Taking Steps

Clarke

Clarke paid close attention to the graceful way Lexa's hips swayed as she made her exit. The last thing she saw were the Commander fingers on the lock. Those hands, those hands, she thought to herself; the sight of which made her shudder. She was constantly examining Lexa's hands with an artist's eye, over and over again, not just during the past few days, but the entire time she'd known her. Such long and lean tapered fingers, feminine and strong, capable of great pleasure yet insurmountable harm. Sadly, her draw toward Lexa's hands, and Lexa in general, didn't change the fact that she wasn't ready.

A compulsory sigh charged loudly from Clarke's lungs. She returned to her window. Staring into the dark night sky, trying not to acknowledge the lingering scent of Lexa's essential oils or the memory of the way her nightwear clung to her body in all the right places. She needed to separate herself from her desire. She invoked Wanheda, hoping the Queen of Death would drown the needs of the woman inside.

Shit had gotten extremely real over the last few days, which is a bizarre statement considering all she'd been through in the past six months. Today was different though. She did not want Lexa to die. She couldn't say the words aloud, but her feelings were as real as anything she'd ever known. She also felt tremendous guilt for not having supported Lexa more; believing in her and her abilities. She had heard many rumors about Heda being absolutely amazing with staff and sword, but always thought it was a story put in place to protect her in case her physical strength paled in comparison to her brilliant mind. Yes, she'd seen Lexa wield a knife, but an object that small would do her no good against the Prince. He was ruthless and faster than anyone Lexa had ever seen.

Then there was the matter of reincarnation. It was impossible to not be fully aware of Lexa's belief that her spirit could travel from body to body, Clarke even somewhat understood the Grounder ways of survival, but having to force herself to accept the fact that like it or not Lexa's imminent death was bound to her cultural identity was triggering a round of emotions inside her that seemed to pop off at will. This was why she said goodnight. She simply could not go there again. It was easier to remind Lexa that she was an Ambassador and that Lexa was the Commander; the power difference highlighted in the titles. Underneath it all, she wondered if it was equanimity she craved, yet she couldn't follow the thought further. Something prevented her.

Clarke recalled the time when Lexa asked her what she wanted from the future, their relationship implied. At that time, Clarke could only think of the moment she was in, but now she could easily admit to herself that there was a thought behind the thought, one she shoved down and denied, but was there nonetheless. It involved balance. If Lexa were her lover, would there always be a power difference? And even if they could somehow truly be equal, could Lexa understand how her looming death would affect them both? Could she set aside her resignation toward it and consider Clarke's feelings? Would she fight to live?

Wanheda's fist involuntarily slammed on the window ledge. The sound of flesh hitting stone with such surprising force rang through the night and Clarke's psyche. She took a deep breath knowing she needed to calm. Maybe invoking Wanheda wasn't the right thing to do in this moment. There was still so much rage within her simmering. She was set to boil.

It was becoming painfully clear to Clarke that her anger was as ancient as her bloodline. She was karmically linked to it through personal herstory and her rage toward her mother for her fathers death and sending her to earth, Fin for having killed innocent people then offering up his life to save hers, Lexa for betraying her then saving her from the Ice Queen, and herself for being the person who, as Lexa pointed out, was driven to fix everything.

Thoughts of escape once again ran through Clarke's mind. She desperately wanted to return to her time alone in the woods yet here she was wrapped up in battle strategies and wearing them like a festoon surrounding not just her forehead, but her entire body. She wasn't a lone hunter anymore; she was an Ambassador, a warrioress, a leader, a woman who cared for another but feared her death; she was Clarke and she was Wanheda.

Another sigh escaped the curvaceous blondes body that now shivered in the cool night air. The long slow exhale was enough of a release to provide a modicum of calmness. In response, her mind continued its search for comfort. She considered Lexa's words carefully. "They were doing what they thought was right for their people." She found Lexa's strength, or perhaps compassion, admirable. Still she had no idea how Lexa could so easily move on from the collective's betrayal?

From day one Clarke had been drawn to the ways in which Lexa was smarter and more compartmentalized than she. And now she was drawn to Lexa's ability to let go. She wondered if forgiveness was something Lexa was capable of. It appeared as if she were, unless Lexa was putting on fronts and secretly strategizing a new approach. This thought invoked tears that threatened the back of her eyes. She closed her lids softly, letting a few escape outside corners, then in the quietest of whispers, almost inaudibly, asked the most miniscule place in her heart what it would it take to let go and step onto the path of forgiveness.

Clarke felt shock when she heard herself ask this question. She was not someone who prayed and yet somehow her inquiry felt like a prayer. She had no idea who she was praying to, but would bet Wanheda was listening. Would Wanheda understand that her rage was becoming an unbearable burden or would she fuel it knowing it was literally the only thing holding them together at the moment?

Lexa

Lexa returned to her sleeping quarters. It was not where she wanted to be, but clearly Clarke wasn't open to a deeper level of intimacy at this time. She'd gone there hoping for another evening together. They'd yet to discuss the night they shared after her fealty vow. Not a word. It was just like the first time they kissed. No discussion after, just a lingering closeness. A closeness that wasn't as palpable this time around. There was a slight taste of it, yes, but it was nothing like before. This realization conjured sadness from the very depth of her soul. She'd felt it for the first time when having woken up alone, less than an hour after she'd opened herself so completely to Clarke. She was naked, still tingling from the orgasms Clarke evoked, craving closeness in a way she had never before. She reached out to find that Clarke was gone. She had simply slipped away without a sound, like a ghost, an action that completely baffled her. She had the power to sense energy in a room and Clarke's was so magnificent that the disappearance should have awoken her like a sudden plague upon the planet.

Titus warned Lexa about spending too much time with intimate thoughts of Clarke. And in this moment, she knew he was right. She and Clarke could not keep going back and forth this way; it took far too much energy. And yet here she was, once again lying naked in her bed alone and wondered if Clarke would ever trust her again. Contemplating whether her betrayal had caused irreparable harm? Surely Clarke could understand that leaders must make decision with their people best interest in mind. She did exactly this during the village bombing and at Mount Weather - she put her people first and set emotional needs aside.

There was also the matter of Lexa feeling hurt. She tried to let it go, but couldn't fully, some of the hurt, yes, but not all of it. Clarke doubted her ability and truly believed Prince Roan would kill her.

Lexa told herself Clarke had never seen her fight, hell she even told Clarke this, rather emphatically actually, and still Clarke doubted her. It took incredibly energy to keep Clarke's doubt from rattling her before the battle. There was a strong feeling of pride at the end when Clarke showed up for her. And even though the two took different paths to get to the same conclusion, they did eventually land on the same page. This said something.

Lexa forced herself to focus on the differences between herself and Clarke. She needed to otherwise the pain of unrequited desire would consume her. She narrowed her thoughts to Clarke's rage and dissected it. What was it that Clarke gained from holding onto it? How old was it? Will it prevent her from ever being able to lead with a clear mind? Will it prevent her from ever being able to forgive? Will it keep them apart?

Lexa sighed. It was becoming acutely clear to her that Clarke's emotional magnetic field was laced with triggers. She had no idea how to dismantle all of them, but she came up with a plan for at least one. She would learn to navigate Clarke's trigger around death. Conversations of reincarnation would be limited to a need to know basis. She would fantasize and suss the reasons why Clarke wanted her alive and hope there was a part of her that wanted an intimate loving relationship. She would also accept the fact that Clarke is who she is and right now she is someone for whom rage, distrust, and hauntings of death are triggers.

Niylah

Niylah had heard the news more times now than she could count. She was overjoyed to learn Clarke was alive, but she was also a bit taken aback to hear Wanheda had bowed to the Commander. She was even more baffled by the rumor that the two had become inseparable. The only way this made sense was if her earlier suspicion were true; there was a stronger connection between Lexa and Clarke than anyone realized. This thought made Niylah's heartache. She and Clarke had shared only one night, and there was never any promise of another, but she had hoped Clarke would make her way back to the village someday.

After learning Lexa killed the Ice Queen, Niylah wondered what would be next for the dynamic duo. She didn't ponder or attempt to answer her own question though. It was time to shut down thoughts of Clarke and move on. When it came to the blonde haired blue eyes goddess, her emotions ran too high. She needed to focus on the task at hand and get back to her life.

Niylah had set out long before dawn to collect mescal, thorn apple, psilocybin mushroom, green tobacco and jimsonweed. She knew what half of the substances looked like and would rely upon her mother's illustrations for the rest. She was beyond grateful to her mother for having drawn a map of where the best place to gather ritual ingredients were. She was even more appreciative of her mother's careful notes about their power and the potency of each magical ingredient as well as the time of day they should be collected and the proper moon phase to harvest under.

Gathering components of her first enhanced trance was only half of Niylah's agenda. By the third time she had read through her mother's journal markings and patterns had started to appear. They looked like code. She used her sharp mind and remembered things that were significant to her mother. After awhile, her mother's secret language appeared.

If Niylah was right, her mother had left a map leading to a magical place which she identified as a power spot, one safe and powerful enough for someone to do trance-work on their own, even if for the first time. First light was kind as well. It shone through the branches like a spotlight. The whole time Niylah felt her mother guiding her, directing brightness exactly where it needed to be. Either that or she was particularly good at finding and identifying herbs.

By daybreak, Niylah had found all but one of the ingredients she sought. The last she'd locate by the river where it was believed to thrive. She had purposefully decided to harvest it last because if she understood her mother's language, the power spot was upstream about 5 kilometers.

After gathering the last herb on her list, Niylah walked the rivers edge until she found the bluff her mother described. It did indeed shaped like a woman with her head and heart tilted toward the eastern skyline. She used the eye blurring technique from her mother's book to see it. Really see it. Truly see it. How she wished seeing aura's came as easily.

In absolute elation, Niylah climbed the bluff past the stone statue and looked between the cedars and bramble for a small animal path snaking through giant fiddleheads. It was there, sure as the eye could see. She took a deep breath and bound forth knowing what awaited her would undoubtedly change her life forever.