The Waning and Waxing of the Moon

by munnarg

I recently discovered "The 100" and I'm hooked. I've watched Season 1 in full, but not Season 2. I love Octavia and Lincoln, but I'm intrigued by Luna - Lincoln's friend to the East. So this is "Linctavia" fan fiction, delving into Luna's story, with new characters and short chapters which are best read in sequence. Thanks for all the views and comments. Enjoy! xo

21. Chapter 21 - Pride

Pride

Lincoln couldn't sleep. The events of the past days lingered heavily on him like a fog. The stiffness in his leg didn't help either; discomfort radiated upwards through his back, along his chest and extended to the puffy swelling of his face. Anka had scolded him as she reset his body, but Lincoln had detected an underlying pride behind her terse words. His entire tribe was proud of him becoming The Commander. A complex time lay ahead, however. When his body healed, he would have to journey to the east to bring the coastline tribes into the fold. What of the tribes in the western desert? And those in the marshlands to the south? Would they bow to a new Commander? Lincoln sighed. But, unmistakably, he felt it too – pride.

Abby and Finn had also praised him for his achievement, before taking their leave and returning to their camp. The doctor had also leaned over his bruised body to assure him that there was nothing anyone could've done to save his sister. Still, Lincoln felt guilt over Luna's death. As her brother he should have done more to look after her; whether she was being taken from her family by a man she barely knew, or risking her own life to bring new life into the world.

She was ready for the spirits now. Preserved by Anka's ointments for two days, her body would burn tomorrow. Lincoln sighed again as his thoughts turned to what remained of Luna. He had not seen his niece and nephew as yet, they were being cared for by the community – mothers with infants providing what milk their bodies could spare; but Octavia had assured him that they were healthy and strong.

Octavia. Lincoln turned his head stiffly to look at her as she slept beside him. She breathed deeply, her raven hair framing her face and falling around her shoulders. With his eyes, Lincoln traced the curve of her hips, they way they rose gradually only to fall again into her interminable darkness. She was tougher than she looked, Lincoln surmised. If there was one person he was proud of, it was her.

And just like that, in spite of everything, Lincoln gave in to slumber.