Season 3 continues to do it's thang, and while I don't agree with a lot of the choices, instead of getting mad I just keep working on this fic. Bells, being a human punching bag is not a healthy way to be a big brother omfg. No matter how much you feel you deserve it, is not your job!
As for updates—I'm hoping to get this story to a place where I'm comfortable putting it on a small hiatus while I deal with the move, but I'm going to keep it on a week-by-week notice until I know for certain that I can make that goal. As for this week, there will be another chapter next week!
Big warm thank you's to everyone who's reviewed this story! I love hearing back from all of you, even if you're just going 'whaaaat?!' or 'nice!'.
There was so much to do, and not enough time to get it all done. While leading the 100 Clarke had found the group at large to be a little stupid. They all panicked or reacted like simple-minded animals, while one-on-one they were an impressive and resourceful lot. She'd longed for the Arc to come down just for the fact that adults had to be smarter and more capable of fending for themselves. That couldn't have been further from the truth.
She'd been helping her mother in the Sick Bay—Hut—and keeping track of the changes in the recovering. Many of the sick had developed pneumonia, and many of them were still very weak with dehydration and being unable to eat for a few days. Clarke hadn't left when the bell for assembly rang, or even when she heard the faint sounds of Bellamy's voice or people arguing with him. She hadn't even stepped out when Lexa had spoken, and after the crowd dispersed. They'd made the announcement to pack up and leave, she assumed, and people were mad about it. Miller, who'd been helping all morning since the medicine had arrived, ran back into the Sick Hut after the meeting.
"We're leaving tomorrow," he announced, "that's what Chancellor Blake and the Grounder Chancellor said."
"Commander," Clarke corrected before she could stop herself.
"Tomorrow?" her mother shouted, "I said we needed at least another day! Clarke, we can't transport people by tomorrow. It's too risky—you need to talk to Bellamy before he gets ahead of himself."
Great, Clarke sighed, another reason for her and Bellamy to be butting heads.
"Okay," Clarke said, "I'll be right back."
Clarke nearly ran into a Grounder who walked into the Sick Bay just as she was leaving. He was as tall as he was wide. He wasn't familiar to her, which was strange. Clarke was sure she knew all of Lexa's personal warriors. His skin was as dark as Indra's, but his beard was nearly blonde. Clarke had never seen something like that.
"Wanheda," He greeted, bowing his head in respect.
"What do you want?" Clarke asked nervously.
"Heda has chosen me to protect you!" his enthusiasm caught her off guard. She'd never seen a grounder grin ear-to-ear like that.
"I don't need Lexa's protection, let alone amongst my own people," Clarke explained, "you can tell her that."
"I am under orders," he pleaded, "Heda will be very upset if you send me away. She wants to keep her niron safe."
Clarke groaned, "Fine," she sighed, "just stay back from me. And do not draw your weapon on anyone."
"Yes, Wanheda," he nodded.
Clarke furrowed her brow, "Why don't I know you?" she asked.
"I was among those who were held prisoner by the Mountain Men," he stopped to spit on the ground at the name of their old enemies, "we did not get a chance to meet. It is an honor to serve you, Mountain Slayer."
The reminder of the moment Lexa betrayed her, and the cold fear of being all alone against an impossible enemy made Clarke feel sick. She didn't want to think about the hundreds of bodies she'd left behind.
"Don't call me that," she ordered, "now, what's your name?"
He bowed again, "I am Polarishka-Tsarin-Mylemfae, the junior."
"That…" Clarke couldn't think of a kind way to explain that she was never going to remember a name like that.
"I am often called Po," he offered.
She sighed gratefully, "Okay, Po. It's nice to meet you. Try not to cause any trouble."
Clarke was mobbed only a few feet from the door. People were still wary of the Sick Bay, but apparently their anger was making them brave, or just reckless.
"We can't leave our home!" a woman shouted.
Someone else in the crowd was asking Clarke how they were going to take the Arc with them, and another wanted to know how Clarke was going to protect them from the savages. Clarke made an effort not to glance at Po to see how he was taking the insults.
"Hold on!" Clarke shouted, "I need to speak with Bellamy first, but, uh, keep packing like he ordered. We will be leaving soon, just maybe not as soon as he said."
It took her over half an hour to find Bellamy. She couldn't get anywhere without a crowd forming around her, asking her more questions and how they were supposed to pack and what they should bring and what she was going to do because they couldn't be expected to carry everything they owned!
Raven's face appeared in the crowd as well.
"It's true?" she asked, "we're going to Mt Weather with the grounders?"
Raven was trying to keep her face passive, but Clarke knew Raven too well to be fooled. She was angry.
"Yes," Clarke said, and tried to be as curt as possible. Now was not the time to plead for her friend to understand, "it's the best place for us, and Lexa will make sure we get there safely."
Raven's eyes narrowed, and Clarke noticed her skin looked pale. She wondered if Raven was afraid of living in close contact with Lexa again—or if she was pale from trying to contain her rage. Raven was not a supporter of Clarke and Bellamy's engagement, but she hadn't done anything about it just yet.
"I'll get packing then," Raven said, and she turned away without another word.
It broke Clarke's heart that she hadn't had time to talk to Raven. She wished she could share everything, have someone to confess to, someone who she could trust, but she had to keep up the act of a happy engagement. Raven wouldn't put up with that kind of lie, if Raven ever put up with her again.
Clarke finally found Bellamy in the privacy of his own home.
Clarke didn't knock and quickly shut the door behind herself so that no one could try and follow her in to keep arguing with her about Bellamy's decisions—the fear of her new Grounder guard hadn't appeared to keep them at bay.
His home was styled just the same as many of the others—including her mothers'—a single room that made up bedroom and living space. It was very Arc to have only one multipurpose room, though many Arc homes also had tables and chairs for social gatherings, but on earth people tended not to stay indoors very long. They'd even cut out a window, though it was boarded up now to ward off the cold. Clarke had been a little curious if there would be one, two or three beds for Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln, and it looked like at one point there might have been two separate beds, but with the cold the three of them had been sharing one large one. Not that it had been slept in lately, with all of them spending most of their time in the sick hut now.
Bellamy had been in the middle of folding up some clothes. He looked angry that Clarke had just barged into his home without warning.
She decided to just get right to the problem, "Why did you say tomorrow? My mom told you we can't leave that early!"
"Keep your voice down," Bellamy said, like Clarke was a child to be scolded. It made her blood boil.
"Don't patronize me," she snapped, "now tell me what's going on?"
"Lexa," Bellamy said, and that was almost a good enough explanation, "it's going to be a long trip, and she's right that the longer we wait, the more people are going to die of exposure."
"You're taking her side?" Clarke couldn't believe what she was hearing, "when my mother—our medical advisor—told you that we need at least one more day? If we leave tomorrow people will die, because you forced us to move them before they were ready. Are you sure you want to live with that?"
"People are going to die either way," Bellamy said matter-of-factly. He'd gotten to his feet and walked to stand in front of her. She knew that Bellamy tended to get in the face of anyone he was arguing with—he was aggressively confrontational like that.
"But Lexa knows the right thing to do?" Clarke said.
Bellamy looked disgusted to be associated with her, and for that Clarke was grateful, "No, but the sooner we get into Mt Weather the sooner we can stop worrying about her not letting us in. I don't trust her to hold her end of the bargain, not until our people are safe. We may have to drive hard to get there, but if we don't make it to the mountain then we're all going to be dead."
Clarke closed her eyes for a moment to think. She hadn't seen that angle—and it made sense. Bellamy wasn't always a headstrong leader who jumped the gun. He had good foresight and intuition.
"There's no one for Lexa to bargain with to turn on us," Clarke assured him, "she won't break her promise. We're going to get into Mt Weather, but we need just a little more time before we go."
Bellamy shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest, "To be honest I don't think the camp will be ready to go by tomorrow anyways. Just as soon as possible. You might not think she'll betray us, but she got you before. It's a long way to Mt Weather, and anything could happen."
Clarke clenched her fists and counted to five before she let the insult slide away. She'd been foolish and trusting before, out of hope and being naïve. Never again. She focused her attention on her surroundings to let the intense emotions bleed out of her.
There were papers stuck to the walls—all filled with drawings and notes and writing. She recognized Trigedasleng, though she could only speak it, and recognized many of the pictures from Lincoln's journal. Or, at least, Clarke recognized the style of the portraits from Lincoln's journal because most of the drawings were new to her. Many of them were of Octavia, and the camp and people in the camp. There was even a few of Bellamy, and of Bellamy and Octavia together. It was like a collage of photographs. Bellamy shifted his weight on his feet and the rustle of his clothes brought Clarke's attention back to him.
"I'm not trusting her," Clarke explained, "I'm trusting her character. The Commander's word is binding, and Lexa has nothing to gain from the mountain without us. She's conniving, but right now we're her best option for power and I trust that to keep her loyal to us."
"Well you can sleep beside her if you trust her so much," Bellamy muttered.
"What?" Clarke turned to face him quickly.
"We're sleeping with her tonight," Bellamy said.
"What?" Clarke replied, in a slightly higher note, "but we're only engaged!"
Bellamy was looking at her like it was all her fault, and really, Clarke supposed, it was. "It's a Grounder thing," he explained, "Lexa said that if we have to make her people think we're in love then we have to start living together now."
Clarke felt a knot of panic in her stomach at the thought of being that close to Lexa. Of having to let her guard down to sleep in front of her, in a place that was uniquely Lexa and everything Clarke longed not to be.
What if Lexa wanted to touch her, or even tried to kiss her again? People didn't need love to have sex—Bellamy seemed to live by that motto—but Clarke had always been a little more reserved in that sense. She'd grown up with married parents. Marriage—love—had always seemed inevitable to her, and the reality of a future without it was giving her cold feet.
Besides she… she just wasn't ready for that kind of intimacy with another person. Two other people.
"When," she cleared her throat to try again and hoped her voice didn't sound as pathetic to Bellamy as it sounded to her, "when are you going over there?"
Bellamy shook his head and stepped back, as if to gesture to the space around them with his body, "I have to get this packed up, and all of O's things. And then I'm staying with my sister until she wakes up."
"And the camp," Clarke was thinking ahead now, "we need to start organizing, and loading some of Lexa's wagons. We might not get a chance to sleep tonight."
"That's the plan," Bellamy agreed.
"Okay," Clarke nodded, "I… I can be packed quickly. I'll go talk to my mom and let her know, and then you and I need to start directing people."
"Fine," Bellamy said, and then knelt down to get back to folding up clothes. Clarke wondered if he was going to miss his little home here. She hadn't stayed in Camp Jaha enough to really form an attachment to it beyond the fact that it was where her people were. She would miss it, but not any part of it specifically.
For a moment Clarke thought about asking Bellamy how he felt about moving back into Mt Weather. About how he felt seeing the corpses of everyone they had killed again. But she was silent too long, and he'd already started ignoring her presence. This was the first time a conversation between them hadn't ended with each of them furious at one another in a while, and she wanted to leave on as positive terms as she could.
Her mother was less than reasonable about the demands.
"Clarke I can't stress enough what a terrible idea it is to move any of these people!" she said.
Clarke had to keep her voice steady, "Get them as prepared as you can. We have to leave camp soon, for the sake of us all."
To her surprise, her mother grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, "Baby, I know… what I said about there not being any good guys left—you don't have to be hard. You don't have to be the villain to save everyone."
Too late, Clarke thought. If only you knew what I've already done.
"I'm not being moral, I'm being realistic," Clarke argued, "we need to move before it gets colder. Or we all die. So do what you need to here. Would you like me to pack for you?"
Her mother paused a moment, looking into Clarke's face for something Clarke wished she could still offer to her, "Okay, yes, I'd appreciate that. I have a lot to do here."
"I'll be back to help as soon as I can," Clarke assured her.
As she was leaving Monty waved to catch her attention.
"What's going on?" she asked, "is it Octavia?"
Monty's face was flushed, but it didn't appear to be from sickness, "No," he said, "I, um, I have something I need to tell you."
Clarke nodded to encourage him to go on. He picked at the edge of his blanket and looked everywhere but at her face.
"Monty," Clarke snapped, and regretted it instantly. She didn't mean to be cross with him, but there was so much that she still needed to do and sitting around watching him fidget was not helping.
"I'm sorry," Clarke said. She sat down on the edge of his bed, "I'm just a little stressed out."
"Maybe this isn't a good time then," Monty said through clenched teeth.
"You look like you're about to tell me something awful," Clarke agreed, "there's no time like the present."
Monty reached out to take Clarke's hand between his own. He had warm hands, though thankfully not feverishly warm anymore.
"Clarke," he said earnestly, and now he was looking her in the eyes, "I need to apologize to you."
Clarke racked through her memory to try and think of when Monty had ever let her down. Could he be referring to Mt Weather? For giving her the ability to kill hundreds of men, women and children? Allies, friends, lovers and enemies, all gone because Monty had done what she'd ordered him to do.
"No, no," Clarke started saying, "no you don't have to—"
"I had sex with Bellamy," Monty let out in one quick breath, he took a shuddering breath and strained himself to continue holding her gaze, "while you were gone. And I need to beg your forgiveness."
Shock hit Clarke like she'd been electrocuted. She didn't know how to respond. This was not the conversation she expected to be having.
"I didn't know you two were in love, and I never would have even considered sleeping with him if I'd known you two were going to be engaged. I am so sorry, and I'm a terrible friend, and I hope you can forgive me!" Monty was still babbling, though Clarke barely heard him.
She had to stifle a laugh.
"Monty," she said slowly, making sure not to crack, "I forgive you. It's okay."
Monty let out a sigh so big it shook his entire body. He dropped his head down onto his wrists, and for a moment Clarke worried he was going to kiss her hand.
"Thank you," Monty sounded relieved like this had been keeping him up for days, "but, um, Clarke… I need to apologize to Lexa too, right?"
Oh, Clarke realized, that's why he was so nervous.
"No," Clarke said quickly, "no, you don't have to talk to her at all. Grounders, um, look at things a little different than we do. Lexa won't understand why you're apologizing to her. But, uh, trust me. It's okay."
"Oh, thank god," and this time he did kiss the back of her hand.
Clarke looked around if only to distract herself from the surreal conversation she'd wandered into. Lincoln was watching from nearby, and to her surprise he looked like he was smiling at her. Lincoln never smiled at anything.
Po walked right on her heels now, and shouted to scare people back so that Clarke could actually move through the camp. He wasn't actually angry, just incredibly loud, but it was scary to anyone who didn't know him. She wished there was a different way—her people were just scared and confused, which made them angry and stupid, and Po's presence was aggravating them further—but she also desperately wanted to be away from the angry faces and accusing voices and in the safety of her mother's home.
Harper braved Po's presence to fall in line with Clarke's stride.
"I need to tell you something," she whispered urgently.
Clarke nodded and pointed in the direction they were walking, "Okay, my house is just up ahead—"
"I slept with Bellamy while you were gone—and before that. It never meant anything, and I didn't know you two were in love. I'm really sorry," Harper blurted out.
Clarke almost tripped over her own feet.
"It's…" Clarke wanted to ask why everyone seemed keen to tell her about all of their nights of passion with Bellamy all of a sudden, but it was a stupid question and she kept her mouth shut.
"It's okay," she finally said. Harper looked like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, "thanks for letting me know," Clarke added as an afterthought.
A group of people were waiting at Clarke's home, and while Po chased off most of them, two of them bravely stayed long enough to also confess to having slept with Bellamy and begged for Clarke's forgiveness. They weren't any of her friends—sent down in the dropship—so she didn't know them well enough to remember their names. By the time she sent them on their way and got inside, Clarke was beginning to worry that at this rate the entire camp would end up apologizing to her for something she really didn't want to think about.
When Clarke had been thrown into solitary on the Arc, she'd spent hours upon hours dreaming of what she could do if she'd been able to bring one thing, just one item, with her. She liked to think about all the different things she could have done, the different forms of entertainment or feelings of warmth or comfort she would have had with different items—her blanket, a book, her mirror, her doll. She would imagine how her old room would look different minus certain things.
On Earth she'd found an entirely new set of items to covet. Her knife, her firestarter kit, her bow and the arrows she could use to feed and defend herself. These were all necessary items. She had no place for comfort things, or anything that wasn't useful.
The small metal deer Finn made for her was the only exception.
It made packing easier. While she'd unpacked as much as she could, and acquired a few new items of clothing along with the Chancellor's pin while back in Camp Jaha, Clarke had very little possessions to call her own.
Packing for her mother was harder. Clarke packed one bag full of clothing and secured the blankets in rolls, ready for a quick departure. She needed another bag for bowls, tools, medical supplies and a few trinkets her mother had laying around that Clarke knew she was fond of. The home still felt cluttered, and Clarke was sure she'd packed all the essentials. She could hear people arguing about how difficult it was going to be to pack everything they needed, and how hard to carry everything. It was almost baffling to consider people would need more than one or two bags, the clothes they already wore, and then their blankets. People on the Arc had always been possessive of their belongings, as they never owned much at all, and that trait didn't appear to have diminished in any way for their time on the ground.
Clarke left all three bags by the door, ready for travel whenever the time came. It was quiet in her mothers' home, and Clarke thought about staying inside. Part of her was always tired, ever since she'd felt earth under her feet, if she was being honest, and the thought of hiding from the masses and the work and Lexa was so tempting that she thought she might actually stay in and hide. She took a deep breath, taking in the stillness and the smell of the place she'd come to accept as home. Clarke let it sit in her lungs, the thought that she might have been safe here, and then slowly she exhaled.
She left without another glance around. She wasn't going to see this place again. There was work to do.
She lost hours to directing the food storage. The people from the Arc were wary of asking for help or advice from Lexa's people. Po eventually stepped in, explaining that food was best transported in carts where it was counted to keep any untrustworthy people from snacking during travel. Clarke suspected he meant that her people were the untrustworthy thieves, but she didn't call him out on it. After that she had to arrange for a wagon to carry their food, and had to fight with Indra that her people should have a cart for their own supplies and not mix their things with the Grounders' items, even if that meant carts had to be packed tighter to make up for it.
Clarke wanted the two people to come together, but peoples' belongings—especially things that belonged to the group at large, like their food—were things that people were very protective over. They would be catalysts for fights and she, Bellamy and Lexa were depending on the trek to the mountain going as smoothly as possible.
After that Clarke found herself helping people pack. Everyone was trying to pack everything they owned—including as much of the Arc as they could carry. She repeated over and over again about how many resources Mt Weather had, and all the things they would learn from the Grounders and that, no, weighing your bag down with the many rocks you've collected and now complaining that it's unfair you have to carry your heavy bags when the sick get to put their bags on carts is completely rude and ridiculous.
Lincoln found her later, a lukewarm bowl of soup in hand.
"Your mother wanted me to make sure you ate something," he explained.
Clarke accepted the soup graciously, as it saved her from arguing with a man who couldn't comprehend that the walk to Mt Weather couldn't be easily done in one day with all of their supplies and wagons. Everything in the Arc had been reachable within a few hours at the longest, and the thought that something could be further away was apparently hard to understand.
"How are the patients doing?" Clarke asked. She wondered if her mother had also just wanted Lincoln to get some fresh air, or get him away if something was happening with Octavia. Lincoln wouldn't have left if Octavia was in any danger, Clarke decided, he loved her too much.
"They are recovering," Lincoln said softly.
"Have you eaten yet?" Clarke asked out of habit. As soon as the words left her she wasn't sure if she wanted to eat with him. He was the only other person who was aware that her entire marriage was a sham, and aside from that they weren't entirely close.
"Bellamy is with Octavia, I thought I would give him a little privacy," Lincoln replied, not answering her question.
Clarke nodded, a little disappointed that she had to eat with him now. They made their way to some stumps set up near the back of the platform where she and Bellamy made their announcements to their people. It was further away from the crowds, looking into the open grassland around them and gave a view of the river sprawling down from the mountains. Lincoln took what looked like a root out of a fold in his tunic and chewed on it. Clarke wasn't familiar with the root itself, though she had seen a few of them in the Arc inventory.
"How is Octavia?" Clarke asked, trying for neutral ground.
"She still has not awoken, but her fever has ended," Lincoln said, "she was very sick. Without your medicine, she would have been dead."
When he said 'your medicine' Clarke was pretty sure he meant 'you' as in 'people who weren't his people'. She didn't press the issue.
"It's not good that she hasn't woken up," Clarke said, "it's been a few hours since she got the medicine…"
Lincoln's eyes were dark and he looked down at his feet rather than at her. Clarke saw his fists clench and unclench as he forced himself to relax.
"She will recover," he said finally, "Octavia is strong, and your mother is a very good healer. She needs her rest."
Clarke nodded, and continued eating her soup to avoid talking. She looked out at the river and the open grassland—expanded in her absence, as her people had been cutting down trees for shelter and sightlines—and the pallid gray sky looming impossibly close. The clouds felt heavy and the wind was cutting colder than Clarke had ever known. The Arc had always been a moderate, maintained temperature. With the varied temperature changes on Earth Clarke was never quite sure what to expect, and she even knew that there were places on Earth that had been much warmer and much cooler than where they lived now. When those had just been numbers to be taught and learned it seemed simple, but actually experiencing them was another thing entirely. It was cold enough that it was hard to just be outside without moving. Clarke couldn't imagine it could get much colder.
She wanted to go inside, to pull a blanket tight around her and let her limbs thaw out, but that led her mind back to Lexa. Clarke let her eyes roam over towards where Lexa's people had made camp just outside of the gates to Camp Jaha. This also drew her eyes towards Lincoln and he lifted his head as if he expected to be addressed.
The words were out of her mouth before she could think, "Do… what sort of things happen when we share a bed?"
Lincoln's eyebrows lifted, and Clarke was thankful he was being this honest with his emotions to allow her to read him, "You are bedding with the Commander tonight?"
"Bellamy and I," Clarke nodded, cheeks flushing, "Lexa said it's normal to share a bed before being married."
"Among my people—the clan— it is," Lincoln said, catching himself too late.
Clarke looked away as she shuddered, "It… it goes against..."
She wasn't sure where she was going, because there was a large knot of emotion in her throat that she wanted to spill. But she couldn't. Lincoln wasn't her confidante, and there were worse problems in the world than where she was going to sleep. Clarke was good at sleeping very little. She'd just have to make it an art.
"I understand Skaikru have… certain customs regarding sex," Lincoln treaded cautiously and Clarke took a breath and she braced for what he might say, "but amongst my—the clan—we believe that sex is a choice. It is expected for a marriage to produce children, if possible, but you are free to choose when you have them. With the winter, the travelling and the responsibility of being Commander and Chancellor you may want to wait to have children, but it is known that children strengthen allegiances between—"
"Enough!" Clarke held up her hand to cut him off, "I wasn't… I don't want to talk about this."
"Yes, Commander," Lincoln nodded.
"Chancellor," Clarke reminded him out of habit.
She glanced at her left bicep. There was an implant under her skin—all Arc people got them—that kept her from ovulating and negated any chance of getting pregnant for another five years, if not longer. It was how they controlled the population expansion and still allowed people free reign of intimacy, since Old Earth things like condoms or birth control pills had gone extinct years before Clarke was born. Bellamy would have a chip as well, though Clarke didn't know when he'd last had his changed. It was possible he had less years left than her.
Was it going to be an issue if they didn't have children right away? Or at all? Clarke had agreed to go into this marriage without thinking about children. She might have to put her foot down. She could survive a false marriage, but she didn't feel comfortable raising children in one. Let alone have Bellamy's children. How were three people even supposed to raise children? Were both her and Lexa supposed to have Bellamy's kids? Would Clarke be considered the mother of Lexa's children? Her thoughts made her somewhat nauseous, and the last of her soup wasn't as appetizing as it should have been.
"I'm heading to the sick bay," Clarke announced. This was another thing she was going to have to figure out, and probably shout with Bellamy and Lexa about.
Pillow talk, Clarke decided with dark humor.
She was thankful that Lincoln didn't offer to walk back with her.
The sick bay—sick hut, Clarke reminded herself—was still full of activity. It was still crowded, as no one could be cleared as healthy enough to not spread the sickness just yet, but those of the patients that were recently admitted were helping care for the people who had been in longer and were much weaker. While that was a good thing, Clarke worried that her mother wouldn't have much for her to do.
She spotted Bellamy hovering over Octavia, wiping her face with a wet cloth. He didn't look up and Clarke was thankful to be sparred any interaction with him at all. She spotted her mother taking the temperature of an older woman and made her way over.
"I got most of your things packed, but you'll want to double-check that I didn't miss anything," Clarke told her.
"Thanks honey," her mom replied, scanning the room for what needed to be done next. Clarke waited a moment for her mom to assure herself that she could take the time to talk to her, "I'm sure you did great. Besides, as long as we're together I don't need anything else."
Clarke smiled bashfully under her mother's words.
"What can I do to help?" she asked, glancing around, "what's the plan here?"
"The healthier people are asking to be discharged so they can start packing," her mother explained, "plus they want to get away from the sicker people, and out of here because it's so packed. But I don't think it's a good idea to release anyone early in case they're still contagious."
"But we have the medicine to treat them," Clarke pointed out, "I think we should let them go, so you can focus on the people who need the attention."
Her mother frowned, thinning her lips into a straight line. It meant she was thinking, and had probably been thinking the same thing but was trying to err on the side of caution.
"We don't have the luxury of being safe right now," Clarke reminded her, "we have to push hard to make it to Mt Weather. Everything will be okay then."
"Do you think?" her mom asked, in a tone that meant she disagreed. Clarke didn't want to have this argument with her right now.
"I'll leave it to you to dismiss people," Clarke said, "can I check on anyone or start helping with inventory?"
"Jackson is doing inventory, but yes. Check for fevers. Everyone should be cooling down now, and we need to make a list of everyone who's developed pneumonia or any other complications. Maybe you should check on Bellamy, he's been in here a while. He might need some fresh air," her mom offered.
That was what a real fiancée would do.
"We don't have time, Bellamy's taking care of his own things," Clarke reminded her mom, "we'll have plenty of time to talk tonight, with Lexa."
"You shouldn't be up too late," her mom said, "remember, like you said, there's a lot to do. I know you want to be with your… Bellamy and Lexa, but I'd like to enjoy our last night here in our home together."
Oh no, Clarke realized, her mom didn't know.
"Actually…" Clarke started nervously, and her stomach twisted as her mom's face fell, "I… I'm staying with Lexa tonight. Bellamy too. The three of us."
"But you're not married," her mother reminded her, "Clarke you can't live together before you're married."
Clarke wanted to agree with her. Her stomach was in knots at how strange this whole thing was.
"It's a Grounder tradition," she said quietly, ashamed of how easily the words came to her, "it will make Lexa happy if we do this."
The furrow between her mothers eyebrows deepened and Clarke braced for a fight.
"You shouldn't have to sacrifice your values for hers!" her mom said, nearly shouting, "haven't you given enough? Why isn't Lexa being accepting of you?"
"Mom! Please!" Clarke snapped.
Several people stopped talking around them and others blatantly stared. Clarke didn't know if Bellamy was one of them.
"I don't know how a marriage is supposed to work between three people, but it's already too much. Why are you always changing for her?"
Clarke wished she could say the truth.
"Because I—because we love her," Clarke kept her voice low, hoping her mother would mimic her. The look on her mothers face was bordering on thunderous and Clarke understood they were about to fight. She didn't want to do it here, in front of everyone.
"Outside," Clarke muttered to her mother, and started walking before she heard an answer.
People were asking for Chancellor Blake when Clarke stepped out, since they were too afraid to enter the Sick Bay themselves. Clarke ignored them and stormed to the quieter area where she and Bellamy had eaten their breakfast that morning.
"I think you're rushing into this," her mom said as soon as Clarke turned to face her.
"Things are moving fast, but that's just a fact of life down here," Clarke retorted.
Her mother shook her head, "No, I don't care. You aren't thinking things through Clarke! Marriage is forever! I thought you of all people understood that!"
"You think that I would get married to someone without wanting to be with them forever?" Clarke's guts twisted into shapes and pains she couldn't begin to name.
"I don't understand how you could fall in love with someone who threw you—all of us—aside so easily. She broke her promise to you once already, and left us to die. And now you're going to marry her?"
"So this isn't about me getting married," Clarke surmised, "it's about Lexa. You don't trust her." Clarke didn't either, but she couldn't let her mother know, "but you can trust me, mom. Trust that I know what I'm doing."
"Clarke, baby," her mother's shoulders sagged and Clarke knew she was giving in, "of course I trust you. I want the best for you but I'm scared you're moving too fast. You're so young…"
"You and dad were young when you got married," Clarke reminded her.
Her mom nodded, "We were, and that's why I worry. I… there were a lot of times that I wanted to leave your father," she admitted, and Clarke felt like she'd been slapped, "we fought a lot when we first got married, after the excitement had worn off. Being married didn't magically make our lives easier. He was idealistic and I was stubborn and we didn't agree on a lot of things, but we were tied together forever and it scared us a bit, I think. But yes, there were a lot of nights I'd lay awake and dream of not being married to him anymore."
"But…" Clarke wasn't sure what to say to that, "but… you were in love."
"We were," her mom agreed, "we were so in love. But just because you love someone doesn't mean everything is going to be fine, and I'm scared that you're going to make the same mistakes I did."
"Marrying dad was a mistake?" Clarke asked. When had she started crying?
"Never," her mother insisted, "I will never regret loving him."
Clarke wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "Are you telling me this to scare me off of getting married? Or to keep me from moving in with them?"
Her mother wiped her own eyes and they both laughed weakly at each others' tears, "No, well, maybe a little. But I wanted to be honest with you. You're becoming—you've been growing up so fast, and you're a young woman now. I want you to know that I see you as an adult, that I can be honest with you. And that you can be honest with me, about everything."
Clarke's stomach dropped so low in her gut she thought she would be sick. Her mother knew. She had to know about the arrangement. The fake marriage. Why else would she bring this up now? If her mother knew then everyone else could see it. They were ruined before they even started.
"Clarke?" Miller called, peeking out from around the Sick Bay. He glanced between Clarke and her mother's tear-stained faces and visibly panicked, "oh, um, I'm so sorry."
"What is it?" Clarke asked. Her voice cracked and she rubbed at her eyes again to dry them out. How embarrassing.
"I, uh, I needed to talk to you," Miller grimaced, glancing again at her mother.
Clarke welcomed the distraction, "Of course. What's going on?" She sounded a lot surer of herself now, thankfully.
Miller glanced between her and her mother again as he approached, and he kept his hands folded in front of him like he was being chastised. He was being unusually meek and Clarke didn't understand until it dawned on her what he was about to say.
"It's fine I forgive—" she started.
"I slept with Bellamy a lot and I'm really sorry. Harper told me you were okay, but I needed to let you know because I didn't want to be hiding this and, again, really sorry," Miller blurted out.
Clarke's mothers' eyebrows hit her hairline.
Clarke counted to three, "Thank you for telling me," she said as courteously as she could, "I appreciate the honesty. Is that it?"
Miller nodded, and glanced at her mom again, "Yeah, uh, I'm sorry. This really obviously wasn't the best time but I just needed to get that off my chest."
Clarke took a deep breath, "It's fine. Um, Miller, if you know anyone else who wants to confess to me? Could you tell them that they don't have to?"
Miller nodded, "Sure, yeah. If I hear anything, I'll tell them," he glanced at her mom again, who was currently doing her best impression of a statue, "um, yeah, bye."
They waited in silence as Miller made a hasty retreat.
Her mom turned to look at her with a strange look that was a mix of astonished and smug, "Has that been happening a lot?" she asked.
Clarke sighed and let her shoulders drop, "It's been a weird day."
They caught each other's eye and Clarke couldn't help it. She started to giggle, and struggled to hold it back, but then her mother was laughing and she was laughing with her.
"I mean it," her mother said, a little more seriously once they'd stopped laughing, "I want you to be able to talk to me about anything. Even," she gestured with a hand, "even about that, okay, honey?"
That same cold dread started trickling back into Clarke's veins. The fear of being found out, of having to lie to everyone she cared about. But she was reassured that her mom didn't actually know. Clarke had just been jumping to conclusions. She hoped.
People were shouting—screaming, even—as Clarke and her mother rounded the corner of the Sick Bay. Without thinking Clarke leapt into a run. Were they under attack? Had Lexa ambushed them? Was it something worse?
A crowd of a few angry adults were crowding Po, and thankfully he was obeying orders to not draw his weapon. They were jabbing their fingers in his face and seemed to be accusing him of something. Clarke went to them first.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
An older man, Clarke thought he might have been an engineer along with Wick and Raven, though she didn't remember his name, pointed his finger in Po's face, "I don't want the savages near the sick! My daughter is in there! They'll make everyone even more sick!"
"They're hoarding the carts! We don't have enough for us!" a short woman shouted. Clarke couldn't remember her name.
"You don't know how to pack!" Po snapped, "all of you are bringing useless items rather than necessities!"
"Enough!" Clarke shouted at Po. The last thing she needed was him to antagonize her people. Po barred his teeth in frustration as he ducked his head in submission. Clarke had seen enough people do that to her while she was working with Lexa and it didn't concern her. Po would obey her, but she couldn't say the same for her own people.
"The Grounders did not bring the illness to us. Earth is full of all sorts of germs we haven't encountered in years. Besides, the cold is the real enemy," Clarke explained as quickly as she could before turning to the woman, "and Lexa provided us with more than enough carts. Where's Kane? He's in charge of organizing the packing."
"I don't want to talk to him, or you," the woman replied, "I want to talk to Chancellor Blake. He knows what's best for us."
"I'm Chancellor too," Clarke reminded her. She even gestured to the pin she was wearing. Bellamy had all but refused to wear it himself.
"Chancellor Blake didn't leave us," the woman sneered, and the firm nods from the others with her confirmed that they agreed, "Chancellor Blake knows how to handle the savages. He'll do better than you." Sure, Clarke thought, Bellamy is just sitting inside while you're all shouting and he isn't doing anything. How's that for a good Chancellor.
"This is your Chancellor! Show her some respect!" Clarke had forgotten her mother was there, and her outburst surprised her.
"We don't need two Chancellors! Especially not one that abandons her own people and just expects to be handed power when she decides to come back!"
Clarke wished she had a proper response. She hadn't abandoned anyone—she'd left to save her own soul. No one could understand what she'd sacrificed, and the choices she'd made to keep her people alive, and there was no way for her to try to explain it.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Clarke said, "but I am your Chancellor. Bellamy is busy right now, let me see what I can do."
Po and her mother followed closely on her heels as Clarke walked into the fray of shouting people. It took her a moment to locate Kane in the crowd because she couldn't hear him over everyone else. Despite having known the man for most of her life—not that they'd ever been close, and she'd always thought of him as more of a robot—Clarke had never heard him raise his voice in anger. She'd always liked that about him, that he had that control of his own emotions.
"Listen, you need to pack lighter or you have to carry more!" Kane was saying. There was a group of people standing between him and the worst-packed cart Clarke had ever seen. It was as if everyone had just thrown what they owned into it and hoped it would stay. After a moment Clarke realized that must have been exactly what they'd done.
"Kane," Clarke greeted, and immediately all attention was drawn to her.
"He won't let us use the carts! He's trying to make us take our things off!" a young girl shouted, pointing at Kane. She was one of the few children amongst the Arc people that wasn't a delinquent.
"They need to be taken off. It all has to be rearranged. Everyone in camp has to share the carts, and then carry any extras you need," Clarke explained.
She was beginning to wish that she had gotten Bellamy from the Sick Bay. Part of her wanted to prove she was worthy of being Chancellor, but now that she had to fight with her people to do so, it might have been better to let Bellamy lay down the law. People were more likely to forgive him, rather than hate her more.
"We can't carry everything! My daughter is too young, and I can't carry much weight," a woman insisted. She had a brace around her leg similar to Raven's.
"We can work that out," Clarke assured her, "no one is going to have to go without, but we have to travel lean," one glance at the over packed cart confirmed that people were still packing far too much, and probably many useless items, "we only need what is absolutely necessary to survive."
"We packed what we need to survive!" a man announced, "but it's not enough! The Grounder Chancellor didn't give us enough."
"Commander," Clarke reminded them, "and she gave us plenty. Kane," he straightened as she addressed him, "can you put together a list of necessities?" Trusting people to make those choices themselves wasn't working for them. The camp was an absolute mess so far. Any hope of leaving by tomorrow morning was long gone.
"Of course, Chancellor," he said. His ears were pink—with cold or embarrassment at having lost control of his post, Clarke wasn't sure. She was thankful that he addressed her with the proper title though. If at least one person was giving her some respect it might help persuade others to do the same.
"Po," Clarke turned to her assigned guard, "can you help him? Maybe you would be better to direct packing, since you're familiar with the carts?"
"Wanheda," Po stammered, "I cannot leave you unattended. I have orders!"
"I'm giving you new ones," Clarke said, "besides, I won't be far away. I'll help out here, and then go back to the Sick Bay. I'm safe with my own people."
Po glanced at the crowd around them, who had stopped accusing one another of taking up too much space on a wagon to watch what Clarke was saying. To his credit he didn't point out how they all glared or studied Clarke like she wasn't to be trusted.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, "and if Lexa has any issue with it then she can take that up with me."
The Sick Bay sounded incredibly tempting right now, even with the amount of work and stench of sickness inside. Clarke's fingers were numb and she wanted to get out of the cold air.
Po sighed heavily, "Yes, Wanheda. I will do as you ask."
"Mom," Clarke ordered, "let's get back to—to the Sick Bay, hut, sorry."
Jasper was lurking on the edge of the crowd and he looked scared, and like he had to talk to her. Great, Clarke thought, another person who needed to tell her more about Bellamy's personal life than she needed to know.
"I'll meet you there," her mother said, having noticed Jasper as well. She looked like she might laugh if she stayed any longer.
Jasper fell into step with Clarke as she slowly walked back to the Sick Bay.
"I need to ask you something," he started hesitantly.
"Its okay," she said before he could finish, "I forgive you, and no hard feelings. But can you tell me if there's anyone in camp Bellamy hasn't slept with?"
Jasper stopped short, "What?"
"That's what you're here about," Clarke asked. She stopped with him, "you're here to apologize for sleeping with Bellamy, right?"
Jasper blinked in surprise, opened and closed his mouth a few times, and flickered his gaze between his feet and her face, "I, oh, uh, no! Not that I haven't—I mean, who wouldn't—I, uh, Miller said not to say anything about that, um, but," he took a deep breath, "no, I—that's not why I need to talk to you."
"Oh," Clarke replied gratefully, "so… what can I do for you?"
Jasper licked his lips and glanced out past their camp, as if steeling himself for what was going to come next, "We're going to Mt Weather," he said, though it wasn't so much a question as a confirmation, "and I, I just wanted to know if, um, if we could—if I could—bury them. Maya, and her dad. And all of them, but… I know it's, the ground is dark and it's so sad to just leave them there, and we had to bury the people at the drop ship because there wasn't anything else we could do but I think that it would be kind to them to bury them, rather than burn them. It's like, it would be giving them the earth, letting them be outside and on—in, I guess—in the ground where they wanted, but they gave up."
He was starting to ramble, and Clarke felt her stomach twist up again. She was going to be sick. Jasper wasn't looking at her, but she could see the bright tears in his eyes as he struggled to talk about the girl he'd loved. Who Clarke had murdered.
"Jasper, it's okay. You don't have to justify burying them," Clarke insisted. She didn't want to listen to him talk himself into an emotional breakdown. She couldn't handle that, "I think it's a great idea, but… but I don't know what Lexa is doing with the bodies. Her people are… they're getting it ready for us."
"Well the bodies have to go somewhere," Jasper insisted, "and after what they did for us!"
And to us, Clarke wanted to say, but she held her tongue. It was easier to think that the entire mountain community had been their enemy, but Clarke would never forget the brave actions that had saved her friends.
"We'll have a ceremony," she promised, "we'll honor everyone. I'll talk to Lexa and see what can be done in the meantime."
Jasper nodded meekly, head bowed. Clarke wanted to give him space to cry if he needed it, and also because she couldn't stomach the thought of comforting his grieving the people she'd killed to save him. She turned to leave as quietly as she could.
"Clarke," Jasper mumbled, his voice breaking.
She froze on the spot, "Yeah?"
"How… how can you marry her? After everything she did to us?"
Clarke bit her lip and fall back on the easy answer, "Love works in mysterious ways."
"She's a monster," Jasper insisted, "she's evil and heartless and she didn't care that we were all going to die. She's a bad person, Clarke I'm sorry, but that's the truth."
Clarke's skin was crawling at the truth of it all, and the unfairness that while Lexa made her choices willingly, Clarke had not been given a choice in the matter.
"And I'm not?" Clarke snapped. She'd never had a choice. When it came down to her own soul versus the lives of the people she protected, she hadn't hesitated to pull that lever. When it had been their lives, or the people in Ton DC, she had chosen them and let the rest burn. The road to hell was paved with good intentions and Clarke was living proof.
Jasper looked like he'd been slapped, and Clarke walked away from him before he could say anything else.
Clarke buried herself in work. She ended up turning around and going right back to helping Kane and Po deal with packing, and that kept her occupied for a few more hours. Making the list of necessities, of what would be allowed on the carts, proved to be difficult even amongst the three of them. Kane, shockingly, was too lenient and Clarke came across as too harsh. She was too used to living on her own, out of her own pack and by her own means. Everyone else had a life to bring with them, had belongings and mementos and pieces of their old life on the Arc that they weren't willing to throw away just yet. By the time they had gotten it all sorted and dealt with people continuing to ask what could be allowed, and if there could be any exceptions made, it was dark out and the torches around camp were being lit to continue to provide light. Po followed Clarke inside the Sick Bay this time. Apparently even Grounders felt cold after spending too long outside.
Her mother took one look at Clarke's red, numb hands and made her sit down with her hands in her armpits until she could tightly curl her fingers again.
Bellamy was still sitting with Octavia, and Lincoln had joined at some point. Lincoln was helping her mother where Clarke normally would have stepped in. There were less people inside, which meant her mother had been letting people go. Hopefully that choice wouldn't come back to haunt them.
The next thing she knew, her mother was shaking her awake.
"Clarke, honey, it's late. You're exhausted."
"M'fine," Clarke groaned. She sat up from the empty cot she'd curled up on. Her neck hurt and her right arm was numb from being slept on, "sorry," she said, "just, give me a minute. What can I do?"
"Go to bed," her mother insisted, "everyone else is sleeping, and I don't need your help right now. You need to be ready for tomorrow."
Clarke's mind was groggy and she rolled her shoulder to try and work blood back into it.
"Okay," she agreed. Sleep seemed like the best thing to do right now.
Bellamy was still sitting with Octavia. Clarke wondered if he'd moved at all, or had he spent the entire day just sitting around doing nothing while she was working to make his orders go smoothly. The anger in her gut woke her up a bit, and rather than talk to him she stormed outside. Po jumped to his feet and followed her.
"Where to now, Wanheda?" he asked.
"Sleep," Clarke replied, "I need to get some sleep before—what time is it?"
"Late," Po said, "but there is a long time until dawn."
"Okay," Clarke wrapped her arms around herself. It was unbearably cold now, in the dark. Camp Jaha was relatively quiet. Guards patrolled the edge of camp, likely on high alert with Lexa's camp just outside their walls. As Clarke looked at the rows of torches illuminating the tents of Lexa's camp she remembered where she was supposed to sleep tonight.
"Wanheda," Po asked, "are you okay?"
Clarke jumped at his voice, "Uh, yeah, yeah. I'm okay. Sorry I just… I have to get my things and then I'll go… join Lexa."
"You must be very excited," Po said, and sighed dreamily, "it must be so wonderful to be in love."
Clarke stopped walking to look at him. She'd never heard a grounder talk like that before.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"I was in Mt Weather," Po explained again.
"No," Clarke shook her head, "before that."
"Ah," Po nodded, "you wonder why I smile, compared to my cousins?"
"Cousins?" Clarke repeated.
"I was a wanderer," Po said, "and I wandered into the wrong hands. Heda offered to let me continue on my way, or to stay and serve her. I owe her a life debt, and so I am happy to stay."
"You're… from far away?" Clarke asked.
"A place much, much warmer than here. Beyond the dead zone," Po said, "much more romantic than these northern tribes. But there is a deadly beauty to their way of life, I will admit."
"You're… an outsider, and Lexa is letting you guard me?" Clarke said slowly. Was Po an assassin? Or was Lexa insulting her by giving her an untrained guard? Maybe she was setting Clarke up to be killed.
Po laughed, and the sound boomed in the quiet night, "Oh, Wanheda, do not mistake. I say the northerners are fierce, but there has never been a warrior greater than Polarishka-Tsarin-Mylemfae."
"The junior," Clarke said, and felt a smile tug at her lips. How far had Po travelled? He'd seen far more of the world than Clarke could ever dream of.
Po laughed again, a deep belly laugh. It lifted Clarke's mood enough that for a moment she forgot the dread of having to spend the night in Lexa's bed.
She walked slowly and tried to pretend she was just enjoying the night air, but it was so cold she couldn't waste too much time. Her mothers house was quiet and dark, and Clarke was thankful she'd left her pack by the door otherwise she wouldn't be able to find anything. The familiar shape of her and her mothers bed, the space where her mom had kept Clarke's old clothes and spare boots she'd salvaged, or where they'd eaten meals together were all indistinguishable in the darkness. Clarke gulped down frigid air, not quite a sob, and closed the door behind her.
The walk to Lexa's camp felt like a funeral march. It was just her and Po moving through the camp. A few late-night stragglers stopped to look at her before they hurried on their way to gossip about the Chancellor going to spend a night with her fiancé.
She had to wait, shivering in the dark, while the guards opened the gate.
"I don't want it closed," Clarke told them, when they protested her leaving, "we don't have to keep them out anymore."
They argued with her about safety, and making her people feel safe. Clarke was forced to pull rank on them, reminding them that she was their Chancellor, and that put her in an even fouler mood. She shouldn't have to pull rank. Her people used to trust her, before she was Chancellor. And she hated arguing for things that she didn't believe in. She didn't necessarily want to keep the Grounders out—they weren't at war, and she wanted the two people to get along—but Clarke wanted to build fortresses to keep Lexa away from her and her people. She wished she had a prison, a solitary cell, where she could keep the Commander locked away and never have to deal with her again.
The idea sustained her as she and Po made their way to Lexa's camp. The torches ringing the edge of the camp felt like they were further away then they'd looked in the light. Darkness, and cold, closed in around her as she walked down the well-worn path that led from Camp Jaha's entrance. The air was so cold it stung, and Clarke's nose and fingertips were already numb. She'd never felt a night this cold in her life and wished belatedly that she'd put on her headcover and handwraps even for this short trip.
The camp had only been set up that morning, but already there were distinct paths being tromped into the ground between the tents. Lexa's tent was not precisely in the middle of camp as Clarke expected. The middle was reserved for the carts and wagons of supplies, as well as the tethered horses that Lexa's people had brought with them. It appeared the Grounders were just as wary of losing their belongings as her own people.
Lexa's meeting tent was the one in the middle of camp, which came as a surprise to Clarke. She'd always assumed the Commander had slept in the same tent as her throne and the war table, but after a quick moment of thinking she realized that she'd never seen the Commander's bed.
"Po," Clarke asked softly, "where is Lexa's tent?"
Her guard didn't seem surprised that Clarke didn't know where she was going, and without a word he led her away from the center of the camp. Lexa's tent was practically nondescript, much smaller than the one Clarke had always met her in, except for the guards standing watch outside. They announced her to Lexa, and Po held open the tent for her to walk in.
There were candles lit inside, providing just enough light to make out the details of the interior. Lexa had a large bed piled in all sorts of thick furs. Clarke could imagine that they must feel incredibly soft and warm—so warm she could wake up sweating, and wouldn't that be a delight? The floor was covered with a woven rug that had been worn down over the years, but it looked relatively clean. Lexa probably didn't wear her boots inside then. The tent itself was just warmer than the outside, if only because it cut the wind. Clarke stopped shivering, but the chill remained. She didn't want to remove her boots since she didn't have socks—those had all worn out months ago. The Commander was sitting in a large chair in the corner, beside a small table that had a bowl of what Clarke's nose told her was more mulled wine. The bowl looked like it might be brass or copper, and had a candle set under it to heat the wine.
Lexa's hair was tied back, though not as intricately as it had been this morning. Her face was clean, and her cheeks looked a little flushed. Clarke was sure her own nose was bright red, and her cheeks glowing from the cold. Lexa was dressed in a dark, thick fur robe. Clarke had no idea what creature it would have come from, but it draped over Lexa's slight frame and made her look like she might actually be twice as large than she actually was.
"So good of you to join me," Lexa said. The greeting was plain enough, but the disdain was clear in her voice.
"Thanks for the invite," Clarke replied, using the same tone.
"Where's Bellamy?" Lexa asked. She didn't move from her chair. One of her legs was showing from under her robe, up to her thigh, and for a moment Clarke thought she might be naked underneath. Her heart started pounding in her chest—she was not here for sex, no matter what Lexa thought about this marriage she would not be forced into that—but then she noticed the bunching of cloth above Lexa's knee. Whatever clothing Lexa was wearing blended into her skin tone in the dim light.
"With his sister."
Clarke dropped her bag down beside her. She started to move for the mulled wine, invitations be dammed, because she was freezing.
Lexa held up a hand to stop her, "Your boots. When is he coming?"
Clarke deliberately held Lexa's gaze as she stepped forwards, boots on, and poured herself a cup of wine, "Eventually. I don't keep tabs on him."
Lexa's face was stripped of any emotion, or at least she was trying to keep it that way. Her lip twitched with the urge to curl, and her eyes narrowed enough that Clarke knew she was mad at her. Good. She nearly finished her cup in one gulp, and poured herself another.
"Your people aren't ready to leave for tomorrow," Lexa had never changed topics gracefully.
"No," Clarke agreed, "we'll leave the day after tomorrow."
Lexa slid out of her chair without her usual grace. In fact, she looked a little drunk, "Embarrassing," she hissed as she stood, "how unseemly for leaders to have such disarray in their camp."
"We're moving as fast as we can," Clarke growled, "and I don't see you helping."
They were almost nose-to-nose again. Lexa's eyebrows rose in amusement and Clarke realized her mistake too late.
"Help? I have done all that you have asked and more," she took a step forwards, driving Clarke back. Her breath was full of cinnamon and wine, "and this is how you choose to speak to me? I offer my people, my protection and even my bed and you choose to fight me?"
"Well lucky you," Clarke braced herself and didn't budge as Lexa stared her down, "because I'd rather sleep outside then share a bed with you."
Lexa snorted, turning quickly, "I don't think you would," she said with all the petulance of a child, "you'd freeze to death."
"You won't get into Mt Weather if I die," Clarke retorted. She felt like she was a child again, and she couldn't stop. She wanted to wrap her fingers around Lexa's throat or crack open her ribs to prove once and for all there was no heart in her body. It was the alcohol talking, but it was the most emotion she'd seen in Lexa in a long time.
"Then your people die," Lexa sneered. She dropped her robe unceremoniously, and Clarke flinched because Lexa looked like she was naked. Like the bottoms that Clarke had noticed earlier, Lexa's top was of the same material that in the candlelight blended to the same color as her skin. Clarke decided to finish another cup of wine before she sat down in the chair Lexa had just left. She tried not to focus on how warm it was.
Lexa was in her bed, tucked in with layers of warm furs to cover her, "The bed is much warmer than the chair." She ran her hands over the furs, "are you serious about sleeping in that chair?"
Clarke tucked her knees up to her chest, bracing her boots on the chair to keep her position.
"I'm not coming near you," Clarke said. She took another long drink of wine. She needed to be drunk for this. It was the only thing keeping her warm, and the only way she'd ever get any sleep would be if she could just pass out before she realized how uncomfortable she was.
"Clarke don't be dramatic," Lexa sighed, "you're acting like a child."
"You're drunk," Clarke snapped in lieu of any actual insult she wanted to say. She pulled her head covering from her bag and wrapped it tight, drawing it down close to her eyes so that she didn't have to look at Lexa anymore. Lexa huffed in annoyance and Clarke heard her lay down, but she didn't start a fight. Raised voices would be a bad idea with guards standing just outside the thin walls of the tent.
With nothing better to do, Clarke started drinking in earnest. She was going to suffer for this tomorrow, but already the cold felt less intrusive against her and her drowsiness from earlier was coming back strong. She'd have to make sure there was a big chair wherever she, Bellamy and Lexa ended up living in Mt Weather. So long as she had a big comfy chair, then she wouldn't ever have to share a bed with either of them. Outside of the three of them, everyone would assume she slept in the bed and Bellamy and Lexa would have enough room to keep their distance from one another. It was a great solution. She could survive this marriage.
But maybe a secondary bed on the ground would be better. Clarke's legs were cramping and she wasn't sure how long she'd been curled in this position now. She felt hot and pulled her head wrap off to cool down. The wine bowl was empty and she felt sick and bloated. Served her right for making terrible choices. She couldn't stay in the chair anymore, and slid down onto the floor. It was much cooler, and the rug felt nice against her hot skin. She could stretch out her legs and her sloshy stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the room from spinning.
Yeah, Clarke thought to herself, I can handle this.
(Sure Clarke, whatever helps you sleep at night.)
I've started introducing some original characters this chapter! I'm trying to keep them minimal, because it's a lot of extra names to keep track of, so I'll try to only give plot-important people names to make it easier on y'all. I really love Po, though. I wanted a slightly different grounder personality than what we've seen so far with the quiet, gloomy and angry, so Po is a hopeless romantic with a long name and a big laugh (and some big swords, but that'll come later). We'll meet Bellamy's guard next chapter.
Also we see some weird Arc things- like people apologizing to Clarke for having sex with Bellamy. The Arc people just have very strange views of sex and love. Sex w/o love is fine, but in their eyes monogamy, love, and marriage are all the same thing so there's this cultural thing that's developed. Also, I miss the Bellamy on the show who loves sex and people so that's what I wanna write. As I've said before, I think, in these author notes, sex is how Bellamy connects with people. And it's especially important in the Arc society in this story where Bellamy doesn't believe he can love anyone because he loves his sister, so the whole 'Bellamy really gets around' is 2 parts joke, 1 part sad, learned behaviour.
Coming up next week, one of my favorite tropes: 'there's only one bed and three of us, guess we'll have to get cozy'
See you next Saturday!