A Difficult Thing
It's a difficult thing, watching someone you love get hurt. However, Octavia stood at the front of the crowd, steadfast and unflinching, watching the fight unfold in front of her. No weapons were involved, challenges of this nature encompassed bare fists and brute strength – the measure of a man, but the damage being inflicted was still appalling.
At first, it seemed like an even match. Lincoln moving his broad frame with surprising swiftness to avoid The Commander's powerful jabs. At one point, he even delivered a blow to The Commander's right ear, causing the man to reel and shake his head profusely in an effort to clear his double vision. But then, as Lincoln moved in to deliver another punch, The Commander recovered and connected his right foot with Lincoln's left hip. The impact swung Lincoln around and Octavia heard a sickening crack. Lincoln staggered and tried to recover, but found that he could not put his full weight on his left leg. A dislocated hip, Octavia realized, at the same time that The Commander did. Now, the leader of the Grounders was delivering hit after hit to Lincoln's debilitated left side – to his stomach, to his ribs, to his head. Octavia had not seen him this brutalized since he had been captured and tortured in the drop ship, at the hands of her own brother.
Lincoln collapsed to the dirt on his back, spitting blood. The Commander walked away and then turned to face him again, like a bull preparing for the final charge. Bodies clamoured around Octavia, shouting, everyone concentrating on the two figures. Slowly, without attracting attention, Octavia reached her hand into the waistline of her pants and felt for her knife. She watched as The Commander started to run towards Lincoln. She gripped the handle of her blade, preparing for what she had to do when, unexpectedly, something happened.
Lincoln was on his feet. His right arm shot out like a viper and clutched The Commander's throat. The connection took the man's breath away, breaking his stride and causing his arms and legs to shoot out in front of him as Lincoln held him aloft. Gasping for breath, eyes bulging, for a moment The Commander struggled in Lincoln's powerful grip before finding himself slammed to the ground - ribs breaking, skull cracking. Lincoln stumbled; then collected himself. Placing one hand underneath The Commander's shoulder blades and the other under his coccyx, Lincoln used all of his strength to lift the three-hundred pound man high above his head. Roaring with pain, infused with adrenaline, he raised his left knee and, balancing on one foot, brought the body crashing down onto his leg. Spine broken, The Commander moved no more.
Silence descended on those gathered, punctuated only by Lincoln's ragged breathing and the sound of Octavia's footfall as she rushed to his side. Placing herself under his left shoulder, she supported him with a strength which defied her tiny frame.
An elder approached, followed by one of The Commander's men. Octavia drew her knife, but it was not needed. The men stood in front of the lovers and inclined their heads, speaking in unison: "Commander." Others followed, including Emilia and a beaming Yaheera, all uttering the same words. Soon, Octavia and Lincoln were surrounded by two hundred bowing Grounders.