Author's Note: This chapter is bringing a third couple into this story, because right now Monroe and Harper need some love too.
Just so everyone knows, I was taking a break from finishing up this chapter, looking at some Clexa gifs on tumblr and trying not to cry, when my winamp decides to blindside me with Faith Hill's "Breathe." I lost it. Dammit.
Cover Art for the story is from the LexaRecovery tumblr.
I do not own the television show "The 100" or make any claims upon it or its characters. If I did, I would treat them with more respect. Similarly, I do not own Frozen, its characters or any Disney characters or property. All these characters are used under the concept of Fair Use, and I make no profit or income from using any of them.
Our Fight Is Not Over
by Jo K.
Chapter 2: Consequences
So you've been broken and you've been hurt
Show me somebody who ain't
Yeah I know I ain't nobody's bargain
But hell, a little touch up and a little paint...
You might need something to hold onto
When all the answers, they don't amount to much
Somebody that you could just talk to
And a little of that human touch
-Bruce Springsteen, "Human Touch"
—O—
The restless movement and muttering voices both ceased as the doors to the council chamber opened, admitting Lexa, now wearing her full armor and ceremonial gear, her red mini-cape streaming off her left shoulder and swaying as she walked, and Clarke, wearing dark gray pants, a matching shirt and one of Lexa's black leather jackets as they walked in side by side.
All eyes watched the two of them as Clarke walked past her previous seat with the other representatives of the clans, instead stepping up onto the dais holding Lexa's throne and standing to Lexa's left, on the same side as her previous seat. Heads turned back and forth, but Lexa's voice stopped any discussion before it could start.
"This emergency meeting of the Council of Thirteen Clans is now open," she spoke, with a tone that resonated with authority. "There are two main reasons why I have summoned you tonight." She looked around the room, meeting each clan representative's eyes as she did so. "First, just a short time ago, Titus, one of my most senior advisers, tried to kill Klark kom Skaikru and me, using a forbidden weapon."
Now the voices surged to life around the room. Lexa smiled, and it was a smile as different from the smiles she shared with Clarke as night was from day. This smile was cold, cutting and hard as the steel of her sword. "Heda and Wanheda are not so easily killed," she said slowly. "Regardless of his years of service to Heda, there can be no forgiveness for Titus's offense. His sentence will be carried out in a few minutes in the plaza in front of the tower."
Lexa looked up to Octavia and Indra, who were standing at the doors to the council chamber. "Indra kom Trikru and Oktevia kom Trikru," Lexa said firmly. "Take six guards and escort Titus from the Deep Cell to the pole. We will be there in a few minutes to carry out his sentence. No one is to start without us."
"Sha, Heda," both Indra and Octavia replied, with nods, before turning and leaving the room.
Lexa waited until the doors were closed, then she carefully took a steadying breath. "The second matter is an announcement, rather than an emergency. While it is not the council's business, I would like it to be known that I have taken Klark kom Skaikru as my houmon."
The eruption of the council chamber was quite impressive, although to their credit none of the representatives made any threatening movements toward the dais. That did not stop Lexa from smoothly turning and yanking one of the spears out of the throne's back. All the weapons hidden in the Heda's throne were carefully maintained and well-sharpened, and everyone in the room knew it. She gripped it in preparation for throwing it, which almost immediately plunged the room into stillness and silence once more. She swept her gaze around the room, and now her expression was a withering glare, daring anyone present to challenge her.
Clarke subtly drew her pistol, keeping it and her left hand at her side. All eyes were on Lexa except for Clarke's; she was too busy trying to analyze those behind the representatives, looking for any suspicious movement or flashes of metal that could indicate a drawn blade.
When Lexa audibly growled, Clarke felt a surge of adrenaline jolt through her body that seemed rather inappropriate, mostly for the way it triggered an intense desire for her mate. It took all of her willpower to push those desires deep inside, staying focused on the potentially deadly situation currently at hand. One particular man on the right side of the room drew her attention; he was subtly moving toward the front of the small crowd on his side of the room, with one hand visible and the other unable to be seen currently.
"I AM HEDA!" Lexa shouted, so loudly that several people in the room visibly winced or flinched. "How DARE you question my actions!"
Clarke looked to the guard closest to her left long enough to catch his eye, then she returned her vision to the suspicious man now hovering just at the edge of the ambassadors. "That one," Clarke said to the guard, using her right hand to point to the man.
Instantly the guard rushed past Clarke, spear leveled as he closed with the man, who appeared startled and attempted to retreat when he realized the guard was approaching him. However, the people behind him refused to let him through, and when the ambassadors in front of him parted to let the guard through, the shine of a knife was easily seen in his right hand. The man lifted his arm to throw the knife at either Lexa or Clarke, but the guard's spear slashed out and up, catching the man's forearm and severing enough tendons to send the knife clattering to the floor.
As another guard stepped forward, the first guard turned back to Clarke, meeting her gaze long enough to nod formally. Clarke returned the nod and smiled at him in return. It only then struck her that he had not hesitated in the least with obeying her order.
"Enough!" shouted Lexa.
She continued to quite visibly look around the room, while Clarke did the same, albeit more subtly. "Several of you have, over the last few months, made... suggestions to me," Lexa said coolly.
Clarke turned to look at Lexa, registering the distaste she could sense in her mate's words.
"Suggestions about Wanheda, and about 'claiming' Wanheda's power before someone else could do so." Lexa said in the same icy voice. "I made it quite clear to each of you then that no one was to harm Wanheda or attempt to claim her power." Lexa took a deep breath before she continued.
"Wanheda—Clarke—suffered much when she defeated the Mountain. She sacrificed more than any of you know." Lexa sighed and shifted her grip on the spear from a throwing position to a grip better suited for close combat. "Some of you still look at Clarke and dismiss her. You think her soft, or weak, because she grew up in the sky instead of here on the ground." Lexa turned to look at Clarke, staring proudly at the blonde's beautiful face for several seconds before she extended her left hand toward Clarke, who stepped forward to take it, lacing their fingers together.
Lexa smiled warmly at her wife before turning to regard the council and their seconds once more. "Clarke is the bravest, strongest person I have ever known in my life," Lexa said firmly, looking around the room once more.
"Ramius," Lexa said, looking at the ambassador from the Rivers Clan. "I have seen you take a force of twenty warriors and hold a village against an attacking force over a hundred strong," she said, smiling when the massive man smiled and stood a bit more proudly. "Your bravery is unquestionable. But I have watched Clarke march into an army numbering over two thousand, alone and unarmed, to demand to negotiate with me regarding her people."
She looked to another council representative, a slight woman with dark skin, a weathered face and inquisitive hazel eyes. "Niobe," she said. "You and the Lake People killed a pack of eight reapers when they attacked your village, saving dozens of Podakru with your actions. Because of you, Reaper attacks dropped sharply in your region. But thanks to Clarke, we were able to save Reapers, not just kill them, bringing back ones we had thought lost to us forever."
Lexa once more looked around the room, squeezing Clarke's hand as she did so, drawing strength from that contact with the woman she loved. "When one of Skaikru killed eighteen villagers, it was Clarke herself who killed him." Before anyone else could object, Lexa raised the spear in her right hand. "Yes, she granted the murderer mercy, which was not our way. But it was her way. She risked taking his place at the pole of punishment, yet she stood to her principles and did what she thought was right. And when we returned to that village to inform them that the murderer had been executed, it was Clarke who spoke the blessing for the dead and lit the fire to free their souls.
"I am very aware that no Heda before me has taken a houmon. But there are many things that have been accomplished during my time as Heda that no one before me achieved. And Klark kom Skaikru has proven herself not only to be a brave, fierce warrior and a skilled leader for her people, but a worthy mate for me as well." Lexa looked at Clarke and smiled again, that smile increasing even more when Clarke returned the look of adoration. "I love her, and she loves me. We have learned much from one another already, and I look forward to learning even more with her by my side."
Lexa turned to look at the council once more. "Wanheda's power is now forever part of the alliance!" Lexa loudly proclaimed, raising her and Clarke's enjoined hands high. "Our coalition of clans is still stronger with Skaikru, and Klark herself will deal with the hostile element within Skaikru in just a few days. Until then, they will all remain contained in their home territory, as already decided."
"How do we know that the Skaikru—" The speaker, a middle-aged warrior from the Broadleaf clan, caught himself quickly. "How do we know that Klark kom Skaikru will not wield undue influence with you, Heda?" the man asked, trembling slightly as he finished his question.
"Clarke already wields powerful influence with me, although I would not say it was undue," Lexa replied. "She has proven herself to be my best adviser time and again."
"Lexa is still Heda," Clarke added. "Even with her being my wife, I will follow the Commander's directions, beginning with sorting out the mess that has developed in Arkadia."
"We have other business to conclude before that," Lexa said, turning to look at Clarke. Her imperious gaze gentled as she met Clarke's eyes, and the bright green eyes that Clarke adored softened along with Lexa's voice as she addressed her lover. "Arkadia is safely contained for the time being. We have another traitor we have to deal with right now."
Lexa looked around the room once more. "Proceed down to the plaza below," she said firmly, and her tone of voice made it clear this was not a request. "Oh, and kill that worthless man who tried to throw a knife at me."
—O—
Abby Griffin arrived in Arkadia's garage at a run, quickly spotting the medical team including Jackson and two Arkadians they had trained as nurses and assistants, Greene and Yates.
"What happened?" Abby said, trying to slow her breathing after running all the way to the motor pool.
"The strike team Chancellor Pike sent to take out a nearby village met some resistance," Jackson replied, calm as always. "From what I could tell, it sounds like... a poison gas attack."
"Poison gas?" Abby asked, turning to look at her colleague. "My God. How many?"
"Monty caught some of it, but it sounds like he's stable. A few others got a bit of it, but it sounds like they're fine. Monroe, though..." He trailed off, his face turning grim. "It didn't sound good, Abby."
Abby nodded at the same time the door to the garage began to rumble open. "Be ready to get Monroe onto the stretcher and transport her to sickbay immediately," she said, pleased when their two nurses did just that. Abby checked her equipment and loaded a dose of epinephrine in her injector. "I'm loading the epi, you ready a dose of corticosteroids," she said to Jackson. "If she breathed in enough poison gas, we could be dealing with alveolar burns, pulmonary edema or hemorrhage, tracheal occlusion..."
Jackson nodded. "Or all of the above," he added flatly. "Here they come."
The all-terrain transport screeched to a stop just a few feet away; the rear doors flew open even as the vehicle was still rocking back and forth from the abrupt halt. Greene and Yates ran forward with the stretcher, Abby and Jackson right on their heels.
Inside the rear of the transport, two people were hovering over a still figure, the soles of a pair of dark boots facing the medical team, still marked with leaves and black soil between the lugs. Nathan Miller was performing CPR while another member of the squad used an AMBU bag to give their patient a breath every fifteen beats.
"It's getting harder to bag her," said Jenna Wright, sweat dripping down her neck. "She's still alive, but I don't know how."
"We lost her twice," Miller said, checking Monroe's neck. "Pulse's back," he said before letting his head tilt back and sucking in a deep breath as he was finally able to give his aching arms and back a respite.
"Let's get her to sickbay," Abby said, moving to allow Yates and Greene to slide the stretcher under the figure's legs, then the two of them and Miller scooted the body the rest of the way onto the stretcher.
As they slid the body out of the vehicle, Abby recognized Zoe Monroe's pale face, dotted with faint freckles, her strawberry-red hair pulled back into the long braids she usually wore when on duty as a guard. She was ashen, the sweat on her face and neck dangerously cool when Abby checked her pulse. "Still alive," she said, as much to herself as anyone else. "Give her the hydrocortisone," she said to Jackson, who immediately injected the medication into Monroe's limp figure.
She's still just a child, Abby thought to herself as she looked at just how young Zoe Monroe looked as she lay there, helpless and unconscious. Or least she was until we sent her down here to die. "Go get the ventilator ready," she said to Jackson, who instantly ran out of the motor pool.
Miller took the ventilation bag from Wright, who immediately stretched her fingers and hands out as she began walking with them down the hallway toward the medical section of the Ark. "Go find Harper," Miller said to Wright as he took over administering breaths to the unconscious Monroe.
"She's on fence duty," replied Wright.
"I know. Go relieve her and tell her to come to sickbay."
Wright looked confused. "But Chancellor Pike wants a full contingent of—"
"I know!" Miller snapped at Wright, still working the bag steadily despite the resistance he could clearly feel. "Go find Harper, tell her to come to sickbay now, and take over for her. I'll cover your next shift." He looked up at Wright as they walked, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt and glistening in the artificial lights of the Ark. "Please, Jenna."
Wright looked at him for another second before nodding. "Okay, sure, yeah. I'll go get her and relieve her."
"Thank you," Miller said as they neared sickbay, watching briefly as Wright took off at a jog, and then they were in the medical wing.
Together the team positioned Monroe's small body on the operating table Jackson directed them to, the ventilator already powered up and awaiting the measurements that the table would collect to properly adjust the settings on the device.
"Nathan, did you see what the gas they used on her looked like?" Abby asked the guard as he stepped back, giving the medical team room to move while Abby listened quickly to Monroe's heart and lungs.
He nodded, only to see that Abby was no longer looking at him; she had moved to stand at Monroe's head, using a device to raise her jaw while she intubated her. "Yeah, I did. It was bright yellow, maybe with a little bit of green in it."
"Good," Abby said as she pulled something out of the tube, then connected the ventilator's hose to the artificial airway. "Watch the settings closely," she said to Jackson, giving him a glance. "Her lungs are full of fluid, but she's tiny. We don't want to rupture her lungs trying to fight against the shunt caused by the fluid." She lifted her head to look at Miller again. "Go see if Lincoln might know what they used on her, if there's anything we can use to counter the gas's effect."
"Got it," Miller said, turning and hurrying out of the medical wing.
—O—
Miller's walk back from the brig was much more somber.
Lincoln's news wasn't good. There was no known cure or counter-agent for the blistersap once it had been inhaled or ingested, although he did say that it wasn't always fatal. Miller was still thinking about the stony expression on Lincoln's face when a high-pitched scream reverberated through the metal hallway.
He broke into a run, taking the last few turns at full speed until he saw a hysterical Harper, pounding on the now-closed door to sickbay. Her shrieks were enough to turn his stomach, and the sobs punctuating them were just as devastating emotionally.
"Harper!" he yelled as he reached her. "Harper!" Getting no response, he grabbed her forearms where she was pounding on the door, which had thankfully been turned opaque. He was careful to not squeeze her, but from how hard she had been pounding on the door, he was sure she had already bruised her hands. "Hey," he said more softly, moving to where she could see him.
"What—" Harper gasped, "h-happened," trying to get words to come out but not having much success.
"They used some kind of poison gas on us," Miller said, still holding her arms as he tried to calm the hysterical teenager who was a year younger than him. "Several of us got hit, but Z—" He swallowed and glanced away from the pain in her friend's wide eyes. "Zoe got it pretty bad."
Harper broke down sobbing, and only Miller's firm grip kept her from collapsing to the floor entirely. He eased her down and pulled her into his lap, holding her while she buried her face into his shoulder and cried harder than he had ever seen anyone cry. "She's still alive, somehow," he said softly. "She's tough. Just like you."
"I can't lose her," Harper moaned weakly before being overcome again, sobbing agonizingly as Miller tried to console her.
"Dr. Griffin and Dr. Jackson are both working on her," Miller said, trying to give her something to listen to, something to concentrate on other than worrying about what was happening on the other side of the door behind them. "They were getting her on the ventilator, to do the work of breathing for her. She's got a chance, Harper."
Harper hiccuped next to his ear as she pulled back enough to look into his eyes, her own eyes bloodshot, her nose and cheeks red and glistening tears covering her face. She took a few jerky breaths before whispering, "She's my world," in a voice so frail and pleading that Miller himself shivered.
"She'll fight," Miller said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "She'll fight for you."
Harper stopped, looking into Miller's eyes, now limned with tears themselves. She held his gaze, considering his words, then finally nodded twice. As she leaned forward into Miller's embrace, she started to cry again, but this time it was less frantic, less panicked. Miller closed his eyes and tried not to think about how likely it was that not one but two of his friends' lives hung on the actions of the doctors and nurses in the room behind them.
—O—
After nearly two hours, the sound of the sickbay door reverting from opaque to transparent stirred Miller from where he and Harper had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Miller got to his feet, lifting Harper with him. Feeling the blonde's arms tense, he firmly said, "Hey! Listen to me, Harper!"
She looked up at him, defiance and fire in her eyes.
He met her emotion and didn't flinch. "If you go running in there, who knows what you could knock over, or hit, or mess up, and what good is that going to do Monroe?"
She glared at him but didn't argue.
"Let me talk to them." He looked at her pointedly and said, "I'll get you in there. I swear it."
Harper continued to glare at him, but finally relented, nodding her assent as she looked down at the floor and focused on not losing control and bursting into the medical wing as soon as the door opened.
Miller turned to see Jackson looking back at him. His expression wasn't terrible, and as Miller looked behind him, he saw Monroe mostly covered with a thermal blanket, the ventilator hose running from her mouth to the machine beside her. There was another apparatus next to her along with tubing darkened with what appeared to blood, but her face was visible, and he could see a monitor with what appeared to be tracings of her vital signs on the wall.
Miller reached behind himself, using his arms to physically keep Harper behind him as the door opened. "She's alive?" he asked hopefully.
"Still," Jackson said, his face notably weary. "God, she's tough. We have her stabilized at the moment, but we're having to drain the blood and fluid from her lungs. It's..." He hesitated, then said, "We could still lose her. The next few hours, the next day or two, it's fifty-fifty."
Harper began to cry again behind Miller, and he felt her lean against his back. "Harper... Harper needs to be with her."
Jackson looked behind Miller, then nodded. "Of course," he said. "Don't touch anything, okay?" he asked Harper, getting a weak nod in reply. "I'll get you a chair. You can sit with her."
"Thank you," Harper whispered as Miller moved to escort her into the medical bay. She couldn't feel her feet touching the floor as he steered her across the metal floor to the table holding her lover; all she could see was how pale Zoe looked, how vulnerable and fragile she appeared with the tubes attached to her body, and how much the redhead she had grown to love would have hated to be seen that way by anyone, most of all Harper.
Wordlessly she stood beside the table; she gently took Zoe's left hand, being very careful not to move her arm at all. When Jackson pushed the chair beneath her, Harper perched on the edge of the seat like a songbird, ready to spring into flight at a moment's notice should something startle her. She trembled as she looked at Zoe's pallid face, unable to stop tears from spilling down her cheeks again.
Abby looked up from the scans she had taken of Monroe's lungs, seeing Harper's blond head now seated beside the multipurpose table. "We'll be moving her into a bed soon," she said. "I want her right here for a little longer in case something happens and we have to operate emergently."
Harper nodded, wiping tears with her free right hand.
Seeing the blonde wasn't moving, Abby moved closer. "You really can't stay in here, Harper," she said softly. "We might need to—"
"I'm not leaving her," Harper said flatly, never taking her eyes off Monroe's face.
Abby sighed quietly. "Harper..."
"Can you guarantee me that she's going to make it?" Harper asked sharply as her head shot up to meet Abby's eyes directly, her own gaze burning in intensity despite the redness of her eyes and face. "Can you?!" she snapped.
After a few seconds, Abby just barely shook her head. "I can't guarantee that. She's stable now, which is more than I had expected when we first started working on her, so that's promising, but no, I can't guarantee anything."
"Then I'm not leaving," Harper said defiantly. "If you need me to move because you need to get in here, then I'll be happy to move, but if this might be the last chance I have to spend time with her, I'm going to be here every fucking second."
As understanding finally began to dawn on Abby, she took in a steadying breath. "I didn't realize you two were so... close."
Harper's expression went from defiant to cold at that. "Then apparently you just aren't very good at paying attention," she said icily. "Or maybe you're still thinking of us as kids, right? Because Zoe and I are both just sixteen, we don't know what we're doing?"
"No, I've learned my lesson on that subject," Abby said, her voice subdued. "Clarke's already informed me of that. And knowing what you suffered in Mount Weather..."
Harper's anger softened some, but she refused to look away from Abby, even after the mention of that hated place (they were all dead and GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE) made places in her hips, her legs, her arms ache all over again. "None of us are kids any more. We've fought, we've bled, we've died, and we've killed." She turned to look at Monroe. Carefully she stood, not releasing her girlfriend's hand as she gently ran the fingers of her right hand through Monroe's light reddish-blonde hair. "And some of us have been fortunate enough to love, and to be loved," she said, her voice trembling between joy and heartache, balancing on a razor edge between the two.
The room was silent and still for several seconds, until Harper leaned forward and lovingly kissed Monroe on her forehead. "I'm going to be with her," she said, not looking up. "Whether she makes it or not, she has to fight, and I need to be here to support her."
Abby watched as a tear dripped from Harper's cheek, striking the front of the blanket covering Monroe with a silent splash.
"She's not going to be alone," Harper said. "She's not going to feel like everyone forgot about her, like they just locked her in a ca—in a room and left her to live or die without caring about the outcome."
Abby walked over and gently rested her right hand on Harper's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "If I had realized the two of you were together, I never would have..."
Harper looked up at Abby; this time, she allowed herself to smile softly despite the anguish in which she was drowning at the moment. "Thank you for letting me stay, Dr. Griffin," she said. "I'll do anything I can to help you, as long as I can be here with Zoe."
"You can stay as long as you want. I'll have a cot and some blankets brought in for you."
Harper nodded, unable to speak temporarily as emotion began to overwhelm her again. She began to stroke her fingertips down Monroe's face, being careful not to jostle either the large hose connected to the tube in her throat or the smaller tube snaking into her nose.
"This can't happen again," Harper said softly several minutes later, after she regained some control over her tears. When Abby turned to look her, a question written on her face, Harper nodded down at the still body of her girlfriend. "Pike," Harper said bitterly. "Sending them out to kill people who've become our allies... or to die fighting them."
Abby looked around, reasonably sure that there were no listening devices in medical, simply because the risk of interference with the more sensitive equipment was significant, and she didn't think that even Pike was that paranoid yet. "I'm not sure that's a subject we need to—"
"He's not going to stop, Dr. Griffin," Harper said firmly. "Not until we're all dead. Because there's always going to be one more village that has to be taken, or one more enemy that has to be eliminated before we can feel 'safe' again."
She held Abby's eyes. "This is the fucking ground. Nowhere down here is safe, and we have to live with that. But Clarke and her truce with the Grounders gave us nearly four months of peace, and now Chancellor Pike has shot that all to hell." She looked back down at Zoe, softly mumbling, "I sure as hell didn't vote for his stupid ass."
"We'll be able to call another election soon," Abby said.
"Not good enough," Harper said, and her eyes flashed with fire again as she looked back up. "Who'll be the next one he puts on this table?" she asked, gesturing to Monroe. "Me? Miller?" She waited, then asked, "You?" She paused longer, then softly asked, "Clarke?"
Abby nearly gasped at that mental image, and she felt her knees weaken as she seriously considered that real possibility.
"She's been more friendly with the Grounders than any of us, but Pike will see that as a security risk. Or even treason."
Abby looked into Harper's eyes, seeing sadness in them, but also angry resolve. She took a few steps closer. "What did you have in mind?" she asked quietly.
—O—
In Arendelle, Anna brought Icescale down for a landing outside the forest that was her destination. She could see the horses gathered and tents standing at the forest's edge, right where the directions Arista had sent back to the castle said they would be. She made sure to leave quite a bit of room between the icy dragon and the army's horses, as a predator of such size tended to startle horses fairly often, despite their training.
As she slid off the dragon, she gave the side of his massive neck a friendly pat, then slid her shield into position on her left arm, mentally decreasing the magical cold that began to radiate from the device once on her forearm. It was cold enough outside that it wouldn't make much difference for those around her, not for several minutes at least, unless she willed it to become colder.
Looking ahead to the forest, she made her way through the camp at a steady pace, smiling and greeting the soldiers who bowed and spoke to their Summer Queen. As she neared the edge of the camp closest to the woods, she saw Arista making her way toward her, likely having been notified of Anna's arrival by a scout. Arista's pale blonde hair blew in the wind where it fell out from beneath the fuzzy hat she wore, and the sleeves of her coat and legs of her pants rippled in the wind as well.
"It's really bad," Arista said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind, forgetting that Anna could hear and see perfectly well despite the wind and snow swirling around them.
"I have to see it," Anna said, her voice firm but not harsh.
Arista nodded, turning to walk with Anna back into the forest. "I know," she said sadly. "Then you'll wish you could unsee it."
Over the course of her thirty-three years of life, Anna had been in war more than once. Not much, but enough to see death, and to deal it herself many times. She managed to make it through inspecting the remains of the adult man and woman, both tied to trees and then slowly, systematically mutilated and murdered. But the grisly sight of the slain boy shook her to her very core, and she no more than laid eyes on what remained of the small girl than she felt her insides rebel.
She ran to the nearest tree that didn't hold brutalized human remains and fell to her knees, throwing off her shield right before she vomited, powerfully and repeatedly. She focused on not losing control of her bladder and was at least able to retain that bit of dignity, but even after scraping her mouth and tongue with clean snow and trying to rinse her mouth, she couldn't eliminate the acrid taste that lined her cheeks and burned her throat.
Arista's gentle hand on her shoulder was reassuring, but Anna still couldn't help but shiver as she closed her eyes and focused on Elsa, on their children, on Olaf, on Kristoff and his wife and son, anything happy she could use to try and scrub the grotesque images she had just seen from her mind.
"I told you it was bad," Arista said sadly.
"Oh sweet Frigga," Anna swore softly, her head beginning to ache. "What could do something like that?"
"It's not a what," Arista replied, her voice low but even. "It's a who. We found lots of footprints. The trees blocked most of the snow, so they were still visible."
Anna closed her eyes again. "I was really hoping you were going to tell me it was an animal or a monster of some kind, and that we could track it. And kill it."
"Well, we tried," said Arista, reaching down and taking Anna's right hand to help her up. Anna bent over to retrieve her shield, re-affixing it to her left forearm. "The ritual site is still pretty well-preserved at this point, and we were able to see that he—we're pretty sure it's a man, based on the size of the boot and depth of the footprints—that he set off west, a little northwest. Once he leaves the forest, the prints quickly get harder to spot."
"Show me," Anna said. With a simple nod, Arista turned and went deeper into the forest. As they approached the ritual site, Anna made a point to look down at the ground and not at any of the trees or the victims still bound to them as they walked into the small open space between the four victims and the trees holding them. Painted in blood on the snow were several sigils and symbols, none of which Anna recognized. But the unusual figures were clearly arranged in a circular pattern, and Anna was sure there was significance there.
"Have someone who can draw make a map of this layout," she said. "Mark which person is on what tree, and where." As a worrisome thought occurred to her, she added, "But don't let them copy those symbols, not all together. Not all on the same drawing or same page." She considered for a bit. "Maybe just make a key of each of them, with a corresponding number, and then use those numbers to mark which symbol was where and in what position."
Arista looked around at the soldiers in the area. "You heard the Queen," she said calmly. "And make sure to do what she said about those symbols, not copying them all onto the same page or in the exact positions they are here."
She then pointed out the trail of footprints leading away, distinct enough while under the cover of the evergreens, but once they reached open ground the prints faded quickly, filled with snow.
"This is as far as we could track them, thanks to the snow."
"Be nice to the snow," Anna said chidingly, giving Arista a sly smile. "It loves us, and we love it."
She knelt next to the footprints and began whispering, kneeling for several seconds before a sudden swirl of wind sent Arista's loose hair flying to the side. The wind came roaring off of the nearest mountain, reaching them with a force that sent loose snow billowing up and into the sky with a force enough to make Arista turn her back to the wind and cover her face.
After nearly a minute of the wind howling, it disappeared even more suddenly than that it had arrived. Arista hesitantly turned around, only to see a smiling Anna looking down at a remarkably visible trail of footprints that had somehow been blown clean of snow.
"Thanks," Anna said, apparently to the wind itself, looking up slightly for a few seconds before returning her attention to the trail that stretched out before them. "Shall we?" she asked.
Arista tightened her scarf and nodded. However, the trail was much shorter than they had expected, and in less than a minute they stopped at an area where it looked like the snow itself had been blackened.
"What is that?" asked Arista. "That wasn't visible before."
"I'm not sure," Anna replied quietly, kneeling down to more closely inspect the stained area. The footprints led directly to it, but then they simply disappeared once they reached the blackened patch of snow. She removed the glove from her right hand and extended her fingers down toward the black snow, not touching it but coming very close to it.
"Something's wrong with the snow here," she said as she shook her head slowly. "It's... fouled, somehow. Polluted." She looked up to Arista. "The snow's fighting back, trying to cleanse it, but it's slow."
"Did someone pour oil on it or something?"
Anna shook her head again. "No, that should have melted it, or at least displaced it. This is..." She thought, trying to find the right words to phrase the unsettling sensations she was feeling here. "This is something that's changed the snow itself. Defiled it, I suppose."
"What can do that?"
Anna pondered that question. The few things that came to mind weren't very reassuring to consider. "I'm not exactly sure," she said, "but Elsa needs to see this too."
Arista nodded. "I'll send word to her."
"No," Anna said quickly but softly, knowing that Elsa had felt her shock earlier, when she had vomited. "She's already on her way."
—O—
Several hours had passed, with Harper eating some bread and venison that Monty had brought her earlier, after Abby had given him a nebulized dose of medication for his lungs and discharged him from Medical. She had adjusted her position, now sitting sideways in the chair and leaning her head against Monroe's left arm while she held her lover's hand.
After looking at the repeat scan of Monroe's chest and lungs, Abby quietly made her way back across the room, checking the monitor displaying Monroe's vitals again. "We're making headway. The fluid is decreasing in her lungs, as is the swelling. No active pulmonary hemorrhage either," she said confidently. "She's a fighter."
"She is," replied Harper softly. "That's part of why I love her." After a pause, she added, "And Clarke's a fighter too."
Abby felt her own eyes fill with tears at the mention of her daughter.
"She'll be back one day, Dr. Griffin. She'll always love you. But you have to accept that Clarke is her own woman now."
"That's..." Abby said, her throat thick. "That's hard to do, when I keep seeing her as my little girl up on the Ark. On her first day of school. At her first Unity Day performance. On her sixteenth birthday."
"And you don't have to let those memories go," Harper said gently. "But you do have to remember that those memories aren't who Clarke is anymore. They represent where she came from, but they're not who she is today. And if you try to make her be that little girl again, you're going to lose her."
Abby considered the teenager's words. "If I haven't lost her already..." she breathed to herself.
For several minutes the room's only noises were the steady beeps of Monroe's heartbeat on the monitor and the hisses of the ventilator, Monroe's petite chest rising and falling with each forced breath. Finally Harper spoke again, and despite her voice being quiet, it was still indelibly clear to Abby.
"You've seen most of my scars, Abby. They're on my arms, my hips, my legs, my chest, for everyone to see. I'll never be rid of them, no matter how badly I want them to be gone. But there are scars on the inside, too... and that's where most of Clarke's scars are. On the inside.
"She's trying to heal from what she had to do at Mount Weather, what she had to do to get us all out of there, and if she hadn't done every single goddamn thing that she did, we'd be dead. I'd be dead. And all of you here at the Ark would wind up hanging upside down in that fucking white room, locked in cages like livestock, being bled dry to keep all those vampires inside that mountain alive another hundred years."
Abby wiped tears from her eyes. "I don't know her anymore," she said, her voice cracking. "The things she's done, that she's allowed to happen..."
"I can promise you that Clarke carries the weight of everything she's done right on her shoulders. But she doesn't let it break her. She can't let it break her, because if it ever did, we'd all have been dead ten times over." Harper met Abby's eyes when the older woman turned to face her again. "Everything Clarke has done, she's done to keep all of us alive." Harper slowly shook her head. "She didn't do those things because she wanted to. She did them because she had to. For us."
They looked at each other for a minute, a weary woman who had lost her husband and was losing her daughter, and a teenager who had learned more about loss, suffering and tragedy in six months than anyone should have learn over his or her lifetime.
"If you don't know who she is any more... why don't you ask her?"
Despite the softness of Harper's question, the words struck Abby with the force of a kick to her sternum. "What?" she asked, choking slightly on the word.
"Stop coming at her like a problem that needs to be treated, and just listen to her." Harper blinked a few times. "Try treating her like an adult, like the responsible woman she's proven to be." Harper smiled, and the sadness inherent in that smile nearly broke Abby's heart. "We've earned our right to sit at the big table with the adults," Harper said sadly. "We paid for it in blood."
—O—
As they made their way out of the tower and into the large plaza, Clarke's eyes immediately went to the large wooden tree standing in the center of a small patch of green and brown, an island of soil, twigs and leaves in an ocean of gray concrete. Titus was tied to it, his back snug against the dark gray bark, surrounded by no less than a dozen guards armed with spears and swords.
Lexa led the way, her face rigid and cold, her eyes glittering green chips of ice in the darkness of her war paint, her personal design evoking thoughts of looming black wings and tears of dark blood simultaneously. Behind her came Clarke, her face bare other than a look of grim determination; as she neared, men, women and children alike stared at her with expressions of fear, awe and worship, and when she passed, she could hear the whispers of Wanheda and Klark follow her, whispers just loud enough that she couldn't pretend they weren't real.
After the two women came four of Heda's guards, followed by the rest of the council; if they still resented Clarke's seeming elevation above them following her union with their Heda, such feelings had been temporarily suppressed by outrage, by righteous fury that someone would try to kill one of their own number, let alone their Heda herself, here in the city that housed the coalition.
As they reached the open space in the center of the plaza, Titus stood calmly. He said nothing, as there were no words that could have changed what was to come. He met Clarke's eyes, and for a moment emotions flashed in his eyes as she watched him. And then the emotions were gone.
Lexa stopped a few feet away from him. This close to the man who tried to kill Clarke, she was having a surprisingly difficult time maintaining her focus, when she wanted to do unspeakable things to him, to serve as a bloody, terrifying warning to any who might dare to threaten her houmon in the future.
She stepped forward, close enough to hear Titus's breathing increase as her approach. Her expression was stony as she looked at him, holding her gaze steady until he looked directly at her. "You taught me much, Titus," Lexa said softly. "And for that, I am grateful. But as I told you before, I am quite capable of separating my feelings from my duty."
Her eyes turned cold as she fixed him with a glare now. "Titus kom Polis, you are guilty of attempting to kill Klark kom Skaikru and your Heda, using a forbidden weapon, no less," she said, raising her voice to make it audible through the gathered crowd. "The punishment for those acts is clear."
She stepped back, taking her place beside Clarke as Indra stepped forward, unsheathing her blade. Her limp made her approach slow, but her hand was steady as she slowly scored the first cut, across Titus's left cheek. As Indra backed away, Octavia took her place, glaring at Titus as she drew her own knife. "This is for trying to kill Heda and my friend," she growled as she stepped up to him. "And for generally being kind of an asshole." She sliced slowly across his right bicep, keeping her eyes locked onto his as she did so.
Several others took their turns after that, and by the time Clarke realized someone was standing in front of her, gesturing for her to take her turn, Titus was shivering from a combination of early blood loss, agony and emotion. His skin had been lacerated in dozens of places, and what made Clarke shiver even more as she slowly walked up to the tree was that there was still much more surface area left uncut. Many more opportunities for Titus to suffer before he finally died.
She looked at his neck, watching his pulse visibly throb as she examined him from up close. It was still strong, indicating he would likely survive hours longer before finally dying from blood loss. The efficacy of the Grounders and their punishments was darkly impressive; their inherent toughness would only prolong the suffering in this situation, grimly enough.
Clarke considered her options for several seconds before finally drawing the knife at her side. She leaned in close to his left ear before she whispered, "In your own twisted way, I understand that by trying to kill me, you though you were protecting Lexa." She leaned back, meeting his gaze and seeing surprise in his twitching eyes. "But you were wrong, Titus," she said, still speaking at a whisper. "And while you might have made it less dangerous for Heda by killing me, you would have killed Lexa as well."
She gave him a sad smile, then she tore his shirt, exposing his upper chest. Her touch was steady and firm as she slid the knife just below his left collarbone, pressing just deeply enough to cut into his subclavian artery. As the bright red blood began to trickle forth down his chest, Clarke pulled back, wiping the blade of her knife on the remains of his shirt. "This is all the mercy I offer you, Titus," she said softly. "And it's more than you deserve."
As Lexa watched Clarke's actions, she felt her throat tighten slightly at her mate's decision to speed up the process. Clarke's heart was so powerful and kind that she had to be protected, to be kept safe against all the forces in the world that would take cruel delight in stripping away everything she held dear. And Titus, who had helped mold Lexa into the ruler she had become, had revealed himself to be one of those predatory forces who wanted to extinguish the goodness, the light, the love from Clarke's soul.
Clarke was still returning to her place beside her wife when she saw Lexa start forward, her eyes burning with cold intensity beneath the inky black of her facepaint. Those bright green eyes didn't even glance at Clarke as Lexa passed by the blonde, so tightly were they locked in on Titus. Clarke turned as Lexa passed, watching as the Commander of Thirteen Clans strode with purpose directly toward Titus. Even the faintest whispers and murmurs fell deathly silent as Lexa approached the condemned man, his shirt now glistening with crimson color where he bled from the incision Clarke had made.
Without slowing her approach or taking her eyes off her former adviser, Lexa's right hand went to the handle of her sword as she drew near the pole. With a smooth, swift motion, she jerked the sword from its sheath on her left hip and struck in one fluid, powerful arc, baring her teeth in anger as she lunged forward. The glittering silver blade caught the light as it soared up and across, severing Titus's neck and deeply scoring the tree behind him as Lexa's right arm followed through with the motion of her strike, ending with her arm and weapon both fully extended out to her right side as she stood in front of Titus's body.
The image seared itself in Clarke's mind, the scarlet Commander's sash fluttering from Lexa's left shoulder from the motion of her strike, the gleaming metal of her sword shining to her right, while Titus's severed head tumbled to the ground. From behind Lexa was black leather and dark brown braids, dark and deadly and unstoppable judgment.
Lexa turned slightly as she took a cloth from her pocket and calmly wiped the blood from the blade of her sword, resheathing it carefully and efficiently. All remained silent as she lifted her gaze to look at the crowd gathered around her, then at the members of the Council.
"This was my adviser," Lexa said, her voice stern and fierce. "My mentor." She didn't try to conceal the rage that was circulating through her body. "But he dared to try to hurt Wanheda. He dared to try and hurt my houmon!" she shouted.
The crowd began to buzz with noise and motion, and Clarke felt as much as saw hundreds of eyes flick in her direction, then back to Lexa, then back to her again.
"Yes," Lexa said, nodding, still addressing the crowd with her voice of authority. "Earlier today, Klark kom Skaikru—Wanheda—and I were joined. Any who seek to harm her have to fear not only Wanheda's own power, but MY UNDYING WRATH AS WELL!"
Once again the rustling and whispers of the crowd grew utterly silent, and Lexa continued to sweep her gaze around the crowd, as if daring anyone to break the silence formed equally from respect and fear. After nearly a minute, Lexa began to speak again, this time with her voice more calm but no less intimidating.
"We are aware of the murders that have been committed by the new leader of the Skaikru, who goes by the name Pike. Rest assured, Wanheda and I will not let this latest atrocity go unpunished. I have given orders for Skaikru to be blockaded by a force of three thousand warriors, to give them the opportunity to deal with this murderer themselves. Should they fail in that responsibility, then Wanheda herself will bring this Pike the justice he so richly deserves!"
The cheers from the crowd were immediate and furious, lusty in their screams and cries, and the suddenness as well as the fervor of the crowd made a cold trickle of sweat slither down the small of Clarke's back. She knew that Lexa's wasn't dumping the problem of Pike onto her; Clarke had known from the beginning that she would have to be the one to deal with Pike, and she and Lexa had already acknowledged as much earlier that day.
Earlier that day, Clarke thought, smiling to herself. It had only been a few hours ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. It was before Lexa and I made love. It was before we admitted that we were in love with each other. She shivered, with fierce joy as well as an undeniable twinge of fear, as she continued with her train of thought. It was before I was married.
"Wanheda."
Though the tone of voice was soft, the fact that it was Lexa's voice cut through Clarke's reverie like Lexa's blade cutting through Titus's neck. She looked up to see Lexa looking at her, holding her left hand out toward Clarke and obviously waiting for a response. The crowd, bordering on riotous just seconds earlier, was again eerily silent.
Without hesitation, Clarke stepped forward, walking crisply to join Lexa, taking her wife's outstretched left hand with her right as she took her place beside her Heda.
Lexa looked at Clarke with a hint of amusement flitting across her mouth, and the sheer beauty and elegance that Lexa embodied nearly took Clarke's breath away all over again. "What say you, Wanheda?" asked Lexa, proudly holding Clarke's hand in front of the entire city of Polis. "Will this Pike get away with murdering our people?"
With great effort, Clarke somehow managed to look away from Lexa's intense green eyes; she looked around the crowd slowly, carefully, much as Lexa had done, taking in a steadying breath before she trusted herself to finally speak.
"HELL NO!"
And the roar of the crowd nearly doubled what it had been before.
—O—
Author's Afterword: Okay, this is fun to write. It's also very cathartic. You know, nearly as much as Clarke and Lexa got screwed, Monroe got screwed, too. I'm tired of the senseless deaths. People have to die, I get that. It is the world of The 100. But I promise to be judicious in this aspect, at least. Believe me, if it's necessary for the story, I will write the deaths of characters I personally love, even if it breaks my heart. But I will not revel in senseless deaths, nor will those deaths be insulting, dismissive or demeaning. I think Harper and Monroe deserve better too, and I'm giving them some attention and respect as well.
Next chapter I'll start to deal with the secret history and the relics hidden in Titus's little Chamber of Artifacts. We'll also get closer to the actual crossover happening, which I'm thinking will occur in Chapter 4. I can also let you know that we're going to pay a long visit to Arkadia soon after that, and I will absolutely address the ALIE/Jaha storyline as well. I have some special things in mind for that particular story arc. Consider us officially canon divergent from this point on, because the show's canon is now a painful mess.
Still working on the last two chapters/epilogues for "Feel, Don't Conceal," and any of you who haven't read it who might be interested in learning more about Anna and Elsa and how their relationship came to be what it is in this story, you're most welcome to give FDC a read if you'd like. Again, you don't have to read it at all to follow this story as it progresses.
If you could use some more Clexa therapy, I can recommend some excellent works that have helped me personally over the last three weeks. Here on FFNEt, "Hedatu" and "Teina" are both excellent. On AO4, "The Marrying Type" by artsypolarbear is priceless and adorable, and I can't recommend it enough. "Maybe They Will Sing for Us Tomorrow" by someoneelsesheart will make you bawl, but it is incredibly touching and beautiful. Pretty much everything by reinclarkenation is worth reading, but "I'm Breathing Fire into Dust" by her is hands-down one of the most skillfully, elegantly, lovingly written things I have ever read in my life. All of these are great places to go to soothe your aching hearts, because they've helped me with the pain in mine.
Stay strong and refuse to admit defeat. Their fight isn't over.