Grounding
Clarke
Clarke stared at the guards back for a good ten minutes while contemplating Lexa's offering. Not once did they move. They simply stood tall, backs straight, silent, having no communication with one another. They were like statues of protection. They were statues following Lexa's order to provide Wanheda with as much privacy as they possibly could while still doing their jobs.
Thinking like a soldier might, Clarke scanned their purview, making sure to see what they saw and nothing more. In front of each guard was a large empty room with a door leading to a stairwell. There were no mirrors, no objects to use as weapons, no windows, one hanging air-duct running along an outside wall, and a small wire-duct for electrical.
The ceiling was covered with removable tiles and a grid system. The grid looked sturdy enough for Clarke to suspend from and use the weight of her body as a force to gather momentum and turn feet into fists. Or she could swing from the grid and create enough thrust to kick in a panel and search for a way out. This was not a time for escape, however. It was a time to examine Lexa's offerings more closely.
If completely honest with herself, Clarke knew she wanted to bathe, eat, and change clothes. It was an opportunity to meet a base and primal need and in this very instant she needed something and that something could be anything. Whatever might help her get grounded enough to feel an emotion other than rage.
Clarke knew there was no way the Commander would poison her. She was capable of poisoning an enemy, but not her. The jury was out as to whether Wanheda was the Commanders enemy, however. The instant this thought presented, Clarke shut it down. She knew the answer. Heda did not consider Wanheda an enemy and Lexa did not consider Clarke one either. Lexa would consider Wanheda a crucial ally in the coalition, this was a given. The fact that she offered Clarke items that would provide a modicum of pleasure meant the woman in her still wanted something from Clarke and Clarke understood this.
The clothing Lexa offered reinforced Clarke's belief that she was offering comfort not trickery. The garments were fit for both a warrior and a queen. They were protective in nature, strong enough to stop or slow a blade. At the same time, they were attractive and form fitting. Clothing that would allow for movement and highlight the physical beauty of a woman's body, especially a woman as curvaceous as the Queen of Death.
Clarke ran her fingertips along the seam lines of each garment for several minutes. It was as if she were in a trance. She traced every line gently, methodically, and contemplatively. She knew Lexa had picked each item personally and her id took pleasure in this bit of psychic knowledge.
Clarke's rage began to soften. She poured her first mug of water and allowed herself a moment to consider Lexa's attachment to the coalition. She thought back to their time together in the War Room and remembered feeling drawn to Lexa's idea that the coalition could save lives. All Clarke wanted back then was to save lives. And even though only three months had passed, Clarke was a much older woman now. Then, she would have looked right past the possibility that Lexa was willing to save other soldiers lives if it meant she could rule over them. Lexa was a commander who in her own words, "was born to it." She was who she was.
With the water and food nearly gone, Clarke stared at the guards one last time before stripping down to underwear and a bra. She would not remove them, but she would enjoy the bath-just the same. She poured steaming buckets into the larger vessel and smiled at the fact that the temperature felt just right. The heat would be good for her aching muscles. She sighed knowing Lexa would see the acceptance of her offerings a small victory. Then she realized; there is power in letting Lexa think what she wanted. Clarke would need to do a lot of thinking to stay ahead of the commander's brilliant mind. She would need to come up with a plan that led Lexa to believe one thing when in reality something entirely different was happening.
The water felt amazing on her body. She reached for the washcloth, dipped it under then wrung it dry. The sound of the excess fluid falling into the basin reminded her of Niylah. Instead of fighting the memory, she simply let it in. She made a vow, right then and there, that she was not going to fight every single thought, feeling, and emotion that arose in captivity. It took too much energy and she needed her strength for other things.
Clarke escaped her cell and the situation she found herself in with Lexa by revisiting her time with Niylah. She recalled her one time lovers long lean fingers wrapped around a similar washcloth. She focused on the burgeoning sensations the memory conjured and summoned up the way Niylah touched her so carefully, so gently, so openly. She sighed and for the first time since her captivity, relaxed. The fact that the last time she felt such comfort was in Niylah's arms didn't escape her.
Clarke had sensed early on that Niylah was someone she could trust. Niylah never took advantage and always insisted she owed Clarke more than the Posts usual processing share. Clarke remembered wanting to talk to Niylah in those early days about anything other than wild game, but couldn't. Her rage for Lexa had bled into every exchange she had with anyone, two legged or four. It was why she kept to herself all those months in the woods and trusted no one. It wasn't until that day when the bounty hunter came that Clarke was able to open up. It was then that she knew for certain that Niylah was one of the "good guys" her mother made her promise to remember.
Lexa
Lexa was pleased to hear Clarke had accepted her offering. She had spent the morning preparing for every scenario she could think of that might occur over the next several days, not just with Clarke but other coalition leaders as well. She simply couldn't take any more emotional upset. Her nerves were getting the better of her. A few hours earlier, a team of guards arrived from the field with word that the Ice Queen knew Wanheda was at the Capital and was furious to learn the Queen of Death was under Lexa's protection. Plus, there was the matter of Prince Roan. His mother was extremely unpredictable when it came to her son; their relationship was beyond tumultuous, it was downright volatile. Lexa knew this going into an arrangement with him, but she was willing to do anything to bring Clarke home safely. The prince was one of the best trackers in the land and she exploited his hunger for acceptance to get what she wanted most in this world, Clarke. There would be a price to be paid for her actions and she knew the Ice Queen would be the one to collect. It was only a matter of time now.
Lexa began to feel overwhelmingly tired. She hadn't slept, nor had she eaten. If only she could stop thinking of Clarke long enough to do either. She considered taking a livener, but then thought better of it. There was time now for sleep and in battle one must seize every opportunity. She sent the guards to the other side of her door and loosened her armor. It felt good to release the necessary constriction, but it reminded her of the first time she felt physically attracted to Clarke. It was right after being attacked by the gorilla. Clarke had made a sling for her wounded arm and was tying it over Lexa's shoulder when she felt something inside her stir. Something she'd felt for Costia years early. Something she missed terribly and promised herself to never act upon again.
Memories of Clarke saving her that day in the cave pushed the commander over the edge. She tore at the rest of her armor, removing each piece forcefully. Once stripped down to nothing, literally nothing, she reverently placed her blade on the stand next to the bed and gracefully slipped beneath the covers. Savoring the cool softness of the fabric on her skin, she calmed herself, stretched her entire body, and focused on her breath. She needed to ground. She could not lead the coalition with emotions running rampant.
Lexa felt such weariness far too often over the past three months. She'd developed a trick that sometimes helped, but it was trickery as dangerous as it was helpful. It went like this: she allowed herself one and only one thought of Clarke before emptying her mind completely. It was a sacred thought she had expounded upon over time. She relaxed her entire body, prepared for release, and opened herself to a consecrated fantasy in which she provided an elaborate answer to Clarke's question, "Don't we deserve better?" In the imagination realm, she spelled out all the ways in which they did deserve better and broke it down to several specific aspects-love, kindness, passion, compassion, family, safety, and freedom. She then shared a secret she'd never told anyone and confessed to Clarke that she didn't want to be Heda any longer. The confession always ended with Lexa reaching out and kissing the blonde haired goddess. The kiss was never fantastical. It was based in reality and played out in her minds-eye the exact same way it happened in real life. It was a kiss she found to be utterly perfect, tender and brimming with strength, all at once.
Lexa's physical reaction to her fantasy and recollection of reality was always the same. It charged through her nervous system like a knight in battle, electrifying every emotion she had ever denied herself for the Sky Peoples Queen. She always stopped her thought right after the kiss. She was keenly aware that there was more to the story, but she simply couldn't continue. She hadn't the strength or the ability to be any more vulnerable than she already was and open herself to future desires.
Niylah
Niylah's father arrived right on time. He completely dismissed the fact that the Post had been ransacked and the site of his daughter on a ladder going through his personal belongings. These violations were gone from his mind the instant he saw his daughters face. It was swollen and bruised-barely recognizable. He could see that her ribcage was wrapped and that her arm was marred with a terrible gash. Ni he gasped rushing to her side, helping her down each wrung, "What happened?"
The tenderness of her father's voice brought Niylah to tears. Until that moment she had considered telling him a lie. She even practiced it just in case she found the courage. As much as she wanted to save him from the knowledge that his daughter was involved in an altercation between Grounders and Ice Nation or that her wounds were retaliation for helping Wanheda, she just couldn't.
Niylah sat by the fire and patiently answered question after question. The only aspect she omitted was her sexual encounter with Clarke. She did, however, discuss her feelings for the Sky Queens Commander in a way that led him to believe they had something more than just a business exchange. It's what helped him understand why she didn't hand Wanheda over to the bounty hunter right then and there.
By the end of their conversation, Niylah's father, who always held the same amount of gratitude as his daughter toward Clarke for ending the reaping, was calm and collected, but afraid. His dedication to family had multiplied tenfold after the Mountain stole his spouse. She was a woman he had loved dearly. He supplied the warriors of his village with the means to search for his wife and the others, who were taken, but he was not a man of warrior blood and when it came to rescuing his spouse and protecting his family, he was ashamed of the fact he couldn't fight. His powers were in negotiation and understanding supply and demand, so he did the best he could with what he had to give. He was a businessman and considered by many to be one of the most ethical in the nation. All armies traded with him.
Niylah's father took comfort in the fact that the guards (who in order to give the family time to process remained free from view when he first arrived) were posted like centuries at the front door. He'd had a few dealings with Sky People and respected them. The alliance with the Grounders was strong. All of this eased his fear. Sky People and Grounders could protect his daughter in ways he could not.
Around dinnertime, Niylahs' father prepared a meal for them to eat. As he did, he noticed a large amount of cured game in their personal storage and asked if it was the panther Clarke brought in. Niylah nodded and suggested he donate it to the families of the victims of the Mountain. "Clarke would want this," she whispered. Both she and her father detected the softness in her tone. She wasn't ashamed or afraid to tell him about her sexual encounter with the Sky Peoples Commander, she just wanted to hold what they had sacred for as long as she could.
Niylah's father nodded and said, "I'll set out first light."
The two sat in silence near the fire for hours after they ate. Both were lost in thought. There was a comfort in the quiet and it was a comfort so healing it gave Niylah the courage to say, "Dad, I know you saw me going though your things earlier. I'd like to explain my actions, if you don't mind?"
Niylah's father offered a tender glance. He appreciated his daughter's willingness to openly discuss what has always been off limits. "Please do," he encouraged.
After grounding herself with a long slow inhale, Niylah quietly asked, "Do you remember Mom's friend? The one who visited a lot when I was young? The woman with feather dreads and all the maps and symbols inked into her skin?"
Niylah's father sighed. He knew this day would one day come. He looked at his daughter and saw nothing but strength. She could handle what he was about to say. She was quick witted and had a brilliant of mind. In fact, he'd never met anyone smarter. She could connect to all kinds of people and always learned to speak a stranger's language. She was athletic, agile, and moved like a panther—just like her mother. She possessed her mother's will as well. There was nothing he could do now but answer her question and be honest. "Yes," he whispered.
"Was she TreeCru?"
"She lived with them, yes, and was accepted as such, but she was not a descendent of their blood."
"Do you know where she was from or who her people were?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Dad, please tell me everything you know about her and the relationship she had with mom."
His mind traveled back to the night he promised his wife that when the day came and their daughter asked, if she weren't there, that he'd speak truth. He closed his eyes, drew strength from the memory of his beloved, and said, "She is from a tribe that has intentionally hidden and assimilated over the years. She and your mother were blood relatives."
Niylah was taken aback, but only for a second. What followed was relief. She finally had confirmation for something she'd always suspected. She really was a descendent of deity. She comes from a lineage of women who walk between worlds. A sect only whispered about, never discussed openly. She has of a rare bloodline that can access other realms simply by knowing the correct words to say and ingredients to combine. She was about to speak when her father lifted himself wearily, walked to his personal area, climbed the ladder, pushed aside a panel she had no idea existed, and retrieved a flaming red leather bound book.
Niylah hadn't seen it since she was a child. Even then she'd seen it only once. It was right after she barged in on her mother and her mother's mysterious friend. They attempted to hide it, but she saw it before they did. She'd spent months after in secret trying to find it, but never could. Then one day she simply forgot about it. It was as if the idea of it had vanished from her mind. But, now she remembered.
Niylah rose to her feet slowly and accepted the gift. The second it touched her hands she felt what she could only describe as a thousand butterfly wings lightly touching the tips of her fingers and palms of her hand.
"Please be careful dear girl. I love you. Your mother loved you. She wanted to be the one to share this with you. If you ever have questions or need anything, please know that I am here." The fear in his eyes was obvious as he uttered each word. He then turned away slowly, leaving Niylah with her book and emotions, and went to the kitchen to prepare Clarke's meat for transport.