Chapter 29/31
Warmth washes over her in gentle waves. Clarke feels her body relax, she feels it float, drift aimlessly somewhere out of her control. She doesn't mind the feeling, she doesn't mind the calm and the serenity. It's been so long, too long since she has felt the way she does now.
And so she embraces it.
Sometimes it feels like days, sometimes it feels like moments, minutes, seconds or a lonely breath. But between those peaceful moments there's times when she thinks she wakes, when all she feels is the agony in her body, is the pain in her flesh and blood, the ache in her bones. There's thoughts of loss hidden behind the uncertainty, there's thoughts she can't grasp, of something she knows she should remember, of someone she should recall. But she can't.
Maybe one day she will.
Clarke wakes. Her eyes seem tired, raw, itched and weary. It doesn't feel like she has slept, it doesn't feel like she has rested at all. Her mind feels fuzzy, trapped, stuck in sand unable to move forward unable to move back. Light seems to shine overhead, its brightness a little too sharp at times and a little too gentle at others. She realises then that she lies in a bed, the mattress hard, the blanket that covers her coarse, rough and simple.
As Clarke's mind escapes from the depths of whatever slumber she had been in she finds herself trying to sit only to feel a sharp pain in the side of her body before she can even fully move a single muscle. And then she remembers. Clarke remembers the reaper tunnels, she remembers the fight, she remembers the first knife plunging into her side, she remembers the second. And she remembers Torvun, she remembers him carrying her to safety before throwing her free of the tunnel just in time as it collapsed around them.
And sadness, loss, guilt and any other emotion she can even begin to think of hits her with such intensity that she can't breathe, that she can't think, can't move, can't do anything but break where she lies.
But there's movement, there's sound, there's someone nearby who must sense her waking for she hears a groggy groan, she hears a gasp and she hears the rustle of something being set aside before a figure comes to lean over her and steal her vision.
"Clarke?"
Her gaze remains blurry for another long moment. She blinks once, twice, three times, her hand tries to come up to rub at her eyes only for her hand to be pushed back down to her side.
"You are ok, Clarke. You are in Arkadia."
And she recognises the voice at the same time her vision begins to settle.
"Lexa?" Clarke's sure she sees a smile, she's sure she sees relief flood Lexa's face. But that relief she sees upon Lexa's face isn't mirrored within her thoughts. "Ontari and Entani?" she asks.
"They are recovering," Lexa says with a smile.
"And—" but Clarke chokes on her words, she can't force herself to ask, she can't, not when she knows the last she saw of Torvun was him being swallowed by the tunnels as they collapsed.
But Lexa must understand for her expression turns sad, it turns guarded and worried as she looks away for a brief moment.
And that is all the answer Clarke needs, it is as much confirmation as she will ever get, and it hurts, it breaks her and she feels tears beginning to well in her eyes as her heart constricts, as her lungs seem to fill with icy breath and as her mind begins breaking. Clarke looks away, she tucks her face into her shoulder in the hopes of hiding her pain from Lexa. She doesn't think she's ever cried in front of her, she doesn't think she's ever felt so broken, so vulnerable, so hopeless. But she does and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to process the loss, the guilt and the agony that seems to be consuming her with each passing second.
"Clarke," Lexa calls her name softly, her voice careful, quiet and kind. "Clarke," Lexa repeats it and reaches out and squeezes her hand in as tight an embrace as she seemingly dares. "Torvun is alive, Clarke."
She doesn't know how to respond to that. What she saw, what she remembers doesn't line up with the things Lexa says, with the reassurance on her face and the belief in her eyes.
"How?" Clarke shakes her head only to wince as a pain shoots up against her forehead. "How?" she tries to make sense. "I—" she pauses, tries to swallow the lump in her throat and tries to clear her blurred vision. "I saw the tunnel collapse— he— he threw me, pushed me out before it all came down on us."
Lexa looks away then, she pulls a chair closer and sets herself in it. She takes in a long breath and Clarke knows something is wrong, she can sense the unease rolling off Lexa now.
"He was close enough to the tunnel's opening that the collapse did not kill him," Lexa begins carefully, and Clarke can see sadness in her eyes now. "He was injured terribly," Clarke can feel a horror slowly beginning to creep, beginning to take hold of every single fibre of her body.
"How seriously?" Clarke whispers, and she tries not to let her worries take control more than they already have.
"He has lost both his legs," Lexa says, and it comes out simply. Straightforward. Honest.
Clarke doesn't know if Lexa saying it so openly, or if sugarcoating it would have been better. It doesn't matter anyway because Clarke feels fresh tears forming in her eyes, she feels a guilt building within her core and she blames herself, she hates herself, and she tries to shake her head, she tries to ignore the pain, the anger and the loss. It feels like everything that has happened is her fault. It feels like all the Azgeda who were injured and killed at the gates of Polis were her responsibility. It feels like anyone, everyone injured at the Mountain in Ilian's attack was because she failed to do more.
"It is not your fault, Clarke," Lexa says but Clarke refuses to listen, she refuses. It has to be her fault. Who else can she blame?
"Can I see him?" Clarke asks, and she ignores every little thing her body seems to be telling her as she struggles to sit, as she struggles to push herself up despite the pain she feels in both sides of her body from her stab wounds.
Lexa seems to war with an answer for a long time, and Clarke can see that she doesn't want to let her out of bed, she can see Lexa would rather pin her down than let her move. But she can also see understanding in her eyes. Clarke knows if Lexa were in her place she would want the same.
"Your mother says you are not to be up for too long," Lexa says eventually, and Clarke finds herself realising for the very first time that she is actually in Arkadia, that what she sits in is one of the hospital beds, and that screens and monitors ever so quietly beep around them.
"Where is everyone else?" Clarke asks as she looks around to find the medbay void of everyone other than them. "How long have I been here?"
"Almost three days," Lexa begins. "Most of the injured are back in the Mountain," Lexa pauses, perhaps in thought, perhaps simply to take a moment to recall. "The only things damaged inside were the decorations and beds. But we have brought more in from the surrounding villages."
Clarke finds herself sighing in relief, the motion unconscious yet seemingly taking with it a weight she didn't realise she was carrying.
"Torvun, Ontari and Entani are here," Lexa says and Clarke can't help but to crane her head in an attempt to see if they are near. "They have been given quarters to rest. There are some other Azgeda being cared for here, too."
"That's good," and Clarke smiles, the expression more needed than she realises. "Now help me up, I am going to see Torvun."
Clarke doesn't remember ever feeling like a cripple, but as she finds Lexa hovering close to her with each step down the Ark's hallways, she feels herself as just that.
"Torvun killed Ilian," Lexa blurts out into the silence.
Clarke finds herself half shocked that she hasn't even thought about Ilian's fate, she finds herself half unsurprised for part of her had assumed Torvun's arrival had meant Ilian had been dealt with.
"Teben," Lexa continues after she lets Clarke digest the information. "She helped drag you from the water," that genuinely surprises Clarke.
"She did?" Clarke doesn't quite know what to think about that new piece of information.
"Yes," Lexa nods as they continue to walk down the hallway slowly. "We have her held in your brig until we decide what to do with her."
"I see," Clarke winces as she takes a little too adventurous of a step and her sides spasm. Lexa notices for she reaches out to steady her lest she fall, her hands hovering just a hair's breadth from her hips. "I—" Clarke takes a moment to get her breathing under control. "I'm ok."
She can see the displeasure held behind Lexa's gaze despite the calmness on her face.
"Trust me," and Clarke reaches down and squeezes Lexa's hand. "I'll be fine. I just need to take it slow."
It's half a lie, for each step makes her body ache, even breathing seems more painful than it should, but she isn't dead and she knows herself not in any immediate risk of becoming worse. If she were she is sure Lexa would forbid her from even getting out of the bed.
It doesn't take them long before they turn a corner. Clarke knows straightaway that they have come to wherever her friends are being cared for. Other Azgeda warriors mill about the hallway, some resting, some in quiet conversation, others lying down on makeshift cots along one side of the hallway. Clarke smiles painfully as she finds herself looking at Jenma, who sits in conversation with Leeton and Bronat as Echo hovers nearby. They're a sight for sore eyes and Clarke finds herself feeling relieved that whatever trouble they may have found left them unharmed.
"Clarke," Jenma says as she looks up at her appearance.
Clarke sees Jenma smile, and Leeton and Bronat turn to face her with their own surprised expressions.
"Hey," Clarke says once she manages to make it close enough to them to be heard. She nods to Echo who acknowledges her arrival with a simple lifting of a hand.
"We were told you would not be up yet," Leeton says as she cautiously looks her up and down.
"I am glad you are ok," Jenma adds as Bronat nods as he looks at Lexa before awkwardly looking away, the Commander's proximity clearing foreign to him.
"I'm ok for now," Clarke says with a tight smile.
"We hunted down more of Ilian's allies," Jenma says.
Clarke isn't surprised by that. She knows any of the uninjured Azgeda not focused on getting their wounded help would have wanted to do anything to find some justice for their people.
"No one else get hurt?" Clarke asks.
"No," Jenma shake her head. "Not seriously."
"Some were wounded, but all recovering," Leeton adds.
"Good," Clarke says with a relieved sigh. She doesn't think she can handle more of her people being hurt for a very long time.
"They are there," Jenma says and she gestures a little way down the hall and to where quarters hide behind closed doors.
"Thank you," Clarke says with a nod as she begins moving past.
"Jenma did well," Lexa says once they move far enough away not to be heard. "She secured Arkadia from any potential attack."
"She's stepping up," Clarke says and she finds herself remembering the first time she met Jenma, when they had been hunting with Raven what seems like another lifetime ago.
"Yes," Lexa seems to agree and Clarke wonders if her putting Jenma in charge of protecting Arkadia was purely out of desperation and lack of numbers, or if she truly believed that Jenma would be capable of leading such a defence. "Costia and Anya are scouting the forests surrounding Arkadia and the Mountain," Lexa adds.
"To make sure there's no more of Ilian's allies?"
"Yes," and this time Lexa seems weary and just a little exhausted by the events.
Clarke understands though. She doesn't remember the last time she had the opportunity to simply relax, not do anything and sit back for more than just a day or two before being thrown headfirst into something unexpected. But she shakes those thoughts from her mind as she comes to the first set of quarters.
"Ontari and Entani are in here," Lexa says. "Abby insisted Torvun have his own," but Clarke understands. She knows Torvun's need for rest and calm perhaps more important than most given his injuries. "I will wait outside."
Clarke gives Lexa's hand a tight squeeze in thanks before she knocks on the door. There's muffled noise, a grunt and then she hears the approach of feet.
It only takes a moment before the doors open to reveal Ontari standing in front of her, arm in a sling and her face much more tanned than usual.
"Clarke?" Ontari's face splits into a happy smile as she steps aside and ushers her in.
Clarke finds yet another layer of weight lift from her shoulders as she steps into the small quarters. She finds Entani lying on her back on a bed, torso wrapped in yet another thick and hardened bandage, her face as equally tanned.
"You guys need to stop hurting yourselves," Clarke says as she finds Ontari offering a chair.
"As do you," Entani says with a smile. "You should not be out of bed."
"I know," there's no point her denying it, especially to Entani. "I'm glad you're both ok," Clarke adds.
"Yes," Ontari says with a grunt as she sits back down in her own chair, her shoulder clearly still tender and sore.
"How?" Clarke asks, and she doesn't know what else to say.
"We were taken to the Mountain with the other injured," Ontari begins as she looks at Entani for a moment. "Torvun was with us," her force seems to twist with a bitterness as she must think of Torvun's injuries. "He left to look for you," and she gestures to her shoulder, to Entani still lying on her back and then to her face and her eyes. "Entani could not walk. I could not lift a sword or see."
"You couldn't see?" Clarke asks and she frowns, she tries to think back the days since the explosion at Polis gates.
"My eyes were damaged."
Clarke's face goes blank, she doesn't quite know what to think at that, but then she begins to panic ever so slightly as she leans closer only to wince, but still, she tries to look into Ontari's eyes, she tries to see how bad the damage is, what Ontari will need, how she will be cared for.
"They are healing," Ontari says. "I must take ointments for them," and she points to a small vial of liquid that Clarke only now just lies on the table. "I can see, but my vision is blurry."
"And you'll make a full recovery?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," Ontari says, and despite the frown forming between her eyebrows Clarke can hear the confidence within Ontari's voice.
"Good," Clarke sighs, yet another relief to be had as she leans back, as she lets her body release the tension it had been holding. "And you're ok, too?" Clarke asks as she looks at Entani up and down.
"Yes," Entani says, but she doesn't move much from where she lies. "Sore."
"I have to feed her like a baby," Ontari says with a little laugh.
"Shut up," Entani's voice seems to border somewhere between annoyance and suffered humility and Clarke can tell now that they feel secure that Ontari must be teasing Entani mirthlessly.
Clarke smiles as both women devolve into teasing each other, and it looks funny, it is funny. If only because threats of bodily harm begin to be throne back and forth at each other, but Clarke thinks it lost on both women that neither are capable in their current states of even accomplishing half the threats they make.
She doesn't stay much longer though, just long enough that she is sure both her friends have enough before she ducks out of the room to find Lexa quietly talking to Echo, both women an awkwardly far distance away from each other. Clarke doesn't blame either one of them for the way they act around each other though. She knows at one stage Lexa would have been more likely to slice Echo's throat than speak to her, but perhaps Costia's safe return was enough to temper those hates enough that Lexa could set aside her feelings. Clarke is at least sure that Lexa's hate has evolved into tempered displeasure.
Echo sees her exit the room and so she bows her head before stepping back and beginning to walk away.
"What was that about?" Clarke asks.
"Echo will help Costia and Anya scout the areas," Lexa says and Clarke can feel Lexa's gaze drilling into her as if she tries to gauge her state of mind after seeing Ontari and Entani in their injured states.
"That's good."
"Yes, Clarke," and Lexa gestures for the next door. "Torvun is inside," and she pauses in thought. "Your mother is seeing to him at the moment."
Clarke isn't surprised by that revelation, she even expected to bump into her mother at some stage. It'd be an understatement though, to say that things weren't loving between mother and daughter. Clarke finds herself far enough removed from the past that she can understand why her mother did the things she did, but perhaps not spending time together, not talking as much as they could have, had strained things further.
Perhaps Clarke will find out.
And so Clarke takes a step towards the next door, she winces as she feels her muscles try to steady her torso only for pain to shoot up both her sides and she tries to wrestle her breathing back into control as she braces herself against the door frame.
"Are you ok, Clarke?" Lexa asks from behind her.
"Yeah," Clarke nods, half to convince Lexa, half to convince herself. "I'm ok. Just give me a moment."
"We can return," Lexa says and Clarke feels her step closer to her, she feels the concern rolling off her in waves and she knows what expression will be on Lexa's face. "Torvun will always be here."
"No," Clarke doesn't mean for her voice to sound so biting, and she hopes Lexa knows she doesn't mean it either. "I need to see him."
Lexa reaches out again, this time to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she steps back to give her space, to give her some privacy, and Clarke is thankful for that, she is thankful Lexa understands, that she never pushes and that she never expects. Perhaps that's why she lo—
The door opens and Clarke comes face to face with her mother, tablet in one hand and frown in place.
"Clarke?"
"Hey," Clarke says with a cautious smile.
"You shouldn't b—" Abby seems to censor herself, and her lips turn up at the corners as she smiles, as she seems to look at Lexa and nod. "I'm happy you're up and about. Don't stress yourself, though," and Abby takes a moment to look at the tablet in her hands before she flips the screen off and steps out of the room. "Torvun's sleeping," Abby continues. "He'll be in and out of consciousness for a while. His body has had a big shock."
"I understand," Clarke says, and it's a relief to hear Torvun's condition at least seems stable.
Clarke smiles at her mother as she steps aside, and as Clarke enters the room she looks over her shoulder to find Lexa and Abby falling into quiet conversation, perhaps about how best to treat all the wounded or how best to proceed given recent events.
But Clarke doesn't give it much more thought as the door slides shut behind her. The quarters she stands in are small, obviously retrofitted to be used more as small hospital ward. Four beds take up most of the interior space, each one in their own separate corner. Curtains hang from retrofitted rails bolted into the ceiling yet three of the four beds remain vacant.
Clarke's vision falls on the forth bed and she finds her eyes beginning to tear, she finds her lips beginning to tremble as she begins to walk forward.
Torvun lies on the bed, a thin blanket covering him up to the waist. Bandages are wrapped around the top of his head, with a single strip running under his chin to keep them in place. His beard's gone, too, it having been shaved back hastily in what Clarke can only assume is an attempt at making it easier to clean and stitch the wounds she can see on his cheeks and chin. Both his arms lie at his sides, one hand bandaged, the other in a cast. Despite all the injuries she can see though, Clarke's gaze settles completely upon his lower half. She can see the outline of his waist and down to his legs. But it makes her stomach churn, it makes her heart break as she finds herself looking just below where she thinks his right knee is only to see the blanket flatten, depress and not carry on with the contours of a lower leg leading to a foot. Clarke can't tear her eyes away as she takes in his left leg, too, this one with just a little more left below the knee compared to his right. But, just as with his right, she finds herself searching for more, for an ankle and a foot.
She doesn't mean to make any noise for she wishes not to wake him, but Clarke can't help but to sob, but to choke on the sound as it finds itself trapped within her throat.
There's a guilt in her, something violent, something so fierce that she wishes she could turn back time, wishes she could have somehow convinced him to leave her in the tunnels and to save himself. She wishes she could do things differently. Perhaps she hadn't been fast enough to stab Ilian, perhaps she should have targeted him first and ignored that other man. Maybe then Torvun wouldn't have been hurt.
"I'm sorry, Torvun," Clarke whispers as she fumbles her way to his side. "I'm so, so, so sorry," and she grimaces past the pain in her sides, the pain in her chest and the ache in her heart as she eases herself into a chair next to his side.
Clarke's hand comes up, her fingers shaking and her hand trembling and she lets it rest atop his heart. She's not entirely sure why she does it, she's not entirely sure doing it is even a conscious effort. But nonetheless, she feels herself falling into the beat of his heart.
She finds herself looking at him, and despite the bruised flesh of his face, despite how swollen it is around his wounds, and despite the new scars she knows will adorn his skin, she thinks him so peaceful in rest, so calm in slumber. Clarke doesn't think she's ever seen Torvun this peaceful before. Truthfully, she doesn't even know how he manages to rest. Of course when he isn't guarding her he has his free time, but normally those times are when she is so well surrounded by Azgeda that she has no time to rest herself. And so it pains Clarke to realise that this is the only way in the years she has known him that she has actually seen him like this.
He looks so much younger without his beard, too. Somehow the beard always made him seem fierce, larger than life and a brute of a man. She knew that by design. But now, as she looks at him, she can't help but to wonder if Torvun isn't that much older than she is. She's never asked, he's never offered. Their company and the quiet they share enough to keep them both happy in their time together. But Clarke remembers Torvun speaking of an older brother taken by the Mountain, she wonders if he ever thinks of him, she wonders if he still keeps in touch with his parents. She thinks they still life and yet that is something she doesn't know.
"You will be taken care of, Torvun," Clarke whispers and she hopes he can hear her. "Your family will be taken care of. Any future family will be taken care of," and she stands, she grimaces and her face pulls as pain skips through her. "If you want to retire no one will stop you. If you want to do something different you will be able to do anything," and she finds her tears beginning to fall unhindered now. "You wont have to worry about anything anymore. I promise," and Clarke leans forward and she ignores the pain in her body as she presses her lips to his cheek.
"Clarke," she startles, she pulls back a little too quickly and she winces as she feels her sides protest her movements.
But as Clarke settles back in her chair she finds Torvun looking at her with tired eyes.
"Hey," she whispers, hand reaching to to squeeze his upper arm carefully.
She feels his eyes take her in, she feels him analyse every little scrape, cut, bump and bruise she is sure is upon her body.
"You should be resting," he says, his voice softer than she has ever heard it before.
Clarke doesn't bother to protest, she doesn't bother to argue. She doesn't think she can.
"I know," she says and she sees part of his lip twitch at the corners.
"I am happy you are ok," he says eventually and Clarke can't help but to feel her eyes water yet again at his words.
She looks away, perhaps to shield herself from his gaze, perhaps to keep whatever suffering she feels hidden from him, if only because it seems so very juvenile compared to his pains. But she feels Torvun 's hand close around hers and squeeze with as much strength as he can muster.
"I will be ok," Torvun doesn't say it until she looks him in the eyes, but she can see a belief in them, she can see a sorrow and an acceptance hidden somewhere deep within his gaze.
"Can I stay for a while?" Clarke asks eventually. Part of her wants to be close with him, part of her can't bear to look at his pain. But something deeper, something stronger seems to tell her it only just that she be with him. "If you'll have me?" she doesn't want to intrude.
Torvun relaxes back into the bed and nods his head as his eyes close, a fatigue already beginning to settle within him once more.
"Yes," Torvun says. "I would like that, Clarke."