This Black Blood is Without End

Chapter 20 – Together, Alone

Author's note:

Sad and slightly embarrassed that I haven't updated in so, so long. Started thinking about this story randomly the other day and just had to come back to it. This one is for our girls… and I guess for me, since apparently I'm still not over them.

~FlyUpInSky

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Clarke breathed in the rich scent of rotting leaves and dark earth, her body pressed as tight to the gently sloping side of the narrow depression she was sheltering in as possible, eyes peering over the edge at the thick, unfamiliar woods which surrounded them. Beside her, uncomfortably close in the small available space, the strange young women in black who had been running and fighting at her side for the past hour was doing the same, their breaths panting nearly in concert as they both struggled to catch their wind.

Their flight through the woods had seemed unending, with Reapers following so close on their heels that losing them had been nearly impossible. Twice they had thought themselves finally clear only to discover that their pursuers had merely herded them into yet another trap. Together they had managed to cut a path through them both times, wounding or killing a handful at least. Clarke wasn't really sure exactly how much time had passed since the fight in the clearing, and she had no idea if her friend Martek had managed to escape. As she watched the forest, listening to the remaining Reapers as they searched for them, she tried to sort through everything that had happened and make sense of it in her mind, her brow creased in worry. She felt the other women's eyes on her, studying her, but she ignored it. In the trees and underbrush beyond their hiding spot, only the occasional crack of a branch or frustrated grunt betrayed the presence of the men who hunted them still. If they could even be called men, that is.

The minutes passed slowly, and Clarke felt her exhaustion and panic receding as their hunters slipped farther away, the forest eventually regaining its normal rhythm. Birds and other woodland creatures reappeared, their rustling and mundane activities replacing the deathly quiet and signaling that they might actually be safe, that it wasn't another trick meant to lure them out of hiding. Slowly, she let herself relax, her tense muscles uncoiling one by one. Sliding back down from the edge, Clarke turned to regard her unexpected companion, finding her green eyes staring back at her. The women's face held the same intensity of focus that they had in the clearing earlier, when weapons were drawn between them and blood was flowing out onto the leaves at their feet.

"I think they're gone," she said, her throat suddenly very dry as she realized just how tired and thirsty she now was. "We're safe."

"For now," the other woman agreed, finally breaking her stare and glancing up towards the woods beyond.

After a brief moment, the stranger turned back to her, her eyebrows drawing together slightly in what might be concern. Clarke watched her, feeling as though she was trapped in a small space with an unpredictable wild animal. Her earlier tension was quickly returning as she realized that she was still in a very dangerous situation, Reapers or not. The woman's hand reached up towards the pack slung across her back, the top of it just visible over her shoulders, as was the hilt of the sword she had sheathed there. Clarke flinched instinctively, her own hand going to the hilt of her knife. The woman's hand froze, one eyebrow now arching upwards slightly, the corner of her lips twitching in what might be amusement for just a moment before her expression retreated into one of blank stoicism once more.

She resumed reaching for her pack and pulled it off slowly, her eyes never leaving Clarke's as she placed it in the narrow space between them. Opening it, she searched through the contents quickly, pulling out a battered metal canteen.

"Here," she said, holding it out to her, "You should drink. You look thirsty."

Clarke ignored it, still wary, her hand still gripping the hilt of her knife. What was she doing here? Hiding here with this dangerous stranger was a terrible idea. This person and her companions had attacked them. She and Martek were separated now because of it, and even worse, they had lost their Trikru captive and their only immediate hope of retrieving the antidote Bellamy needed in time. She had thought that they were Mountain Men at first, but now she wasn't so sure. True, they were dressed strangely and spoke in the language of the Enemy, but nothing else made much sense. The tales claimed that Reapers were frightened of one thing and one thing only; those who lived in the Mountain. If that were true, then why had they also been attacked? Was this women from the Mountain, or was she from some other strange and distant clan that had allied itself with Trigeda?

"Who are you?" she asked, not hiding the suspicion and distrust in her tone, "What clan are you from?"

Now that they were no longer being chased by bloodthirsty savages through the woods, Clarke needed answers.

…How do you know my name?

The woman drew her arm and the offered canteen back, her movements slow and cautious, as though seeking not to startle or alarm her further.

"You don't recognize me?" she asked, but if anything it was said as more of a statement than a question.

Clarke frowned at this, more confused now than she had been earlier. Was it her imagination, or had the other women's voice almost sounded… hurt? It was incredibly strange. Even stranger, however, was that slight, nagging feeling that she should remember her. Clarke swallowed around her dry throat, confused by the lump of emotion that was forming there. It didn't fit with what she knew she should be feeling in this moment.

"No, I don't," she confirmed, shaking her head once as though the action might help to clear the emotional confusion she felt within. "How could I know you? I've never seen you before… You're the one who attacked us."

"You're the one who took my ally captive," was the immediate response, a hint of steel entering the other woman's voice. They scowled at each other in mutual frustration, which was abruptly ended when the other woman's fierce expression twisted into one of amusement, a smile on her lips which she tried to hide by turning her face away.

"What? This is amusing to you?" Clarke demanded, surprised by the sudden shift in demeanor. This women… she wasn't making any sense. Not in what she said or did, nor in the complicated emotions that Clarke felt she was reading off of her despite the other woman clearly trying, and failing, to conceal them.

"I'm not laughing at you, Clarke," she replied, shaking her head as she twisted the cap off of her canteen. "It's just… this all feels… rather familiar to me. My apologies. I did not mean to make light of our situation."

She gestured with the canteen as she spoke, though whether she was indicating their surroundings or the two of them in particular, Clarke wasn't sure. She took a long swallow, a few drops of water escaping and trickling down her sweaty neck in a way that had Clarke weirdly mesmerized for a moment, finding herself unable to look anywhere else. It distracted her from asking outright how she knew her name. When the bottle came down and those bright green eyes caught her watching, amusement sparkled within them again and Clarke had to look away, fighting the annoying heat she felt climbing up her neck.

Again, the woman held out the canteen to her and this time Clarke took it, clearing her dry throat awkwardly before taking a long drink herself. The water, though warm, felt amazingly refreshing on her tongue, and she had to stop herself from greedily drinking all of it. Screwing the cap on tightly, she handed it back to its owner, once again finding herself trapped in the intensity of the other woman's gaze.

"Lexa."

"What?"

"My name… You asked me who I was. You may call me Lexa."

They regarded each other quietly for a few seconds, the knife-sharp tension between them slowly lessening with each passing moment.

"Well… Lexa," Clarke said thoughtfully, as though trying out the feel of the other woman's name on her tongue. "I know what it looked like earlier. With Lincoln, I mean, but I assure you…"

"You and your Azgeda friend had him in chains," Lexa interrupted, her shoulders tightening as she spoke the accusation, anger simmering just beneath the calmly spoken words.

"Yes, and I know that looks bad, but we didn't plan to harm him."

"Really? You can understand why I might find that hard to believe. Not only are you trespassing on lands that do not belong to your clan, but you took a captive as well. Are you trying to start a war, Clarke?"

This time Clarke did flush, though it was in anger rather than embarrassment. Lexa's accusations were especially biting, as preventing a war had been her sole reason for coming on this ill-advised expedition in the first place.

Damnit, how did everything get so tangled so quickly?!

"Of course not! No one wants another clan war, and I never intended to take anyone prisoner. I know you don't know me, Lexa, but believe me when I tell you that I am the last person to wish for war between my clan and Trikru. What happened earlier…? Well, there were a lot of mistakes made on both sides. I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

Though she wasn't sure why she was trying to explain herself to someone who might still prove to be her enemy, Clarke couldn't seem to help herself. Perhaps it was the way Lexa was looking at her, the hard judgement and keen intellect she could see in her eyes. Also, Clarke knew very well that it was Martek and herself, not Lexa or her people, who had drawn first blood during that confrontation in the little sunlit clearing. She with her knife at Lincoln's throat, and Martek when he had attacked the taller girl who had stood at Lexa's side, killing her almost instantly and beginning the fight.

If Lexa and her people are really allies of Trikru, what is she even doing here with me, especially after seeing her companion die by my friend's sword?

No matter how Clarke looked at it, she couldn't fathom why this deadly looking warrior in black had decided to help her escape the Reapers. If not for her, she would almost certainly have been killed back in that clearing, split in half by that axe before even having a chance to flee.

"And the one you traveled with… The one who killed my friend," Lexa continued, the words more emotionless and cold than any she had yet heard her utter, "What were his intentions? Was he merely following your orders, or was he on a mission of his own?"

Clarke didn't know what to say to that. That girl had died, and that it was partly her fault was undeniable. When Lexa and her two companions had been only strange new enemies, she'd felt nothing at the girl's death. There was a saying among her people that "a warrior's path leads to a warrior's death." She had felt no guilt for what had happened, especially since she appeared to be an enemy. Now, though, she wasn't so sure. Were these people enemies? They certainly weren't Trikru, or at least, they weren't like any she had ever seen before. The curse of the Mountain was a powerful legend, and she couldn't imagine anyone from any clan willingly carrying a cursed firearm as they had. Who was Lexa, then, and why had she and the others helped free Lincoln? If anything she had more questions now than she had before.

This whole day has been nothing but mistake after mistake.

"I am sorry for what happened to your friend," she said finally, surprising herself with the truth of it. "We thought our lives were in danger. Martek, he… We both thought you were from the Mountain. What would you have done in our situation?"

She met Lexa's eyes, willing her to see the truth there. After a tense moment, Lexa lifted her head in a quick motion that was barely a nod, but Clarke sensed that it meant she had accepted her words. She released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

"So, what did you want with Lincoln? You must have had a reason for taking him captive."

"We did," Clarke agreed, letting herself settle into a more relaxed posture. "The Woods Clan has a very deadly poison, one which lingers in the blood of a wound for days and causes great agony to its victim before finally killing them. My friend, he… He was struck with this poison. Lincoln swore he would lead us to where he had stored some of the antidote."

Lexa nodded as she spoke, seeming willing to believe what she was telling her.

"I am familiar with the poison you speak of," she said, her voice thoughtful.

"Then you understand just how difficult it is to watch someone you care for die from it," Clarke said, now unable to think of anything besides the fact of her failure. Somewhere in these woods, Octavia was probably still waiting by her sick brother's side in that cave for her return. By now, they were likely growing worried by how much time had passed. Clarke had made Riva promise that if they hadn't returned by the time the sun reached its highest point in the sky, that they would leave the cave and make for the safety of the Skaibona camp.

"So, you care for this person? The one who was wounded?" Lexa asked, and the question was so oddly personal that Clarke was a bit taken aback. She felt weirdly embarrassed under the other woman's scrutiny, and so her response came a bit less composed than she would have liked.

"I… I mean," she sputtered, unprepared for this question. Was Bellamy her friend again? She had risked everything today to save his life, including the chance for peace between the clans, so she supposed she couldn't deny it any longer. Not to herself, or even to this intense young women sitting across from her on the damp earth of the little hollow they still sheltered in.

"I… I suppose, yes, I do care about him. He is a friend," she finally said. It seemed she had actually managed to forgive him for getting her imprisoned, though the admission grated on her nerves.

An awkward silence descended on them as Lexa looked away, her eyes and expression distant. Finally she turned back to her and made to stand, closing her pack and slinging it back over her shoulders with quick, purposeful movements. Clarke scrambled up to her feet as well, having to take a half step back as this brought them uncomfortably close together in the narrow space. Lexa studied her face for just a moment, a half frown on her full lips, then turned and climbed quietly out of their hiding spot.

"Come on, Clarke," she said over her shoulder, voice low so as not to carry. "We've hidden long enough. We should go before the Reapers decided to circle back and search this area again."

Clarke followed her, feeling uncertain of where she and Lexa stood with each other. It felt as though they had reached a tentative truce, or at least an understanding, though the other woman still hadn't told her who her people were. What now, though? The immediate threat was gone and she needed to return to Octavia and the others in the cave. With luck, Martek would already be there as well. She took in their surroundings, struggling to recall their hasty flight through the woods and trying to regain her bearings.

It was no use. She had no idea where she was, or in what direction she would need to go to find them. She wasn't even sure where the Mountain was, as the trees were too thick to see the horizon in any direction. With the sun now straight above them, she couldn't even determine with any certainty which direction was east and which was west. Once night fell, she would be able to spot the North Star and regain some sense of direction, but sunset was a long ways of.

She looked to Lexa, finding that she was also carefully studying the forest around them.

"Do you know the way back to the clearing?" she asked, not bothering to hide the worry she was feeling. Those green eyes met hers for a second before returning back to the forest.

"Possibly," the strange woman said, her face and voice annoyingly impassive. "Though that would likely be ill advised."

"I need to find my friends," Clarke insisted, wondering if she wasn't giving too much away, but deciding that it was too late now to worry about that. If Lexa had meant to harm her, she would have already had ample opportunity. Besides, until she was back among her own people, there was safety in the two of them sticking together.

"And I need to find mine, but we have to be careful," she replied. "Reapers can be cleverer than they appear. I doubt they have left that place unwatched."

"Fine, then just get me close to where you first started following us… I can find my way from there," Clarke insisted, impatient now to get back to her friends. The antidote might have been lost, but perhaps she could try some other methods to save Bellamy. He was young and strong… Surely she could find some other way? She knew the hope was foolish, but she couldn't help but believe in it.

She followed as Lexa started walking through the thick underbrush, taking her silence as agreement. She tried to mimic the way the other woman moved, each of her steps deliberately placed, her passage so skilled and silent that she thought even Riva would have been impressed. The young tracker had been good, but Lexa appeared even more at home here in the dark depths of the trees than the two twins had. Together, the pair slipped through the forest, retracing their earlier flight through the woods. Or at least, Clarke assumed they were, as she honestly couldn't tell. Nothing struck her as immediately familiar, and they encountered no Reapers, alive or dead.

I hope this isn't a mistake, trusting her… Clarke thought, her eyes fixed on the women she was following. Lexa's thick, brown curls were tangled and slowly freeing themselves from the confines of the tie she had used to pull her hair back and out of her face. Her clothes were still strange to look at, both the cut and quality of the fabric unfamiliar to her. She was splattered with a combination of drying mud and blood, and Clarke again recognized the danger of her current circumstance. She knew how to protect herself and had had ample opportunities to use the large knife she carried, it was true, but something told her she would be no match for Lexa if it came down to a fight between them.

Lexa turned back to check on her, a small smile forming on her lips for half a second as their eyes briefly met, and Clarke felt her own lips wanting to smile back in response. She frowned instead, hating the conflicting emotions she couldn't seem to control.

As soon as she knew for certain where she was, she would need to make her move. She would need to act fast and without hesitation…

…It would likely be the only chance she would get.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Torchlight flickered behind his closed eyelids. He grunted once, then groaned, the scraping of his own body across a rough floor reaching his ears, filling in all the spaces between the frantic booming of his own pulse in his eardrums. Voices nearby… Guttural, angry, muttering nonsense in slurred sentences. He winced as his head slammed into something, then hitting a shoulder and side already bruised from the chains. Stuttering memories from the fight in the forest clearing came to him in confusing bursts, and his eyes tried to open, blinking furiously as more blood trickled into them from a wound somewhere on his scalp. The moment he could see properly again, he wished that he couldn't.

Reapers. Reapers everywhere. They walked beside him in the flickering darkness, their horrid faces made even more demonic in the red glow of the torches they carried. Thick, scarred fingers gripped him roughly by the arms, his bound legs dragging uselessly as they pulled him deeper into their own hell. He thrashed and wriggled in their tight grasp, straining his tired muscles and gasping in renewed pain as the shallow wound in his side reopened and started to bleed. A meaty fist slammed down into his stomach, putting and abrupt end to his struggling and causing him to crumple into a ball like a crushed spider.

"Be quite, meat!"

The words, shouted as they were into his left ear, were still almost unintelligible, so damaged and deranged was the Reaper who had spoken them. He felt himself lifted by several sets of hands and flung up onto a hard stone platform. As he was unable to catch himself with his bound hands and feet, the ungraceful landing hurt more than it should, his head hitting the floor with a loud crack.

He groaned again, stars bursting behind his eyes. A light flashed, pure and bright white as a metal clang resounded nearby, followed immediately by the screech of old hinges. Snarling started up from the pack of Reapers still clustered close, though it sounded oddly eager, like hounds anticipating their day's meal.

A piercing noise split the darkness and the snarling turned into howls of agony. He struggled to roll onto his knees, needing to see what was happening. It took a couple tries, but he managed to do so, shouting against the pain of his wounds. Once upright, he saw that he was indeed on a long, raised platform of smooth stone, his place illuminated by a circle of light so bright that he could hardly see the Reapers thrashing around in the throes of some sort of agony on the dirt floor of the cavern behind him.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the noise stopped, and he blinked as several strange figures approached from the direction of the light, striding down the length of the platform. Their silhouettes were dark and featureless, almost inhuman as they reached for him.

He lunged backwards, attempting to roll off of the platform, these new monsters terrifying him more than the dozen Reapers howling for his flesh in the darkness below. Something clicked and jolted into him before he could make it, however, and his muscles seized and spasmed as though he had been struck by lightning itself, the effect lasting for several long moments. By the time he regained some control over his body, he found that he was now chained to the floor, a gloved fist holding him tightly by the back of the neck.

"We've got a fighter here," a voice mused nearby, muffled slightly as though spoken through a mask. He tried to twist and see who was speaking, but the hand on his neck held him firmly in place, forcing his head down at an uncomfortable angle.

"What do you think? Should we put him in the program?"

"I don't know," came the reply, the soft, feminine voice surprising him. "He's a bit short, and possibly too skinny. The data shows that the larger subjects are more likely to be successful."

"The herd is getting a bit thin, Doctor… Might not be the best time to be choosy."

"I see your point," the women's voice replied, a note of distaste in her voice. "Let's check him, then. Lift his head for me?"

He felt another hand reach around and grip him tightly below the jaw, thumbs digging in to the soft flesh there as though he were nothing but an unruly animal. His eyes rolled In his skull as he tried to make out the figures now surrounding him, tears forming and streaming down his cheeks from the harshness of the white light. Another figure had approached, this one slimmer and shorter, something odd held in its hands and moving towards his exposed throat.

"Wait, what is that on his face? Is that paint?"

The women, her tone noticeably sharper as she asked the question. He felt a rubbery finger scrape down his cheek.

"White paint… and I think that is deliberate facial scarring."

He heard the sudden inhalation of her breath and felt the barely contained excitement in her words, and if possible, that filled him with even greater mindless terror than before. She stepped back out of view for a brief moment and then reappeared, a different device in her hand this time.

"Doctor, if he is Ice Nation…" the man replied when she returned, his grip tightening as the words trailed off excitedly.

"Yes, this could be exactly what we have been looking for," she agreed, and he felt the prick of something sharp as she pressed the device against his neck.

"Let's see what we have here," the woman mused, almost to herself. He could just make out her eyes behind the glass of the facemask she wore. That she seemed attractive barely registered, so horrific was her complete disregard for his gaze, as though he didn't even exist. Instead, her eyes remained locked on the glowing screen of the device in her hands.

"Chances are slim, of course… probably only around five or ten percent of their population, as best we can tell. But still…." She trailed of, then he saw her eyes light up in triumph.

"That's it! We've got one!" she exclaimed.

"Thank God," another voice exclaimed, followed by an excited laugh.

"You, get this subject sedated and into quarantine immediately," she ordered. Then, muttering to herself as she walked away, "I can't believe he just fell into our laps like this. What an incredible opportunity."

"And Jameson, get on the radio and inform Central right away. The President is going to want to hear about this…" Her voice rose as she stepped out of sight, exiting through what he could now see was a narrow metal hatch.

"You got it boss… Here, you stick him. I've gotta give the dogs their treats."

"Whatever man, I'd rather not go near those things anyways."

"Yeah, well, that's because you're a wimp."

"Shut up."

"Hah! Struck a nerve, huh tough guy?"

"Just give me the damn syringe. I want to get the fuck out of here already."

The faceless, strangely accented voices of the Mountain Men surrounded him, their casual disregard as cutting as the coldest ice wind of his homeland.

"Please…" he managed to beg, his lips and throat dry with his fear. "Please, don't… Don't!..."

"Nighty night," the man holding him replied in a careless, sing-song voice, and he felt the stab of another needle at his neck.

Alone, deep in the tangled depths of the Mountain and surrounded by the monsters that had once filled his childhood nightmares, Martek of the Sky Born slumped down to the floor, his body unresisting as the toxin did its work, his eyes closing into the sweet release of unconsciousness.