A/N: Hello lovelies. I'm so sorry it took so long for this to get to you! With any luck a few of you are still hanging around. To those who left coments, thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts with me! (Your full replies are in the comment section) I've been hoping to get this plunking along a little quicker as I get a better feel for the world and the characters. This chapter will be a little, well a lot different, from the show, and I make some major moves away from canon. I've found some serious continuity issues in the show's science as I've reserched for this, and hopefully I'll have come up with some satisfying answers for you too. Thanks for sticking through my ramblings if you've made it this far, and I truly do hope you enjoy exploring this new world with me. ~Dolly
P.S. don't follow Debnam Carey to Walking Dead. AMC/theCW/BBCAmerica are horribly inbred and have been killing off their queer characters at very alarming rate. Do NOT support them with your time/money/numbers while their neoconservative culling continues. Throw your weight at ABC/Disney who have made huge strides as far as the representation of well rounded characters who are queer/PoC (sometimes both!). If you must keep up, pirate.
The next day, Clarke only knew they approached Polis when the commander pulled up beside her.
"Lexa, I-"
"You don't have to do that." Lexa cut her off, her eyes on the road ahead.
As the day drew on, the steely silence between them began to wear on Clarke. The long journey on horseback had left her exhausted and sore, her whole body was burning. She tried to think of something to say to the commander to take her mind off her aching muscles, but every time she opened her mouth the words stuck in her throat. Lexa spoke to her occasionally, but mainly to let her know which village they were passing through. The few times she actually looked Clarke's way, it was only to correct her slouching posture or her hold on the horse's reins.
Each village now was closer to the last, and around midday they all began to run into one. Their already slow progress stagnated as they got closer to the city. Clarke had thought Polis would be crowded, but she had no idea just how many bodies could fit into the tight spaces between the cobbled together buildings. The streets were knotted with Grounders, many of them stopping to call out to their returning Heda.
Lexa barely acknowledged the words flung her way, occasionally giving one of her subjects a nod or the merest suggestion of a smile. The commander led their party to a square Clarke believed to be the center of town. When she looked back, curious as to how the army would stay together in the throng, she could only see a few of the riders that had followed them from the battlefield.
There was a bubble of space around herself, Lexa, and the few mounted guards still with them, but enough of a crowd packed into the square that Clarke felt overwhelmed and encroached upon. The air was heavy and thick with smoke, the small openings between buildings not allowing the wind in to reduce the smog of uncountable cooking fires.
The commander made her way alone into the of the middle of the square. A hush swept through the bustling city center, a sea of people already gathered for her victory speech. The crowd parted to allow her through, and by the time she dismounted, the space around her had widened into a small circle. One of the warriors walked her horse up beside Clarke's and quietly translated Lexa's words from Trigedasleng to English.
"Citizens of Polis Daun,-" she began, her voice strong and clear "the Maunon have been defeated." the people around them began to cry out in celebration, but their commander lifted her hand to quell the noise.
"The weight of the Maun-de has been crushing down on us for longer than any living can remember, but our new friends kom Skaikru have made it so our losses pale in comparison to the complete and utter destruction of the Maunon!" the people cheered, and the commander took a moment to glance back over her shoulder.
Lexa gave her the smallest nod, and Clarke's stomach twisted in on itself. The air around her was sweltering as she returned the gesture with as much of a smile as she could muster. The commander looked away to survey the crowd until the noise died down enough for her to continue on.
"Do not become so blinded by victory that you forget about the dead who freed you. I stand before you on our own mountain of fallen warriors."
"If death has no cost, life has no worth. But to be broken by our losses is to allow the reaping to continue. We will not allow our oppressors to control us from their graves!" Lexa's voice dropped, and even through the harsh edges of her native tongue there was something lilting and hypnotic in her words. "Invite those you have lost into your hearts and your homes. Drink a toast in their names. Offer them the first and the last of everything that passes your lips. Send them on into the next life with good cheer." there was a slight buzz from the gathered Grounders as their Heda's words sunk in.
"With death comes new life. Blood has answered blood, and Trikru has awoken to an age beyond the reapings. Celebrate your freedom. Let us revel in the dawn breaking over a new horizon." again, Lexa waited out her people's jubilant reaction, lingering nearly to the point of silence before she spoke.
"Not with grief, but with joy we honor you." her voice was strong, but held more respect than fire. She placed a fist over her heart. "May we meet again."
The commander's words were so soft that Clarke wasn't sure everyone had heard, but the message was clear. The simple phrase was repeated, almost as one, by the crowd. Even Clarke's own lips formed the words, and as she thought about everyone she'd lost to get this far, she meant them.
After Lexa's speech, she led their small party further into the city. It was still crowded, but Clarke finally felt like she had room to breathe.
Past the square the smoke began to clear and Clarke got her first real look at Polis. The people here were well dressed and washed, their linens and leathers sewn in clean lines. The shops and houses were still tightly packed, but the streets between them had grown in size. As they rode on, the buildings themselves began to get larger too. What at the front of the city would be room enough for many of the hodge podge little dwellings now supported maybe two or three homes built neatly out of wood and stone.
It was easier now too to distinguish the merchant spaces from the residential. The homes were larger, and aside from the eclectic gardens around them there was little to draw the eye. The shops, however, were painted colorfully with large tables out front displaying their goods. The shutters were open and the windows glassless, the people and goods inside easy to see.
When they had entered the city they had fought their way through a mass of pedestrians and donkey carts. Now the route was far from clear, but the crowds weren't as dense and traffic flowed smoothly. There were more horses here, and the amount of riders kept the foot traffic to the sides of the dirt roads.
It was almost louder now than when they had ridden into Polis. The noise had been overwhelming there, but it had all melted into a sort of droning. Now she could hear snippets of conversations, street hawkers, the occasional yelp or cry from the variety of animals and children running through the streets. Things would start to die down, to fade into the background, she would begin to relax, and then something would jar her back to the present. She couldn't focus. Her head was throbbing audibly, each pulse bringing with it a slight darkening at the edges of her vision. It was difficult to keep her eyes open, but closing them offered little relief.
She was so tired, and her muscles were begging her to put as much space between herself and the saddle as possible. She longed for the little tent she had spent the previous night in, and she wished she had rested easier.
Terrible screaming had woken her at a cold, damp, and unholy hour. Her heart was racing, but she lay as still as she could as she fought to get her senses under control. Clarke's hand slipped beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the knife she kept there. She strained to hear past the cacophonous rushing of her blood. From the gentle crackling of fires and the quiet murmurings of a camp undisturbed, she felt it safe to guess that the horror she had awoken to existed solely within her dreams.
She had thought briefly about going to the command tent to apologize and seek comfort, but Lexa's reaction, or lack thereof, to Clarke's beratement made her extremely nervous. She had dressed the commander down on a number of occasions and been met with equal passion. This time, though, Lexa's final words had felt more like a goodbye than a goodnight.
Clarke was brought back to reality with a jolt as she heard the commander calling her name.
"Come. The horses need to rest and you need to eat." Lexa stated, pulling on her reins and sliding nimbly from her mount before it came to a full halt.
Clarke yanked hard and her horse stopped dead, the momentum nearly lurching her from her place atop the animal. She carefully lowered herself to the ground, pain splintering through her lower half the second she touched down. She gripped at her saddle, black spots dotting her vision as she fought to get her bearings. She wouldn't let Lexa see her falter. She couldn't show any weakness with so many eyes on her.
Although the building in front of them was painted in the reds and yellows that designated it as a merchant space, the windows were small with patterned curtains that hid the inside from view. Clarke hoped it was some kind of lodging house. She would give anything to be able to lie down and close her eyes.
When she was ready to shift all her weight onto her aching legs, she uncurled her fingers and took a few shaky steps towards where the commander was waiting. She faltered briefly, but was saved from falling by a strong arm around her shoulders. The commander used her free hand to point off at something in the distance, and Clarke noticed that a mountain loomed beyond the city.
"Keep your head up, your shoulders back, and when you're ready you walk through that door like you belong here." Lexa's voice was quiet but firm, the care that had been present since their flight from the pauna all but gone.
Clarke was too afraid to look over at the commander, knowing the cold edge would be present in her gaze as well. Instead she nodded meekly and busied herself with studying the forested incline before them.
"I'm alright." she stated when she was sure she had found her footing.
Lexa's arm dropped, and a slight tilt of her head indicated for Clarke to go on ahead of her. A guard opened the door, and inside Clarke was dismayed to see only low tables with inset grills. There had appeared to be a second floor from the street, but nothing indicated that there was more here than what she could see.
When the commander entered, the handful of Grounders inside grew silent. Lexa nodded to her people and proceeded on to a large table towards the back. The warriors that had ridden with them from the square came in too, one lingering by the door, the others flanking herself and their heda as they settled on the cushions set out to function as seats.
No one tried to engage Clarke in conversation, and she was torn between relief and the uneasy sense that the Grounders were giving her an extremely wide berth. She guessed that whatever they were discussing wasn't terribly important as Lexa made no attempt to steer them away from using Trigedasleng.
The restaurant was warm and smoky, and Clarke had to fight to stay alert. She listened to their voices, the words tangling together until all she could make out was the sound of the commander's voice among the clamor. Each blink pulled her towards the void, the light in the room appearing to grow dimmer the longer her eyes fixed on Lexa.
Clarke drew in a sharp breath. Everything had been black, still, but now a hazy voice was pulling her back down into her body. Her heart rate spiked momentarily. She was tumbling through thickened air, the world around her spinning as she tried to pull her focus inward. Her head was aching as her eyes snapped open.
Once the initial rush of pain subsided, everything seemed sharp and clear. Clearer than she'd felt since before the Mountain. She didn't remember the restaurant being so bright when they had come inside. Air that had prickled her with smoke before was suddenly rich with the smell of strange foods cooking all around her.
She couldn't have nodded off for more than a second, but a plate of hot food had been placed before her. Her stomach rumbled painfully, and she wasted no time in shoveling the slices of roasted meat and vegetables into her mouth. By the time she was sated her hands were greasy, but napkins seemed to be past even high Grounder culture. She wiped her fingers on her gritty, travel worn pants and hoped that there was a change of clothes waiting for her wherever she was sleeping tonight.
Despite the fleeting clarity that had overcome her upon startling awake, her full belly left Clarke increasingly drowsy. She let her eyes drift closed and the darkness swelled around her like a warm blanket.
She was floating, flying, at once seated before the table and looking down on it from above. She could still hear Lexa and her guards speaking around her, but in her dreamlike state there was a strange clarity to the sounds. She thought she could make out several words similar to those in her own language, but perhaps that was merely her semiconscious mind playing tricks on her.
Before she could overhear anything useful, her companions began to rise to their feet. Clarke tried to make herself move, and for a moment she was afraid her body wasn't going to obey her urgings. She focused everything on moving the fingers of one hand. The sheer amount of willpower it took to curl a fist made her queasy, her entire body still feeling thick and heavy. By the time she could use that same force to get herself up off the ground her head and heart were pounding.
If anyone around her had noticed her sluggish movements, no one remarked on it. At least not with words Clarke could understand. She wasn't sure how long it had taken her to rouse herself, but if it had been as long as it felt the warriors had waited patiently for her.
Lexa took the lead as they left, standing in place before the door as two of her guards exited to clear the space outside. They called her forward, and Clarke soon found herself following the commander into sunlight so bright it made her eyes water. She knew it was too good to think they had settled in for the night when they had stopped earlier, but what she saw waiting for them in the road nearly brought true tears to her eyes.
A fresh team of horses stood saddled and ready to go among the chaos of the city streets. At their head stood a small open carriage hitched to a single horse, and Clarke felt a flood of relief rushing through her when she saw it was large enough for two. She was too tired even to be nervous about sitting so close to the commander.
Just like she had helped her into the restaurant, Lexa boosted Clarke up onto the plush red settee before hopping up beside her to take the reins. Her movements were friendly, familiar, but up close she was no more than civil, rarely sparing a glance at her companion.
They started up on the road again, the two large wheels supporting the cart providing them with anything but a smooth and secure ride. When Clarke trusted her voice, she attempted to engage the other young leader in conversation.
"Where-" she trailed off in an attempt to clear her throat, her voice sticky from misuse. "Where are we going?"
"Polis." the commander spared a brief glance in her direction.
"I thought we were in Polis." Clarke felt her brow draw down, trying to think back to Lexa's words when they had arrived.
The commander shook her head briefly. "This is not Polis. It was once. Before the Maunon started hunting Trikru. Long before the coalition formed it was the center of trade for my people. After the Reapings began, and the greatest of buildings fell, the Commander of the time ordered a new city to be built. A city hidden, inaccessible by foot from the Maun-de. Far from the cities of old and the destruction they caused our forests. A new Polis was born. A place where the Commander could entertain the leaders of the other clans and assure relative safety while their issues were addressed."
"I thought the Mountain Men were after all Grounders. Isn't that why you don't use guns?"
"It is why we, kom Trikru, do not use guns. Other clans have their own superstitions. Guns would not have helped us fight their chemicals or their bombs, and when they were foolish enough to face is honorably we didn't need them." the corner of her lips curled up into a smirk, and for a moment it felt like they were back in Tondc. Lexa was her guide to a foreign culture, a foreign planet, someone who could make sense of all the chaos that was Earth.
"But if Polis is in Trikru territory..?" Clarke trailed off, unsure of how to compete her question.
"Not all of our territory was vulnerable to the Maun-de."
"Then why did you stay? Why not move everyone away?" she frowned.
"Tondc was our home. Warriors are not afraid to fight for their land, even when the enemy seems invulnerable."
Clarke wasn't sure she agreed with the sentiment, but she nodded all the same and they lapsed into an uneasy silence.
"Lexa… last night…" she began, unsure of how to diffuse the tension mounting between them.
"Don't bother." The commander kept her eyes on the road, her voice hollow but steady. Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off before she could get a word in edgewise.
"You were right, Clarke. The battlefield plays strange tricks on a person. I should never have pursued you. We're from different worlds." Lexa looked right at her "There is no us. There never was."
Clarke choked on her ready apology as the words struck home, her throat too constricted even to let air pass. Her heart sank like lead, and she quickly turned away to hide her springing tears. She wasn't ready to be with Lexa, but she wasn't ready to be without her either.
The road they were travelling rose steadily as they continued on, and before Clarke knew it they were looking out over the valley where she had spent all of her time on Earth. She focused on committing the lay of the land to memory. Anything to avoid looking at the woman beside her.
She could see hints of the forest beneath them, but the tree cover was so thick from this distance that she couldn't tell where exactly they had come from. Everything was so green, and in a few places Clarke could see fields like the one where Lexa's army had been camped. The view was so calming she almost forgot why she was here with Trikru and not back at Camp Jaha with her mother and Bellamy. Then she saw it. Her stomach dropped.
In the distance there was a huge hole in the blanket of green. It was so neat and tidy, but Clarke knew they were still struggling to rebuild Tondc beneath it. She had done that, let that bomb drop to save Bellamy. To save their war. She couldn't say it hadn't helped their victory, and she certainly couldn't say it wasn't her choice. She had wanted to save him, she hadn't spared too many thoughts for the people of Tondc.
She tried to think only of how glad she was to be surviving on Earth. How glad she was that all of humanity wasn't running out of air in space. Or dead, in a bunker, on a planet they could no longer survive.
The people who had built the twelve stations were the same as those who had been driven underground by nuclear destruction. Her people, along with the Mountain Men, had fled a hostile planet for an artificial life. Technology hadn't helped her people when life support on the Ark had failed, and culture certainly hadn't helped Dante and his people escape her.
The Grounders had been left to adapt and change with the earth. Clarke knew they had as much of a right to the planet they had stayed and fought for, and they definitely had the numbers to eradicate her people. The people who were at Camp Jaha, needing her to convince the tribal leaders that their culture, their knowledge, was worth something. Otherwise everything Finn, her father, and so many others had died for would be lost.
The road started to branch off as they got closer to the city, and continued on past the limb their small party turned onto. She wasn't sure how the riders ahead knew which of the many trails was the right one, they all seemed to disappear into the shadows. After what felt like hours of winding their way through the tree cover, the group finally began to slow.
Polis came up out of nowhere, one moment Clarke was looking at a solid canvas of bark and leaves, and the next they had come to a stop in front of a massive wall. The sheets of reclaimed metal were riveted unlike any grounder handiwork she had seen before. It stretched up to the tree tops, but it looked like the nearby branches had all been cut back.
The wall began to creak and several of the plates near the middle separated from the rest. The edges had been well disguised, the metal dividing along natural seams. The door that lowered towards them was rough and uneven. It was bolted onto a curved frame, and the sharp edges made Clarke uneasy as it fell heavily onto the dirt path before them.
A second set of wooden doors opened inwards and the riders began nudging their horses to start up again. Lexa snapped the reins, and their cart lurched forward.
Polis was both smaller than she had expected and more vast than she could ever have imagined. Most of the grounder settlements Clarke had seen had been large and sprawling. With so few people on the ground, spatial economy wasn't a huge concern. Some had had walls, of course, but none so permanent as the one they had just passed through.
There was a definite beginning and end to this city, another wall of rock in the distance blocking her view beyond the limits of Polis. There were no massive trees in the capitol like those that made up the forest outside, but everything appeared lush and green. Each squared building was afloat in its own garden, and all looked to have been masoned. Dark paint obscured the exact composition of the structures, but as in the city below large windows and outdoor displays denoted places where various goods were to be found.
At the entrance to the city everything was grand, but modestly sized. One storied buildings with flat roofs were painted in greens and browns, some of those nearer the gate bearing gilded trim. It was less crowded here as well, and the few Grounders she could see were dressed more finely than any she had seen in her time on the planet. Gone were the rugged skins and rough cloth, replaced by clean fur and supple leather, thin linen and gauzy cotton.
Unlike Polis Daun, however, this Polis had no main road leading in towards the center of the city. Lexa guided their horse along a cobblestone street lining the interior of the towering wall, turning onto one of the smaller branches and guiding them inward over the twisting pathways towards the taller, darker buildings at the city center.
It took an alarmingly long time for the carriage to reach the center of the city, and by the time the commander brought them to a stop Clake's pain and fear had abated in the wake of her looming exhaustion. She didn't even care that Lexa waited only long enough to wave her in the direction of her quarters before starting off and away. She made a beeline towards the door in front of her, stumbling when a hand shot out to keep her from entering. She looked up, confused, and found Ryder shaking his head at her. She was about to question him when she noticed a slim female warrior slip into the building before her.
Like the others at the restaurant, the woman was out of sight for several too long minutes. She returned to the doorway and gave what Clarke recognized as the all clear. The large, steadying hand still on her shoulder urged her forward. Ryder walked with her into the house and showed her up two flights of stairs. He nodded for her to enter to room in front of them, and with a weary smile in thanks she stepped in and shut the door.
She was relieved to finally be on her own again, a massive bed only a matter of feet away. There were no windows in the chamber, so Clarke took the time to peel away the filthy, confining clothing that clung to her. She climbed between the soft cotton sheets, lay her still grimy head on the pillow and finally let go of consciousness.
Clarke awoke to darkness, warmth and comfort. It crossed her mind that perhaps this was death. If it was, death was nice. She spotted a dim, flickering glow and rolled onto her side to investigate. Everything from her bones to the surface of her skin protested painfully. Not dead. Shame.
She squirmed to the edge of the bed and after a weighty, wobbling moment was able to throw back the covers and force herself into a seated position. Her ankle swung painfully into the edge of a dark, squarish end table and she hissed in pain.
She leaned towards the drowning wick, a cup of hot wax all that remained of the candle that had once housed it. Thankfully, she spotted another taper waiting beside the pan of the chamberstick. Carefully, she lit the new candle off the remains of the last and slid it into place, the melted stub sealing it steadily into the holder.
She looked around for her carelessly discarded clothing. She was too tired and sore to bother with much, so a small thrill ran through her when she spotted a puddle of clean, pale fabric on the floor at the foot of her bed. From the way it was pinched between the mattress and the curved metal bed frame she assumed it had been laid out in anticipation of her arrival.
She pulled it free as carefully as she could, her hands stiff and unwilling. She fumbled with the light cloth until she found the bottom hem and pulled it over her head. She was still dirty and sore, but it felt good to be rested, and even better to be wearing new, clean clothes.
Clarke sat back on the edge of the bed, pathetically winded and dizzy from the few moments on her feet. She felt hot and nauseous, the room around her icy cool. She pressed her bare feet against the floor and let her eyes slip closed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Out. In, out.
When she was ready, she opened her eyes and looked around. There was a large wooden armoire against one wall, but aside from that the room was sparsely decorated. The sole embellishment was a faded seascape hanging above the bed.
There were two doors, the one she had entered through the night before and another on the opposite wall leading further into the house. When she felt ready, Clarke picked up the candlestick and went to investigate.
To her surprise the door led not to a closet, but to a bathroom. Like the bedroom, there didn't appear to be any windows, but her flame reflected off the small mirrors that dotted the walls and brought sufficient light. She had spent so much of her time with the Grounders on the road or the battlefield that it had never crossed her mind to expect anything above primitive.
She walked over to the sink and tried the tap. The pipes spluttered for a few moments, but soon cool, clear liquid ran over her outstretched hand. She fiddled with it briefly to see if she could get it to run hot, but her efforts came to no avail. Even so she set the candle down to splash the brisk water over her face.
After she had scrubbed what she could of the salt and sweat from her skin she took a wary glance at herself in one of the tarnished mirrors. She looked like hell. Despite her restful sleep there were bruise like circles under her eyes. Her nose was still bruised and she had pimples in places she didn't even know she could get pimples until she had been dropped onto this dirty planet. And that was only from the neck up.
There was a large stone tub at the far end of the room and she was eager to cleanse herself of the filth from the past few days. She hadn't ever had a bath before. Not a real one, anyways. There hadn't been room on the Ark or in the bunker for such a luxury. She wondered what her mother or Dante would think it they knew they had been outclassed by the Grounders on such a basic level.
She crossed to the bath and started the tap. She tried again to get the water to run hot, but there didn't seem to be that much finesse to the simple plumbing. The water wasn't icy, though, and there was a bar of rich brown soap on the lip of the tub, so she cut her losses and slipped out of her nightgown.
As she stepped into the water she left behind the clever girl who had been backed into a corner. She would come out a capable woman, she told herself. A woman who could hold her own against the entire council and make a place for herself as an ambassador here in Polis. She hoped she could save her people in the process.