her bed, watching her with those knowing blue eyes, Lexa had to struggle to resist the urge to cross the room and pull the other woman back into her arms. Clarke was once more fully dressed in the clothes she had hastily discarded that night, and she found herself already missing the intimacy of bared skin against skin.

"They are the Commander's personal servants. It is their duty to assist me with many things here in Polis, but I do not usually require their help every morning," she replied, a soft smile tracing the corners of her own lips as she walked over to reclaim her overcoat from where it still hung against the back of a chair. The dark coat was the only piece of clothing she had managed not to toss onto the floor in her haste to shed her own clothes when they had first entered her room that night. As she pulled it on now, it was almost as though she could feel the physical weight of all her responsibilities settling back onto her shoulders, but she refused to let thoughts of what waited for her outside this room dampen her current good mood.

She lifted her eyes to meet Clarke's, shrugging slightly and sharing a genuine smile.

"It is something I have grown used to."

Clarke shook her head gently, still smiling, her eyebrows knitting together in what looked like consternation, or perhaps amazement.

"When I first met you, I could never have imagined all of… this," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. She waved her arm as if to encompass not only the room they stood in, but everything beyond as well. "Nothing has been at all like I expected."

Lexa thought back to their first meeting, and as she did so, it felt as though years had passed since then instead of mere months. She had met her as an enemy in a camp of war, surrounded by her army and wearing her weapons and war paint, her most trusted advisors at her side. They had come so very far since that moment… and in so many different ways.

"Polis?" Lexa asked, encouraging her to continue

She knew she shouldn't linger… That there were many duties awaiting her attention and it was well past time for her to depart, but she was intrigued by the blonde's choice in topic. Though she was not yet willing to let the conversation drop and take her leave, Lexa forced herself to maintain the physical distance between them and ignored the growing need she felt to be at her side. As difficult as it had been for them to leave the seductive warmth of her bed just minutes before, she didn't yet trust herself to be near the other woman and not touch her.

It was strange, this feeling of not being able to fully control her own thoughts and actions. Even with Costia she had never felt this overwhelmed, this consumed by another person's mere presence. Strange… and exhilarating at the same time

"Polis, your people… My people… And you."

Clarke had sounded a little sad when she mentioned her own people, no doubt thinking of the massacre they had recently committed, but that sadness had disappeared into a delighted smile at the mention of Lexa. Unable to bear it a moment longer, she gave in to the urge to approach her, closing the short distance between them with several slow steps. Reaching down, she slipped her hand around Clarke's, lacing their fingers tightly together. Clarke's gaze never wavered from hers and her breath caught at the look she saw in them. In an instant she was reminded again of all they had shared that night and morning, and of how much it had changed things forever between them.

They kissed… Soft, sweet, the meeting of their lips as inevitable as the sun rising that morning had been. Clarke's free hand rose to cup the side of her face, and for several long moments the two women remained lost in each other once more, all thoughts of their conversation and the world outside drifting away like smoke. The moment their kiss began to slip from tender to hungry and Clarke's hands tightened around the collar of her stiff coat, drawing her nearer, Lexa pulled away with a gasp and fought to regain her senses, lips pressed together in a fierce smile that threatened to break into laughter.

"Now I really must go… Titus will be expecting me."

Clarke frowned, the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval at the mention of the dour Fleimkepa, her hands untangling from Lexa's collar and sliding down to rest on her shoulders briefly before dropping to her sides. Lexa's own hands had somehow found the other woman's waist, and she released her with some reluctance.

"I think I'm starting to dislike that man just as much as he dislikes me," Clarke muttered, regarding her thoughtfully. The words may have been delivered in a low growl, but the blonde girl's lips twitched in amusement after she finished speaking, and Lexa merely shook her head, still smiling.

"He will learn to trust you as I do."

Clarke said nothing at that, but Lexa caught the fleeting expression of distrust that passed across her face. She remembered their conversation that evening – the one which had led to their second kiss and all the blissful ones that had quickly followed – and knew Clarke was not entirely joking when she spoke of disliking the older man. She leaned in and let their lips brush together softly once more, lingering for another long, delicious moment, then stepped back and turned towards the door.

"We can speak more of him and your other concerns later if you like, Clarke, but for now… I must return to my duties."

Reaching the door, her hand had just met the handle to pull it open when the other woman's voice calling her name arrested her movement completely.

"Lexa?"

She loved it when Clarke used her name… Savored it each time as though it were the softest caress. She turned and met her eyes across the room, and what she saw for the briefest moment in Clarke's expression made her heart fill almost to breaking. Neither spoke for several long seconds as they regarded each other, the intervening space of several feet yawning far too wide and distant between them. Clarke opened her mouth as though to say something, then closed it, her guarded eyes revealing glimpses of the conflicted turmoil within.

Lexa smiled, lifting her chin in acknowledgement of the unspoken words, understanding the other woman's complex thoughts and feelings in that special way they had always understood each other, right from the very start.

"We will see each other again soon, Clarke," she reassured her gently, though no reassurance had been asked for out loud. The promise was spoken so softly that she would later wonder if she had even been able to hear her at all.

Pulling her eyes away and turning back to the door, Lexa opened it in a swift movement and stepped confidently through, allowing herself only one quick backwards glance as she did so. Her eyes caught the sweep of the door as it swung silently shut behind her, and Clarke's face disappeared from her view…

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Lexa's eyes opened.

For a moment the darkness was so complete around her that she almost wasn't certain whether her eyes were truly open or not. Slowly, the dim confines of the underground vault's main chamber came into focus, and she sat unmoving for several long seconds, her mind still lost in the warm, tangled webs of her dream. Her last words to Clarke whispered through her ears as though they had just been spoken in the far distance, their echo carried to her on the backs of the soft shadows which now surrounded her on all sides. She took a deep breath and held it, and on its release she felt her throat catch around the exhalation, the resulting sound ragged and raw with the sadness she normally couldn't allow herself to show. Against her side, Aden's warm form shifted slightly, then settled again, his sleep no doubt disturbed by her sudden tension, and Lexa forced herself to tear her thoughts away from the tantalizing memory of the dream and be still, calm, and present in the current moment once more. As she did, she realized that Miller was no longer bracketing her on her other side, and her eyes worked to search him out amongst the indistinct, sprawled forms of their companions.

He was not far. In fact, he appeared to be standing at the base of the ladder which led up to the surface in the center of the room, his head tilted back as he stared upwards. Easing carefully away from Aden so that he would not fall without her supporting shoulder, Lexa slid aside and gained her feet, her legs and backside stiff, numb and complaining from the awkwardness of sleeping against the cold concrete. By necessity, any true warrior of the Clans quickly learned the knack for sleeping in just about any situation, but Lexa wasn't too proud to admit to herself that at least a small part of her did miss some of the benefits that being the Commander had provided. She had never complained about the necessity of being surrounded by guards, servants, and various attendants, but then she had never felt greatly attached or dependent on them either. Now, after having spent days among the abandoned Skaikru delinquents, who lacked even the most basic of creature comforts on the best of days, her relatively brief time spent ruling the Coalition from her tower in Polis seemed quite luxurious in comparison. With her dream having brought those memories to the front of her mind, a part of her was extremely glad that they would not be spending another night in this damp, depressing place.

Miller glanced over at her as she approached, his face unreadable in the dark. She stood beside him for a quiet moment and listened to the storm rumble past up above.

"It's getting quieter," he said when she didn't speak, his words soft in the darkness so as not to wake the others. "Sounds like the worst might have passed."

"And it will be dawn soon, if it isn't already. We should wake the others and get them ready to leave," she said, agreeing with his assessment that the storm did sound much less ferocious than it had earlier. It was difficult to keep track of time down here in the still darkness of the forgotten vault, but the sooner they left after the storm's passage, the safer they would be. Any Reapers in the area would have also gone to ground during the storm, and they would be wise to take advantage of that to get back to the dropship unseen.

"We'll need to hand out the guns," he reminded her, and she felt her face go even more cold and impassive at the thought of the weapons stacked in the nearby corner.

"And if they are going to carry a gun, we should probably make sure they know how to carry it properly… Not to mention how to shoot it," he added.

The "we" in his statement startled her. Clearly he assumed that she knew about firearms, and Lexa felt a moment of unease as she wondered whether or not Miller and the others expected her to be able to teach all of them how to operate the deadly contraptions. Searching her new memories of life on the Ark, she strained to remember anything that might be of use… Did Lexa Black know how to use firearms? She didn't know, and not knowing disconcerted her. Unused to feeling inadequate to a task – especially one that involved the use of a killing weapon – Lexa swallowed down the sudden uncertainty that had sprung up from somewhere deep within at the thought.

"Those weapons are dangerous," she said cautiously, once it became clear that he was waiting for her response, her cool voice and demeanor giving none of her inner thoughts away. "They need to be handled carefully."

"My dad always said that it was people who were dangerous, not the guns themselves," Miller remarked, his voice contemplative. "Of course, he's worked for Ark Security his whole life, so he's more comfortable with them than most people."

"Your father is a guard?" she asked, the question sparking a memory even as she asked it. Not a memory from her life as Lexa Black, however. Rather, she recalled someone she had met several times during the campaign against Mount Weather, and she realized all at once that she might actually know Miller's father. A brave man, she remembered, if it was indeed the same man… He had charged the fortified vault door under heavy fire, nearly dying in the attempt to reach it. He had spoken more than once of needing to save his son, and she knew now that he had been speaking of Nate Miller, held captive with the rest of Clarke's people in the Mountain.

"Yeah," he replied dryly, "and he just loved finding out he had a thief for a son… It was a huge embarrassment for him when I got caught. I'm sure he's still pissed about it."

Lexa again thought back to what little she knew of his father and found that she wasn't sure she agreed. The man had clearly loved his son unconditionally, criminal or not. She wondered if they had been reunited in her own time, and was disturbed to realize that she would likely never know for certain one way or another. It was not something she had ever asked Clarke about. For all she knew, Miller had been one of those who had perished in the Mountain before Clarke could save them all. Did she have a portion of his blood on her hands as well? Another unseen consequence of her act of betrayal on that terrible night?

To distract herself from her own depressing thoughts, Lexa asked him what else his father had taught him about firearms. As it turned out, the answer was a great deal. In fact, Miller seemed to know a lot about the weapons, and so it was with a sense of relief that she tasked him with training the others.

"It doesn't look like we have a lot of time, so just teach them the basics," she advised.

"The basics it is, then. I can handle that no problem," he said, a small, sly grin on his face. In his own quiet way, he sounded excited by the prospect of getting to use the rifles he had found. She wished she could share his excitement, but instead only felt a weary dread at the prospect of so many dangerous weapons in the hands of inexperienced, frightened Skaikru teenagers, though she still knew it was necessary.

She watched as Miller immediately left her side to begin the task of rousing the others from their sleep. The more she got to know this young man, the more correct he proved her initial assessment of him as someone who was both clever and capable. On top of this, he also possessed the stomach for violent practicality when it was needed, which made him even more valuable to her. Miller was quickly becoming someone among the young Sky People whom she felt she could truly depend on, and he wasn't the only one.

Surprised by that last realization, Lexa felt a bit amazed by how quickly she was coming to like, and in some cases even slightly admire, many of Clarke's people.

With friends like these, no wonder Clarke was so willing to sacrifice everything to save them…

Lexa remained where she was as the others slowly rose from their makeshift beds, looking upwards along the ladder once again and blinking when drops of water trickled down from one of the lower rungs and splashed against her upturned face. A small puddle had formed at the base of the ladder from rainwater that had been able to find its way inside. As powerful as the storm had sounded, she worried briefly about what state the camp would be in when they returned. She was anxious to climb and lift the hatch to see with her own eyes what damage the unusual storm had wrought, but she resisted the urge, instead crossing over to where Aden and Jones still slept against the wall.

"Aden," she said, gently shaking his shoulder, smiling a bit to herself when the boy groaned under her touch and shifted away. He had never been quick to rise on the Ark either, she suddenly recalled, and experience a strange split within her mind as at the same moment she wondered if he had always been the last to rise in the Natblida dormitory in their tower in Polis as well. Young teenaged boys, no matter the circumstances, it seemed, did not wake easily. She shook him a bit more firmly, raising her voice a little and repeating his name. This time his eyes snapped open and sought out hers in the dim light, awareness filling him quickly as he took in his unusual surroundings and remembered where he was.

"Time to rise, little brother…" she said, a hint of humor in her voice, and she saw him smile lopsidedly at her teasing reference to the familial bond they shared in this strange life they were now living.

"The storm has passed, and we've a busy dawn ahead of us."

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Raindrops fell with fat, heavy splats against the leaves overhead in a calming, meditative rhythm, and the flooded stream of water rolling past the cave entrance continued to shrink, its rushing, gurgling tempo slowing with every second that passed. When Clarke stepped out from the darkness of the cave, her eyes immediately adjusted to the dim morning light that struggled over a horizon still ladened with heavy gray clouds. Though the rain continued to fall and a light breeze still stirred the trees, the worst of it had clearly passed and the air no longer held the threatening, chaotic edge it had held since the storm's arrival many hours before. Martek joined her a moment later, his eyes sweeping left and right as he took in the damage to the surrounding forest. Just from the single vantage where they stood at the mouth of the cave, they could both see several trees which had been toppled by the incredibly powerful winds, and the forest canopy looked strangely patched and tattered all around them. In Martek's hands, he held the chains which still bound the Trikru warrior in his shackles, and the Azgeda tracker yanked sharply, pulling the slightly larger man out from the shadows of the cave behind him.

His eyes met Clarke's, and he didn't try to conceal his worry.

"Are you sure this is wise?" he asked, shifting his glance to their prisoner, who was soon to become their guide. The question was not asked in challenge. Rather, it was asked respectfully, his concern clear in his soft, careful voice.

Clarke considered his words for a moment, battling the exhaustion she was feeling and trying not to become even more frustrated with their situation than she already was. Bellamy's condition had not improved, as she had known it wouldn't, and there simply wasn't time for hours spent in rigorous debate on how best to proceed. If they wanted to save the prince's life, they needed to take action quickly, and every additional second spent in discussion physically pained her. However, she also knew she would need Martek's help if this plan was to succeed, so she shoved away her fatigue and annoyance and decided to give him simple honesty.

"No, I'm not sure… But this is what must be done. It's the only possible way to save him, and besides… Octavia says she trusts him. What other choice do we have?"

Their captive – Lincoln, he had said his name was – watched them with focused, intelligent eyes as they spoke, his gaze missing nothing. Martek glanced over at the man whose chains he still held and scowled, distrust clear in his darkly tanned face.

"Trust has nothing to do with it," he said, lowering his voice and stepping closer so that his words were for her ears only, slipping into the Skaibona slang to make it harder for the other man to easily understand. "This man considers us his enemy… It was his poisoned knife that cut the prince. He would say anything he needed to say in order to save his own life, and he knows we would say anything we needed to say in order to convince him to help us. I watched his eyes when you told him that we are here to negotiate a peace treaty between our people… Whatever he might say, he doesn't actually believe us. The first chance he gets he will either try to escape, or try to kill us both. Surely you know this?"

Clarke looked over at Lincoln, her eyes taking in his fierce musculature and warrior's physique. The heavy iron shackles and chains on his wrists should have made her feel more secure in his company, but she knew all too well that someone as deadly as him could easily turn those very chains into weapons to be used against them. As long as he was conscious and up on his own two feet, the man was dangerous. Martek was right… Whatever Octavia's feelings about her former captor, they would still be foolish to blindly trust him to lead them to the cure.

"We don't have a choice. If he tries to escape, then you and I will just have to be enough to stop him… And once we have the antidote, we won't need him any longer."

"And that's yet another problem," Martek added, seeming unconvinced. "What guarantee do we have that he will give us the true antidote when we get there and not just more of his poisons?

"We have me. I've seen this antidote before… We won't need to trust his word. I'll be able to identify it, don't worry about that," she said with confidence, feeling certain that it was true. The immediate events which had led to her imprisonment over six months before were emblazoned with crystalline clarity in her memories. After risking so much to possess it, it would have taken a lot more than bad food and a few months in a cell for her to forget how this particular medicine had looked and smelled. Once Lincoln led them to his supplies, if the antidote was there, she would be able to find it.

Martek still seemed worried, his brow deeply furrowed as he considered her. He glanced at the prisoner once more, a darker expression taking over his face as he stared at him that seemed at odds with the cheerful, pleasant countenance she normally knew him to wear. It was the face an enemy would see glaring back at them in battle, not the face of a friend. All at once, Clarke was reminded of the fact that she really knew very little about this warrior and his twin sister.

"Clarke… I've fought against Trikru before. Many times. What their Clan lacks in numbers, they make up for in trickery. They don't fight like Azgeda, like the Skaibona. They don't fight like honorable warriors... Not if they can help it. Trickery, traps, disease, poisons… This is how they win, how they survive. For all we know, this could just be another trap to lure us further into his territory… I ask you, what do we do then?"

Clarke met his gaze steadily. She knew the stakes were high, their chances of success slim. This was not a plan she would have willingly embraced under usual circumstance, but the brutally pragmatic part of her told her that they didn't have any other choice. Either Lincoln would lead them to the cure, or Bellamy – her friend and Octavia's brother, and the last living prince of the Sky Born – would die, and any chance of peace between their people would be destroyed before the seed had even had a chance to be planted. Their friends encamped and waiting nearby would likely be discovered, if they hadn't been already, and with Echo leading them Clarke didn't doubt that many would die. Her resolve hardened, and her steely blue eyes met his brown ones in a look that clearly showed the measure of her commitment.

"Then we kill him."

She said the words loud enough that their prisoner could easily hear her, and she put all of her unflinching determination into her voice as she spoke. Martek leaned back slightly as her words filled the air between them and hung there, heavy with promise, then nodded slowly, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth, his eyes regarding her with a newfound respect. Though all Azgeda were taught the basics of fighting as matter of necessity, he knew she was no warrior. Perhaps he had feared that as a trained healer, she would not willingly kill another, and that her reluctance might put them both at risk. If so, then her harsh words had just put those fears somewhat to rest.

"Very well," he said, "We best be leaving, then."

Clarke nodded in turn, and Martek pulled the prisoner further out and away from the cave. Just as he did so, Octavia and Riva appeared, coming to stand next to Clarke and watching as Lincoln and the Skaibona warrior began to pick their way down the ravine with the prisoner leading the way.

"Make him drink water whenever he wakes up, and if you can, get him to drink some of that tea I left you… It's important you keep him hydrated and cool. His fever is going to keep getting worse until he gets the antidote, but he's strong... If it's as close as Lincoln claims, we should be back in plenty of time."

As Clarke recited her instructions for the second time, she realized she was repeating herself from earlier and forced herself to stop. The two women knew what to do. With her twisted ankle still slowing her down, Octavia was forced to stay behind and take care of Bellamy as best she could until they returned with the antidote. Riva had wanted to go with her brother, but after some discussion Clarke had been able to convince her to remain as well. Martek was best capable of physically handling and subduing their prisoner should he try something, and besides, Octavia would need help constructing a litter to carry the wounded Bellamy. Also, if the cave came under attack, Riva would be their only real defense, and if they were forced to make a run for it, she would be the one best able to lead them back to their own people swiftly and unseen. Everyone knew their part of the plan, but she couldn't help the worry and doubt that now assaulted her after Martek's warnings. Visions of her father dying on her mother's healing table raced through her mind, and she worked to banish the image, knowing that she needed to stay grounded in the present moment, not lost in memories of past failures and heartache.

"We've got it, Clarke… Just get your ass moving already and bring back that cure, okay?" Octavia growled, her eyes flashing under dark brows.

She nodded, then turned to Riva.

"If we're not back by sunset…"

"Then we leave your ass behind, but we're not going to have to do that, because you're going to be back here in just a couple hours with that damn cure!" Octavia interrupted, stepping between them now, impatience and genuine concern warring in her voice. "Clarke, we know the plan. Just get moving, okay? Bellamy needs… I need… Whatever it takes, you've got to get that antidote, alright? Oh, and don't die."

Clarke couldn't stop the small smile that formed on her lips at this, despite the situation and her own anxiety. She shared a look with the tracker, and the woman nodded silently to her, an understanding passing between them. Riva knew what she was doing in these woods. She would look after the younger girl and keep her out of trouble.

"Well… alright. We'll be back soon, then," she said, and turned from the two young women to follow after Martek and Lincoln, who were now nearly twenty feet ahead of her further down the ravine.

As she joined the two men, she only glanced back once towards the cave, and when she did so, she saw nothing but the black darkness of the empty cavern mouth staring back at her. Turning back again to the slowly brightening horizon, Clarke took another determined step forward to meet the dawn and her fate…

… Whatever they both might bring.

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"What do you think?" Aden whispered, his young voice soft in her ear where they crouched together in the lush, green undergrowth, a slow, light drizzle of rain still splattering the leaves and branches around them and plastering their wet hair to the foreheads. Lexa didn't speak for several moments, but continued to study the muddy ground in front of them, her brows furrowed in concentration. She was exceptionally skilled at tracking, but even the poorest tracker of her Clan would have had no difficulty spotting this trail in the forest. After the heavy rain brought down by the storm that evening, the ground was soft and wet, and created easy tracks to follow no matter how carefully one stepped. Before them were three sets of prints in the mud, all forming a single trail that first drifted in front of, then turned and angled off to the right of the deer path Lexa and the other young Sky People were currently following.

A few muttered voices behind them rose slowly in volume and Lexa turned to look back at the teens who were similarly crouched in the bushes nearby. Seeing her glare, the offenders quickly closed their mouths and looked contrite, their eyes shying away from her accusatory gaze. They had only been traveling away from the underground vault for less than an hour, and already she had been forced to snarl at them for silence more than once.

Those damn weapons have made them too confident…

Each of the teens now clutched in their hands a black rifle loaded with a twenty round magazine, and the mood of the group had noticeably shifted from frightened of encountering Reapers, to a slight air of eagerness for violence that both pleased and worried her simultaneously. Clearly the kids felt much more confident about being outside in the forest now that they had such deadly weapons under their command, but that confidence had translated into more talking, joking, and generally making too much noise by her measure. Judging by these tracks, other people were almost certainly very nearby, and there was no way of knowing if they were a threat or not.

Anyone who isn't us is a threat, she reminded herself, Anya's lessons from her youth echoing in her mind.

Though she had never shared that particular bit of wisdom with Clarke, somehow she suspected that the other woman would have argued the point with her, perhaps by saying something like, "If you treat everyone as a threat, Lexa, then aren't you just forcing them to become one whether they wanted to or not?" … or something similar. No doubt she would have said it with that soft, challenging tone she used when she thought Lexa was being too inflexible, too narrow-minded, too bound by the violent and savage beliefs that had shaped her people for generations. The thought of the imagined argument between them made her want to smile, and she forced herself to focus back on the task at hand.

Lexa looked back down at the tracks, her eyes' attention caught by what looked to be a smaller pair of boots. Judging strictly from the size and depth of the different prints, she estimated that the people who had formed them were two men and one woman. The possibility of the third being a woman concerned her… Whether by choice or necessity, the Mountain Men did not make women into Reapers. Therefore, either these were the tracks of Trikru scouts patrolling the borders of their lands, or they were Reapers leading a female prisoner back to the Mountain. She felt a flash of brief concern that it might be one of their own taken from the dropship camp while they were gone, but a closer examination of the print allayed that concern. The treads of the strange footwear all of the Sky People wore were unique and vastly different from those of the Clans, leaving an imprint that was oddly uniform and easily distinguishable. Whoever she was, this woman was clearly not Skaikru, and neither apparently were the two men.

Regardless, the small group was clearly close by and Lexa didn't like not knowing who they were or what their intentions might be.

She still hadn't answered his earlier question and Aden continued to watch her patiently. Rather than say anything, Lexa instead turned back to the group, her eyes seeking out Miller. He and Jones were both crouched together nearby, each of the young men watching her with interest, and she motioned them both forward. Seeing Roma also nearby and steadily looking back at her, she beckoned the girl forward to join them as well. The older girl was one of the most physically fit of the bunch and had already proven herself once by saving Lexa's life. Plus, from what she had seen so far, she moved well in the forest and seemed to have a keen pair of eyes. She felt she could trust her to keep her head, stay quiet, and follow her instructions.

"What's the word, boss?" Jones whispered cheerfully once they were all huddled together, a wide grin stretching across the dark features of his face, his teeth flashing white in the gloom of the forest.

"Aden, Miller, I want you two to keep leading the rest of the group back to the dropship with the supplies as quickly and quietly as you can. Jones, Roma and I are going to follow these tracks for a little ways and see if we can't find out who they belong to," she informed them, and she felt the tension in the small group ratchet up a few notches as they took in her words.

"But… Heda," Aden started, a slight look of worry now stealing across his young, pale face, though it was beginning to show signs of a tan once more. In fact, all of the young Skaikru were starting to lose some of the unusual paleness of their space-born skin. "Earlier you said we'd be safest in a big group, that we shouldn't get separated. If these tracks are from Reapers…"

"Then we need to know whether or not they are on their way to lead an even bigger force against us," she interrupted, but without any bite in the words.

Lexa wasn't angry with him for questioning her. Rather, she appreciated his caution, as well as the fact that he was thinking both critically and tactically about their situation. It was true that she was taking a risk with this decision… but sometimes a leader needed to take risks or they could never hope to secure an advantage. Besides, something inside her insisted that these tracks were important. She needed to know who had made them, and why, and for reasons she couldn't clearly articulate. Normally she would have attributed this instinctual certainty as coming from the internal guidance of the Spirit inside her, and she would not have hesitated to follow it, but she wasn't sure she could claim such now. Not when it had been nothing but silent since she had died and been awoken here. Still, she was used to following her instincts, and they were all screaming at her to discover more about the source of these tracks.

"I agree with your brother," Miller added, the caution in his voice and the dark scruff which had sprouted up on his unshaven face making the young thief both look and sound older than his seventeen years. "When you've just scored big and gotten away with it, it's easy to want to ride the high and try to get even more, but that's exactly the kind of thinking that gets you caught… We got what we came out here for… Why go chasing after trouble now?"

"You're on the ground now, Miller," she said, standing to her full height and pulling free her sword from her back. "Trouble finds you here whether you want it to or not… Sometimes it's best to find it first and take it by surprise when you can."

She turned to Roma and Jones and the two stood as well, rifles clenched in their rain-soaked hands. Jones had threaded his axe through his belt, but Roma had been forced to leave her crude spear behind in the vault, unable to carry both that as well as her rifle and other supplies.

"Are you both with me?" she asked them simply, one elegant dark eyebrow arching in a way that somehow defied them to answer in the negative. They both nodded with a smile. Jones' smile was characteristically cheerful, while Roma's was a bit nervous, but they both seemed ready and willing to follow her. Quickly, she gave them her instructions – chiefly that they stay quiet and follow her lead, and only fire their weapons if they absolutely needed to – then turned back to Aden and Miller, leveling her confident gaze on both of them.

"Just keep them moving back to the dropship. Either we will follow you and catch up shortly, or we'll just make our way back on our own."

Aden nodded reluctantly, but Miller stood and stepped closer, his brows furrowed.

"Black, if you're going to do this, then at least take a gun for yourself."

Lexa looked down at the naked blade in her hand, then over at the extra weapons currently being carried by several of the larger teens. No one had raised an eyebrow when Aden didn't pick up a weapon for himself earlier. Despite his demonstrated skill and deadliness during the earlier battle, he was still quite young by their standards, and they all seemed strangely determined to willfully ignore just how dangerous he truly was. Perhaps it had seemed appropriate to most of them that such a young boy not be allowed to carry a rifle. When Lexa had also not picked up one of the weapons, however, more than a few eyebrows had been raised. When Miller had asked for her reasons, she had explained loudly that the quiet, sharp edge of her sword was more likely to be of immediate use in the dense forest than a rifle would. And besides, they all knew how deadly she was with her blade. Why waste ammo when a few cuts with a sword would do? After that, no one had said a word to her about her choice in weapons, their eyes drawn to the blood stains that still decorated many of their clothes from carrying away the dead bodies of the Reapers she had killed.

"As I said before, I don't need it, and there's no time to argue. We're going… Now," she ordered, her words a low but firm growl so as not to carry too far. "The rest of you get going back to camp… And Miller," she added, meeting his eyes, "Listen to Aden."

The young man nodded, then turned back to the others and gestured them onwards with a raised arm while Lexa and the others disappeared into the brush, following the tracks. He stepped to the front to join Aden, and he didn't miss the look of concern that the boy shot over his shoulder at his older sister's retreating back.

"She'll be alright," he reassured him softly, though he himself was worried and he wasn't sure he completely believed the words. "It would take more than just a few Reapers to kill your sister, I think."

Aden glanced up at him, a strangely feral and intense look in his blue eyes. Miller almost stepped back, reminded suddenly of how this young boy had stabbed and thrust fearlessly with his spear when the Reapers had attacked, helping his sister and Lincoln to kill and wound quite a few of the men before the battle was over.

"I am not afraid… Death is not the end," the boy said fervently, both the words themselves and something about the peculiar way he said them unsettling Miller even further. Aden turned and walked away, presumably leading them the quickest way back towards camp, and Miller and the others could do nothing but follow silently.

In the nearby brush, Lexa slid deeper into the forest with first Roma, then Jones following in a single file, their eyes darting in every direction at once and muscle's tensing at every rustle and snap of branches. After several long minutes of creeping stealthily forward, a flash of movement in the forest ahead caught Lexa's eye and she froze, the two behind her immediately following suit.

The shadows of three figures passed over a low ridge a short ways distant, sliding out of view on the other side almost as soon as they were spotted. The moment she saw them, the rain stopped suddenly and completely, as though a switch had been flipped.

Overhead, the clouds began to part.

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Lincoln knew they were being followed.

He stomped down in the mud, his boot leaving an obvious print on an open patch of ground lit by the sun that was now poking through the faltering clouds overhead, his neck stiff from resisting the urge to turn and look for their pursuers. The two Azgeda currently holding him prisoner had so far not seemed to notice that they were being stalked, and he was loathe to do anything that might give it away. Those following them, whoever they might be and whatever their intentions, were likely his best chance for escape.

His "companions" – a lean, quiet warrior with tawny brown hair, his face painted in a haunting mask of white, and the golden-haired healer who had earlier done most of the talking, and whom the others seemed to defer to despite her younger age – were both walking behind him and watching him with a wary intensity that he could feel between his shoulder blades. It was clear they didn't trust him, and likely part of the reason they had yet to notice their pursuers was because they were both so preoccupied with keeping a cautious eye on him. The warrior who held his chains seemed much more comfortable in the forest than the healer did, and he didn't doubt that the man was considered an accomplished woodsman by his own people in the Ice Nation. However, Lincoln had been born beneath these trees… He had been raised in their dappled shade, and the usual sounds of the forest had been his nursery rhymes. An Azgeda from the cold and rock-strewn lands to the north, no matter their skill, could never hope to reach his level of ability, which training and experience had honed to a sharp point somewhere between art and instinct.

Lincoln snapped a wet branch under his foot, the muffled crack of it just loud enough to carry through the trees. His fingers clenched around the chains that looped through the heavy metal cuffs on his wrists, his muscles tightening in preparation.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and just caught a glimpse of a distant shadow as it darted behind a tree several dozen paces back.

When they make their move, I'll make mine…

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Lexa worked to control her breathing as she ducked down into a crouch next to a large clumping of ferns, her hand outstretched behind her in a halting motion, signaling Jones and Roma to do the same. Her green eyes stared hard at the stretch of forest ahead of them, her vision straining to see any hint of movement. The sun was peeking out more frequently now, its light coming and going through the trunks and branches in a flicker that lit up patches of greenery for several long seconds before disappearing once more. It had her nervous and on edge. She would have much preferred that it had kept raining, as the darkness and constant sound would have helped to conceal their presence to those they followed. As it was, the damp, water-logged ground and leaves were nevertheless proving helpful in countering the occasional, bumbling missteps of the two young Skaikru she had brought with her. Slowly and painstakingly, over the course of an hour they had successfully worked their way closer to the three strangers whose trail they still followed, though she had yet to catch more than just swift, dark flashes of them through the trees.

After waiting several seconds, Lexa glanced back at her companions and motioned for them to follow her once more.

"We're close now," she whispered, and she saw them both tense even more at her words. "Stay quiet and step where I step."

She'd turned back to the trail and only taken a few paces when she heard the muffled snap of a branch ahead of them, and the sound made her freeze. It was closer than she had been expecting. In dense forests like these, it was all too easy to walk up on your prey earlier than you expected, especially if they had stopped. Her eyes immediately flew in the direction of the sound and her breath sucked in at what she saw.

It was Lincoln. His large form was unmistakable, his shaven head and the slash of his tattoos clearly visible and seeming to glow like a beacon in a shaft of bright sunlight. He was there, ahead of them in the forest, his head turning to look back along his trail. Though it was too far for their eyes to truly meet, Lexa still felt the impact of his gaze as though he were standing right in front of her. For a moment, her heart lifted in sudden relief.

The outline of two other forms appeared next to him, the pale gray of their leather and furs seeming oddly out of place next to Lincoln's dark woodland garb. The sun glinted and sparkled off his wrists. Propelled by instinct, Lexa darted behind the nearest tree, ducking down so that she couldn't be seen. Behind her, Jones and Roma each crouched down just as quickly, their eyes wide and trained on her.

He was chained…

Lincoln's wrists had been bound by iron shackles and chained. Despite the fact that she had only caught the briefest of glimpses through the trees, she was certain of it. And what was worse…

Azgeda.

The name of her oldest enemy was a snarl in her mind, and somewhere deep within her she felt the buried rage come to life, warming her from the inside out. Though she hadn't been able to see them clearly, there was no mistaking the color and style of their clothing, and the simple fact that they were holding Lincoln prisoner was almost proof enough. As her own beloved people of the Woods Clan existed in this world, so too apparently did the Ice Nation, and undoubtable they were just as ruthless, deceitful, and bent on domination here as they had been in her own reality. Lexa felt her anger twist her stomach and her hand clenched around her sword hilt as she fought to control her emotions, the knuckles bone-white.

A dozen thoughts raced through her mind in quick succession. The burned and abandoned village she and Aden had discovered… Had that been simple misfortune? The evil work of the Mountain Men and their monstrous pets? Or had it in fact been an Azgeda war party that killed them all and set fire to their homes? Were they sworn enemies of Trigeda, or was there another reason they had taken Lincoln prisoner? For that matter, how had they managed to capture him, and when?

More importantly, how in the name of all the spirits could she ever hope to make peaceful negotiations with Trikru without Lincoln?

Lexa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, banishing her overcrowded thoughts with a swift burst of will. A calm stole over her, and with it a sense of crystal clear purpose that seemed to shine brightly in her mind, leading her down the only path of action that was truly available to her. Certainty filled her and she opened her eyes, finding Jones and Roma still there before her, both ready and waiting.

Only a few short seconds had passed since she had seen Lincoln, witnessed his captivity, and identified his probable captors, but for the Commander of the Twelve Clans, a few short seconds was all she needed.

She made her decision.

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Pushing her damp, bedraggled, and woefully dirty hair out of her face for what must be the hundredth time that morning, Clarke spared only a half a second towards missing the wonderful bath she had taken in the Ice Queen's fortress so many days ago before she was rudely brought back to the present by nearly colliding with Martek, who had just suddenly slowed and half turned in front of her. Managing to stop just in time, something about the tense line of his shoulders and the tilt of his head had her hand reaching instinctively for the longknife sheathed across the center of her lower back.

"What is it?" she whispered in their native slang, her eyes immediately going their prisoner. After the briefest of pauses, Martek shook his head slightly and started walking again just as Lincoln reached the end of his short length of chain. A few more seconds passed before the warrior answered her.

"I think we're being followed," he said, also softly and in the same language. Clarke felt a frisson of alarm run up and down her spine, and it was difficult not to stop again and start scanning the trees all around them. Instead, she gripped her knife more securely and moved to walk beside him, keeping her eyes carefully ahead of her.

"How many?"

"At least three, maybe more."

"Friends of his?" she asked.

"Don't know… Could be."

Clarke considered this. If not Trikru, then who else could it be? There was an obvious alternative, of course, and she felt another shiver travel down her spine at the possibility of there being the dreaded, cannibalistic Reapers so close on their trail.

Assuming Martek was right, and she'd had no reasons to doubt his abilities up to this point, then whoever they were, Clarke knew they wouldn't be content with just following them for long. She saw Lincoln's head turn slightly as though to better hear something in the distance, and she wondered if he too had picked up on the fact that they were no longer alone. Had he been leading them into a trap after all, as Martek had warned? She thought back to the moment earlier that morning when he had finally agreed to help them retrieve the cure and wondered if this hadn't been his intention all along… Octavia had seemed so certain that he could be trusted, and Clarke had let her fear of watching someone else she cared about die a slow, painful death from that damned Trigeda poison blind her.

There was the slightest rustle of branches behind them and Clarke's hand twitched as she resisted the urge to draw her blade. A second later, she heard another noise somewhere off to the left, and her sense of uneasy anticipation grew. Both sounds could have simply been a rabbit or a squirrel… or they could have been a half dozen warriors creeping closer, surrounding them, weapons drawn.

"Can we fight them?" she asked. They were still walking, but their pace had increased almost without them intending it to, and she noticed that Martek had let one hand drop from their prisoner's chains so that he could grip his sword hilt.

"We should cut our losses and get out of here now, before it's too late," Martek muttered, his head swiveling right, then left as he listened. Lincoln seemed to have noticed now that something had changed, and she saw his intelligent eyes flick down once at the single hand still holding his chains.

Time seemed to pick up its pace. Sweat started to pour down Clarke's back despite the fact that it was still a far cooler morning than it had been in many days. She could almost see her carefully made plans spinning and tumbling away and out of her control. Soon, whoever was stalking them would attack, and even if they survived the encounter, there was little chance they would be able to re-capture and subdue Lincoln once more. Without him, they would never find where he kept his supplies and his store of the antidote, assuming of course that anything he had said earlier to Octavia and herself was even true. Bellamy would die, and the two of them would be lucky to escape from here with their lives.

No… No, damnit! This can't happen… I refuse to fail this time. We can't let them take him!

Clarke felt a pulse of angry determination flow through her. Her father's agonized, dying face filled her vision, then Octavia's pleading expression as she ordered Clarke to get the cure and save her foolish, stubborn, pig-headed brother. At the thought of him, Bellamy's dark features also appeared and took on the same painful grimace her father's had just before he had drawn his last painful breath…

"Clarke!" Martek hissed, still whispering under his breath but now much more urgently so, "Clarke, there's no time! If we're going to go, we need to go now!"

Another soft rustle of leaves sounded nearby, and not hesitating for even a second, Clarke drew her longknife and leapt forward, her free hand reaching down to grip the chain that now hung loosely in Martek's single fist. With a speed and ferocity that she herself previously wouldn't have thought she possessed, Clarke pulled hard on the chain, catching Lincoln by surprise in mid step, yanking him off balance and back towards her. Still holding the chain tightly with her right, and with her left hand clenching her knife, Clarke brought the edge of the blade up to Lincoln's throat, pressing a sharp line against tender, exposed skin and forcing his head backwards to keep from getting cut. Her prisoner let out a surprised breath and pulled against the chain she now held, no doubt seeking to overpower her, but she simply shoved the knife harder against his throat until a thin line of blood appeared, and he immediately stopped.

"We're not going anywhere without him!" she snarled, almost shouting in defiance.

No sooner had the words left her lips than several figures burst from the undergrowth behind them.

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There.

They were right there, just twenty or so paces in front of them and moving into a slightly open area in the trees. Knowing they needed to act quickly, that every moment they continued to follow them so closely only increased the chances that they would be noticed, Lexa turned to her two companions and nodded, just a single, confident lift of her chin. For once, Jones didn't cheerfully smile back at her. Instead, he nodded with a focused expression and lifted his rifle a bit awkwardly, seating the butt of the weapon into his shoulder just as Miller had demonstrated earlier that morning, his thumb flicking off the safety. After a moment's pause, Roma did the same, and the two moved to either side of her.

Lexa took a breath and was about to whisper some final instructions when a flurry of movement ahead of them made her lift her head in surprise.

Seeing both of Lincoln's captors for the first time as they both entered the small, shaded clearing, Lexa watched as one of the Azgeda – the smaller of the two, a woman with light hair of a nondescript color and wielding only a very long knife – suddenly attacked the bound and defenseless Trikru warrior.

No!

Abandoning her carefully laid plans of attack in an instant, Lexa jumped out from their hiding place and rushed forward through the undergrowth, uncaring of the racket she was making. Clearly, the Azgeda had realized they were being followed. Being that they were still, as far as she knew, in Trigeda lands, the pair wouldn't hesitate to slit Lincoln's throat before either turning to fight them or making a run for it. If they didn't act now, Lincoln would be lost to them.

She heard Roma running behind her on her left side, and Jones' big, muscled form thundering through the dense foliage behind her on her right. She prayed that they had understood her brief instructions earlier and would remember them now, though the circumstances had somewhat changed. She'd been hoping to avoid using the noisy rifles during Lincoln's rescue, as she hadn't wanted to attract the attention of Reapers or anyone else, but battle rarely afforded one the courtesy of going exactly as one liked. Breaking into the small clearing just a few short seconds later, Lexa drew her sword up in front of her so as to be ready to deflect an immediate attack and let her momentum carry her several steps more before she skidded to a halt.

Lexa blinked.

The sun shone down into the small clearing and lit the scene before her. A dangerous looking Azgeda warrior stood several paces in front of her and slightly to her left, the white war paint decorating his face erasing any doubt as to what Clan he belonged to. A couple feet behind him and directly in her line of site was Lincoln, the angry flash of a blade glimmering below the upwards tilted line of his jaw, his eyes narrowed with tension and anger as he glared back at her, though a look of faint relief passed across his features when he realized who she was.

She blinked again, her body frozen, her vision swimming from the light and the pure shock of what she was seeing. Slowly, her eyes traced the line of the blade against Lincoln's throat to the pale, thin hand firmly gripping its hilt… Down the length of the forearm to the elbow, back to the left shoulder and chest, which was clothed in the muted grays and light browns that dominated among members of the Ice Nation. The neck, where it rose above the folds of clothing still damp from the earlier rain, was equally pale, though there was a hint of sunburn, which for some reason Lexa's stunned mind insisted on noticing. Then, the chin… That chin and jaw, which she remembered so well. Those cheekbones, that nose, those lips… Her gaze skittered uncomprehendingly over the faint tracery of decorative scars that made strange, unfamiliar patterns along either side of her face, her thoughts feeling slow and dumb, her mind not understanding what she was seeing…

Blue eyes. Eyes staring back at her that were so blue and so fierce with determination that Lexa's breath caught in a ragged gasp and her heart abruptly started beating once more.

Clarke…!

Roma and Jones crashed into the clearing right behind her, both breathing hard from the combined effects of exertion, adrenaline and fear.

Stepping to either side of her, they raised their rifles.

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Hello there,

Yes, it's me, I am alive and still writing this story. I know it's been a little while since I last posted, but guys… Summer. Summer is here, and it's awesome! Also, it's really cramped my writing style. So much easier to spend hours wrapped in blankets writing fanfiction when there is a foot of snow outside, but lucky for all of you, I hear that winter is due back in just a few months, so my writing will probably pick up again then. Until then, I will just have to keep sneaking some rainy day writing sessions in when I can.

Anyways, super happy to finally write this chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it. Our girls are back together again, hooray! But they are all pointing weapons at each other at the moment, which is of course sad, lol. Next chapter should be lots of fun. I'm missing writing Anya, Raven, and the rest of the gang (but mostly Anya), so I can't wait to loop back to them and the rest of the story as well. Still have a standoff to resolve first, though (don't worry, I won't leave that cliffhanger hanging for another chapter… that would be mean). Clarke and Lexa are about to have some… well, let's just call it Post-Apocalyptic Extreme Couples Therapy, lol.

Thanks for reading! I hope you are still enjoying the story.

-FlyUpInSky