Manifestation

Clarke

Clarke wanted Lexa to think she was asleep. She measured her breathing and relaxed her body as much as she could while lying next to a wounded warrior. She allowed a small part of her mind to remain conscious of Indra's physical needs, but dedicated the rest to strategy.

Just as Clarke expected, the voice of Wanheda appeared for their nightly conversation, which had now become a ritual. Since her inception at Mount Weather, Wanheda appeared most every night before bed and questioned everything Lexa said or did. Wanheda didn't trust Lexa and quite possibly never would. It was her job to distrust. She was Clarke's protector; she questioned everything and everyone; Lexa most of all.

Wanheda was convinced Lexa made a deal with the Mountain People the night Clarke set their commander free, but Clarke knew better. She had personally drained his air supply and there was no way that even if Lexa's men had captured him they would have had the o2 to replenish his tank. She tried to get Wanheda to understand this by pointing out that it was far more likely Lexa made "the deal" after the Mountain started to kick her army's ass, just as they'd done for years. She reminded her that Lexa was covered in blood, not night-blood, but the bright red blood of Grounders. Her hand was probably forced. Wanheda would hear none of it. To her, there had to have been another way.

"From day one!" Wanheda hissed, "She's been playing you from day one!"

Wanheda wouldn't, not for a single second, believe that any of the intimate tender moments between Clarke and Lexa were real. She considered Lexa to be a sociopath incapable of genuine emotion. She would not open herself, not even in the slightest, to the possibility that Lexa was brainwashed since birth by cultural survival techniques and Night Blood training forced upon her during the most fundamental and crucial years of development. Clarke pointed out that Lexa was a child when she took command, but the response was always the same, "She has a warrior spirit and the capability of jumping bodies!" The conversation always stopped there. Clarke simply couldn't wrap her mind around reincarnation.

Wanheda most recent questioning involves Lexa's battle with King Roan. She was convinced they had made a deal. Lexa promised to kill his mother instead of him and he would take the throne, which benefited them both. He'd have to look past the fact that Lexa failed to honor their previous agreement and he'd have to throw the battle. The King could have had some security in trusting that Heda would indeed want to kill his mother; however, after all it was she who murdered Costia. This was an argument Clarke' found hard to refute, even though Lexa's fighting skills were magnificent. She made her argument anyway. King Roan put up a hell of a fight; a fight just like Clarke expected from him. In all appearances, Heda was faster, stronger, more cunning, more ruthless and won fair and square.

Clarke could feel her breathing become irregular again. She forced a rhythm. She needed this one last bit of quiet time to think. She silenced Wanheda and was relieved when the Death Queen obeyed.

The woman inside Clarke didn't question the energy of attraction she and Lexa shared. It was real, hell it was palpable. The woman in her didn't question Lexa's desire for peace either, just her methods. She thought back to her bid and every word she spoke when asking the Commander to be the first to lay down arms. She knew she had deliberately strung together words that would pull heartstrings. She trusted what she knew in her bones, Lexa couldn't articulate it yet, but truly wanted to lead from a place of balance, not with just her mind, nor her heart, but both. Balanced.

Clarke thought back to every personal decision she had made as a commander along the way. Not once did she want to kill someone. Every time she had, her hand was forced. She couldn't be sure if the same were for Lexa, but hoped. And, just like that, the sensation of hope induced fear within her psyche. This fear, now conjured, rested squarely in the pending consequences of Lexa concession. Heda was about to put her head in the lion's mouth and Clarke knew this. Indra's warning resounded over and over, "Polis will not support you."

"I need a plan," Clarke whispered to herself, warning Wanheda to let her figure one out on her own.

Clarke strategized option after option before realizing there was one she could quite possibly manifest. It wasn't original. She would kill Lexa before she would allow her to be tortured and murdered by her own people. But, here's the catch; she would not actually kill her, instead she would stage her death. If Polis rejected Lexa's decision and moved against her and her life was in imminent danger, Clarke would reach out to Titus and together they would figure out a way to convince the coalition that Lexa were dead. This would likely involve drugging and kidnapping her for there was no way Lexa would go willingly.

Together, Titus and Clarke would set the scene. No remains would be left behind. An explosion would be required. Clarke would steal Lexa away during the chaos. Titus would stay behind, but only on the peripheral; not close enough to get hurt, but near enough to where people would believe him when he said Lexa and Clarke were killed during the bombing.

The question now was where to take Lexa. Well it wasn't really a question, Clarke knew where, but the answer involved a certain amount of vulnerability. She would need to take Lexa to her bunker, the place where she stayed during her three-month seclusion. The life sized image she'd drawn of Lexa, standing stern like a warrior, blood dripping from her elbows, fingers and mouth, eyes like ice, face fierce and void of empathy, was still on the wall. She'd have to explain it. She could though. It was how she felt in that moment. It was an expression she needed to allow herself in order to stay sane. And, if Lexa were open enough and looked close enough, she'd see the entire scene and the battlefield it was set in. She'd see Clarke was there too, climbing to her feet, not quite on them yet, but almost. She'd see Clarke taking her blinders off and looking directly at Heda, seeing her for who she is – a Commander of Grounders.

Clarke knew the bunker would be safe. No one ever came there. No one. Ever. It was below a mausoleum in the heart of a cemetery

The bunker was filled with supplies that were put there before the nuclear holocaust. The supplies were safe to be consumed and to used. Clarke's hunting and gathering tools were there as well. Less than a kilometer away was a freshwater source. There was a wood heat stove, a secure hatch, and a second exit. They could live there for an extended period of time. Perhaps long enough for Aiden to take control and realize Lexa's efforts. He was her Second; she trained him; he could pick up right where she left off and he'd be received differently. He didn't have the Wanheda baggage Lexa had. He didn't appear weak because of her. Wanheda would be dead. Peace could take hold.

Clarke's mind was made. She sighed with relief, but not loud enough to alert the pacing Commander that she was awake. She craved more quiet time for her private thoughts. She allowed herself one more moment to consider the future. The image that came surprised her. It was of her waking up in the bunker to find Lexa gone. In panic she climbed the hatch with incredible haste, heart racing, blood rushing, hands sharking. And, with indescribable relief she found Lexa inches from the opening sitting quietly and taking in her surroundings.

"Hey, she whispered without looking at Clarke."

"Hey, Clarke whispered back ascending the top stair and sitting close. She mirrored the way the warrior appeared, stretched her legs and lifted her heart to the sky while letting the morning sun rest upon her face. She was relieved with Lexa's obvious lack of anger.

Many moments of quiet went by before Lexa whispered, "I've always wondered if the stories were true about places like this."

"Stories about places like this?" Clarke asked inquisitively.

"My people believe the dead have insurmountable power here. As children we are taught to steer clear and never enter places like this. At any moment the dead can steal a body and force its occupant out by driving them insane."

Clarke considered Lexa's words carefully before confiding, "I stayed here for nearly three months when I was gone and never once experienced anything of the kind."

"You're the Queen of Death, Clarke, they would never harm you here. You're their commander. This is your realm."

Lexa's words surprised Clarke. Surely she didn't believe such things. Then she thought back to stories from her own youth and how she'd heard similar warnings about dark pockets and realized she had no idea whether the stories were true or not. Having never experienced them, how could she? This gave her an idea. "Perhaps we can use this to our advantage; we'll be safe here, no one will enter. We can say well after Aiden takes control. Should something happen and we would need to reappear, we could start a story of our own and tell people that Wanheda, the Queen of Death, entered the Realm of the Dead and brought us back to the living to carry out her wishes."

Lexa smiled in such a way that Clarke was led to believe she took great satisfaction in the way her lessons had been absorbed.

Clarke returned the smile, but felt a bit shy about it. Sensations were rising in her essence and she feared becoming overwhelmed.

"I like the drawing," Lexa whispered, a hint of pain audible in her timbre.

Clarke nodded and started to explain.

"It's okay, Clarke. I get it, I do. It's a really beautiful illustration of what we've been through. I've seen a real life example of the pain you captured in your drawing. The second I saw the drawing I was reminded of that day in your quarters when you held a knife to my throat."

"When I couldn't kill you," Clarke interrupted.

Lexa nodded then leaned heavily on the hand closest to Clarke's hip. She lowered her body slightly and made meaningful eye contact. "A day doesn't go by when I don't regret my decision. I wish I could have figured out a different way, but I was a different person then. I was unsettled at having confessed my feelings for you and I couldn't stay open. I couldn't fully trust our connection. I just shut right back down. I'm not that person anymore. Experiencing your pain has affected me in ways I could never have imagined. Knowing I turned you into…"

"Lexa," Clarke, not wanting to hear what it was Lexa thought she turned her into, interrupted for a second time. "I know, Lexa." she whispered and as she spoke a memory of her mother and father appeared. It was a memory from when she was little and realized for the first time what love was. In her mind, love was her parents sharing morning tea together, laughing, enjoyed each other's company in peace, no work, and no politics, just them.

"I'll be right back," Clarke said jumping to her feat.

Lexa raised an eyebrow and Clarke realized she had very abruptly shut down their conversation. She dropped back down to her knees, restored eye contact and whispered, "Do you remember in Mount Weather when you asked me what I wanted for the future?"

"Yes," Lexa nodded.

"This is what I want. I want to go downstairs and make us a pot of tea then sit her and drink it with you. I want to talk about our options and our connection and make decisions together. I want to start here."