AN: let me know what you think!
Chapter 4
Ain't No Rest for the Wicked
91 days till the end, continued
Mount Weather maternity ward
Mary burst into tears.
Clarke's mouth fell open, and she looked helplessly to Collette, who was looking down at her friend miserably. She wrapped her arms around Mary, and squeezed. Their young leader felt Nyko brush against her as he moved away, giving the Skaikru a semblance of privacy.
"Derek was so angry, but still..." Mary choked out before her voice gave way to sobs again.
Clarke's eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned forward, to place her hand gently on Mary's shoulder, around Collette's embrace.
"but still, he would have been anyway," Collette guessed at the rest of Mary's dropped thought.
Wiping frantically at her eyes, and running nose, even as the sobs kept coming, the other girl nodded helpless.
"I'm so sorry," whispered Clarke, squeezing Mary's shoulder.
It wasn't enough. It never was. Another life she hadn't saved.
Acquiring napkins to sop up the tears, and leaving her first patient in Collette's quiet comfort, Clarke hesitantly slipped away, following behind Nyko out the door. Another was waiting on her.
She pulled the door securely shut behind them. Then paused to lean back against it. Nyko hesitated, waiting on her, and Clarke rubbed her hands roughly over her own face. Trying to get some measure of perspective. She offered a pained smile to the Trikru healer, embarrassed at her reaction to Mary's tears, before moving to the multi-purpose room next door. With her hand on the door knob, she paused, again.
"This one is probably going to be more... invasive. I can go in first, and make sure she's comfortable with anyone else coming in?"
Nyko looked startled, but then shook his head firmly. He glanced away from her, and the door she stood in front of.
Clarke grinned a bit more easily at the healer's obvious reluctance.
"Or you could get Monroe to show you to the main medical ward to look around," offered Clarke instead.
Inside the second multi-purpose maternity room, Bree was sitting alone on the bed side-ways with her legs dangling off and hands clenching the blanket at her sides. Clarke walked in quietly.
"You might be too early for an external ultrasound, so since we may try an internal, I thought you'd be more comfortable without Nyko..."
The tall, thin girl nodded vaguely. Actually, thought Clarke, Bree looked less bothered by the idea than Nyko had.
"Do you want anyone to come in with you?" asked Clarke.
Bree shook her head roughly. Her long, stringy blonde hair ruffled around her.
"I don't want him here," she muttered, looking away.
"Ok. It's up to you,"
"It might, I mean, it might not be... Sterling's,"
"Oh," murmured Clarke, awkwardly.
"Maybe Troy," muttered Bree irritably.
Clarke frowned a bit, began to reach out for the other girl, but faltered. Awkwardly, Clarke toys with the tablet she'd picked up.
"We'll run a paternity test. Perfectly easy here. It is possible to do it prenatally, but it's much safer to wait until after birth. Amniocenteses is actually fairly safe, but I've never performed one. Jackson could be a possibility,"
Bree shrugged.
Clarke's concern grew.
"It's ok. These things happen. Even on the Ark sometimes. You won't be alone, and I will make sure you have all the help you need, no matter who the father is,"
Bree's head only lowered closer to her chest as she stared down silently. Setting down the tablet, Clarke looked down at the the counter for a long moment.
Breathing slow as she tried to figure out the words, Clarke stepped closer, and tried to angle so she could meet Bree's averted gaze.
"But pregnancy and birth are risks in our situation. Even with this ward. Even with Jackson and my mother. If it's early enough, I've found medications here that would induce termination. Medically, there's risks to that too. And surgical termination could be an option if Jackson or my mother are willing to perform it, but I don't know that they would. It has even greater risks than the oral medication route. I really don't know much about this, but I can look into the risks more for you,"
"Do I have to?" asked Bree, with her head still lowered and voice flatter than Clarke had ever heard the playful girl.
"No!" blurted Clarke, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to pres-"
"But I can?" interrupted Bree.
"Yes," assured Clarke, her voice hesitant and uncertain, but her bright eyes fixed assuringly when Bree finally looked up.
"I didn't think it'd be my choice," admitted Bree.
"Even... even if you give birth, but don't believe raising the child yourself is the best for you both, that's a choice too. We could make that happen," suggested Clarke slowly.
Hunching her shoulders again, Bree looked away, beyond Clarke to the door, where beyond it, somewhere, Sterling was hopefully still waiting.
"Do I have to decide now?"
Shaking her head, Clarke picked up the tablet again, and switched it on.
"The risks to termination rise as time goes on, but let's do the ultrasound and get your blood work results before we deal with that, ok?"
With a half-shrug, Bree shifted her thin frame around, scooting back so she could lay down. As Clarke prepared to try an external ultrasound, Bree looked around the room some more, eyeing the great tub, and the odd looking stool while biting her lip.
"What about the radiation down here?"
Clarke hummed thoughtfully.
"Honestly, I'm not sure, but because of the genetic engineering on the Ark, and the generations of solar radiation, I don't think it will be a major concern. Until we get closer to Praimfaya. Levels are rising, and even though we have three months until it's unsurvivable... You should consider moving in here early. A month before Praimfaya at least. Just to be cautious. We can run the O2 scrubbers and the minimize the radiation even before we seal,"
Bree scrunched her nose unhappily.
Floukru
The rising heat and humidity was the first thing Octavia was aware of as she woke. The unpleasant stifling weather of only one place she knew of.
Thrice damned Floukru.
Having willingly drugged herself, again, in order to get paasage onto Floukru's rusting rig, she woke up slowly with a pounding head. A deep, slow breathe. Lincoln was stirring beside her. He'd already been murdered by Pike the first time she'd come here. Others in the space around were beginning to as well- rustles of stiff cotton, and coarse leather, against the metal floor. Last time, Lincoln was dead, and she'd brought instead Bellamy, Clarke, and Jasper, guided by the map in his journal. He stretched languidly beside her, moving a bit closer, his arms and shoulders brushing soothingly against her. Octavia scowled before she'd even opened her eyes. Seeing Luna again had not been on her bucket list. The coward, and traitor, to not just her own blood, but the coalition itself had caused so much of the insanity of the final days of Earth. If she'd just ascended when they'd brought the flame to her, they would have had so much more time to prepare.
To improve their chances.
Maybe the bunker could have been reinforced.
Maybe no one would have had to try to get back to the Ring.
Only Lexa's heavy hints that no one else knew enough to handle this delegation had gotten her here. In truth, Clarke knew well enough, but once she was disarmed, she was useless- as she'd proven on their last trip here.
A deep groan from somewhere beyond Lincoln echoed in the long, narrow shipping container.
"Floukru offers food and drink once you all are recovered enough," came the infuriatingly calm voice of the Floukru ambassador, Piers.
Whom was not the ambassador for the ocean clan in the last life, inexplicably, realized Octavia suddenly.
Ignoring her soreness, Octavia pushed herself up to her feet swiftly, pulling away from Lincoln's closeness.
"I don't need to recover from that little concoction you lot hide behind," spit Octavia.
Her cheeks flushed darkly, and she clenched her fists, annoyed at the absence of her weapons. Behind her now, Lincoln rose to his feet.
The ocean clan ambassador waited placidly.
Octavia sneered impatiently, and could not see Lincoln's frown. Easier the rest, she shook off the dredges of fuzziness, recognizing it from before.
In some burst of mischief, Lexa had ordered Wade of Blue Cliffs, along with his partner, Zavian of Glowing Forest, Jorum kom Sandakru, and his Delfikru partner, Tret. The last three of the unit had accepted their orders from the heda to answer to her for this mission with ease. The Blue Cliffs warrior had gritted his teeth so hard for the entirety of that meeting, Octavia had gleefully known his sore would have been left sore.
These four came lumbering to their feet, irritable with their pounding heads.
"Let's get this started," barked Octavia sharply, "And you'd damn well better not have let anything slip while we were drugged," she threatened, bouncing restlessly in place. Ready for a fight, if he so much as glanced away in guilt.
Lincoln moved closer, coming up even with her, to rest a hand soothingly on her arm.
The rest of their unit, still shaking off the grogginess, nevertheless glared from the side, and behind her, at the ocean clan's ambassador.
He bowed his head slightly in respect.
"I have remained at your side in order to keep the faith of this mission, as promised," he assured them calmly.
Octavia huffed in acknowledgment. With a jerk of her hand towards the container's closed doors, she urged him on.
Hundred Camp
Sunset found Clarke in the dropship's lower level. Her carefully tended notebook, freshly updated after their trip to Mount Weather, was already replaced into the slim metal cabinet built into the dropship's wall. Dinner would be ready soon, she could tell from the noise level outside, but she was scrubbing down the med bay corner with sharply potent alcohol, and sun dried rags. In case it was needed while she away, Clarke was leaving it as clean as possible.
Heavy footsteps came up the entrance, and Clarke looked over her shoulder to see Bellamy. His jaw clenched, and eyes intent upon her. She let the alochol soaked remeant of someone's old Ark t-shirt drop to the makeshift exam table. Turning to face him, and careful not to brush against the wet table, she braced herself for whatever was making him look at her like that.
"Why can't you just stay?"
He threw the words at her just as he had learned, in this life, to throw spears- doggedly swift and sure.
"What use am I really to our people here?" demanded the younger of the leaders. Her shoulders hunched in on herself, and she crossed her arms under her chest.
"Look, Bell, I lazed around for a week, but now that Arkadia's out of Polis, I can actually get back to work. I shouldn't have left Charlotte, but she begged to stay with Aden. I can't just sit here, doing nothing, while we are waiting for the end of the world," explained Clarke earnestly, her big blue eyes pleading with him to understand.
"Can't you see how much there is to for you to do here?" His retort flew out at her, even as he moved closer, into her space. She stepped back against the table, forgetting it was still wet from her cleaning.
"There is nothing here I am needed for. In Polis, I can be helping with the preparations, and protecting Second Dawn and those are the most important things," replied Clarke wearily.
He snorted, and looked away from her, as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer. He stepped to the side, and stood, glaring out at the entrance of the dropship in frustration.
"But... I can come back more often. It's only a day, or night's ride, I can make the trip twice a week, splitting my time between home and Polis," promised Clarke quietly before easing around him, and out towards the camp.
Dinner time, crowded around the fire, with their little bent metal cups of moonshine, and hot, roasted meat, was a favorite time of day for most of Skaikru. Between the crowding close in their furs, the vital fire, and the warmth deep in their gut from the alcohol, they were warm enough, and at rest, for a change.
As she stared into the fire, surrounded by her people in the midst of dinner, Clarke considered the issue at hand. Caliban, Nyko, and the rest had gone back to Ton DC, but Caliban had offered to ride back to Polis with her tonight.
He'd be at the gate before too much longer, but Clarke knew she could demure, and reschedule their return, without him holding much of a grudge if any.
Reasons to Leave
She'd already skipped the summit, and truly, she had to keep working with Lexa for everyone's sake.
Bellamy's sad, disappointed eyes, that she feels on her nearly every moment she spends in Hundred Camp.
The primary bunker must be protected at all costs. Mt. Weather could save only a fraction of what Second Dawn could, and at least Mt. Weather was firmly entrenched in Trikru territory. The vicious Anya stood between it, and falling.
Charlotte... why was Wells' anxious about her, and what was she going to do about the novitiates? Wells must be wondering why Clarke would take care of his murderer.
Her people needed to knowshe was going to do everything she could to protect them- including making sure Praimfaya was well prepared for. Mary's pregnancy seemed to be going fine, despite some dehydration, and with Bree being so early, there wasn't anything for Clarke to do anyway.
The only reason to stay... Bellamy.
That wasn't enough to change her plans. She couldn't let it be. In those slowly blurring memories of before they'd done such horrible things to each other, in the name of their people. Their duty. Their loyalty to others.
Distance might be their only saving grace.
Packing up barely took ten minutes, not bothering with more than what her mare and she herself could easily carry. Travel was becoming routine, like it had those months she'd spent alone, trying to outrun her sins, before.
Bag slung across her shoulder, Clarke trudged out from the drop ship. Shoulders squared as she resolutely stared down to just in front of her feet as she walked.
"Clarke, wait up!"
Marching over from the fire, Monroe waved her down, and Clarke looked up, a weak smile forming. Atom was right behind her, and others followed them away from the heat.
Clarke met the group not far from the gate. Jasper leaped forwards to hug her, and Atom patted her on the back companionably, while Monroe grinned up at her sharply.
"Are you really leaving me behind?" taunted the shorter girl, shoving at Clarke's shoulder.
"I know you'd rather go back, but... there is something here you could help with. Tell them, any of them who will listen, about Polis. About these people we're about to spending five years with. Get them ready, if you can," - Clarke
Monroe rolled her eyes, "Yes, your highness," she sighed, but the smirk that stretched across her fair, freckled face a moment later belied the grudgingness.
"Can't we go?" chirped Jasper's girl eagerly.
Jasper looked hopefully between Mischa, and their leader, his arm sweetly around the dark haired girl.
"For now, we've got enough people in Polis. Once the others come back to continue work at Mt. Weather, I might bring a smaller group to the capital, but I'm not sure," hedged Clarke tactfully.
The girl shrugged Jasper's arm off of her shoulders with a sullen look, and fled for the cabin. Flushing pink, he gave Clarke a puppyish look of hurt. She leaned forward, squeezing his forearm consolingly, and held on for a moment.
"She's upset... about Derek, and you know," he waved his other hand vaguely around.
Slowly, Clarke nodded, but still looked worriedly at him, taking note of the stressed lines on his forehead, and how he bit the inside of his cheek...
The cabin door thudded dully, as the girl tried to slam the heavy, creaking thing. Jasper shuffled his feet, and looked down, away from Clarke's frank concern. With a faint attempt of a smile, he turned away and wandered off towards the fire. From behind her, Clarke heard someone scoff loudly, and whirled around to glare at Atom.
Instead of mocking Jasper, though, as the blonde had thought, Atom was rolling his eyes as he gazed towards the cabin.
"She's been a super bitch since you all left for the summit," grumbled the boy they'd left in charge alongside Jasper.
"I thought she was... sweeter than that," muttered Clarke.
"All honey-sweet till she doesn't get way. Try telling her to quit the gossiping and get to the washing up," corrected Atom.
Clarke just sighed.
"We have bigger things to worry about," she reminded him, and herself too.
"Yea, like freezing to death now, or burning to death in a few months," drawled Monroe.
Atom blanched, but Clarke snorted, and it turned into a hysterical giggle.
"Oh, god, yes, things like that," huffed out Clarke as she fought the laughter in vain as Monroe's smirk only grew. The young leader looked so ridiculous trying so hard to stop from laughing, that Atom and Monroe joined in, snickering at her.
"Oh, the great and majestic sky princess," taunted Monroe.
Choking on her own indignity, Clarke bent over in half, still giggling, till she clapped her hand over her own mouth to silence it.
They stood talking and laughing, with others coming up to say quick farewells, drawn in by the softly jovial racket.
It was just the kind of good-bye she needed, thought Clarke.
Camp wasn't back to normal. They couldn't ever go back to that... almost idealytic period that they'd managed to have this life. Sunshine, and fresh air, and walking in the woods without any known enemies... Hanging out around the fire each night with their people. Warm furs, and a cabin to huddle in together at night... it was what Earth should have been.
The dreams had ruined the contentedness of their existence.
Derek's death had reminded them that uncertainty still lurked.
The knowledge of Praimfaya had burnt away the last of their comfort.
But they were resilient, and if they survived, her people would have time to find their hopefulness again.
Clarke finally slipped out the gate, her mare and bag ready, to wait, under the dutiful gaze of the watcher on duty with a torch and rifle above the gate.
"Hey, Clarke, remember, don't freeze!" called Monroe loudly, as the gate swung closed with a hard thump.
"I'll try!" laughed Clarke from the other side.
She turned away from the gate, still smiling at Monroe's taunts, only to find Bellamy waiting, leaning against the outside of the wall.
"Waiting with me?" she asked softly, looking up at him anxiously.
He turned his face towards her, serious and intent, though he remained leaning causally against the wall. Clarke shivered at the grimness of his eyes.
"Marry me."
His suggestion sounded more like an order he'd throw at his gunners. It came out of the quiet, striking as harshly as a whip. Clarke's inhale of breathe was obnoxiously loud, and she stared up at him, her mouth open, without words.
"Bellamy! You don't-"
"Clarke, I'm serious. Will-?" continuned Bellamy, with his eyes full of solemn determination.
"No!" she yelped, not even letting him finish the question.
At his surprised, and downright hurt look, she softened. "No, Bell, we're not getting married just to throw the grounders off my scent."
"Do you want them to keep vying for you like you're a bitch in heat?" he demanded.
Lips thinning, she glared.
"Don't be an idiot," snapped Clarke. "It's not an actual problem for us to be worrying about. It's not a big deal. No one is trying to make me chose."
"Not yet, but if you keep them all the hook, they will!" thundered her partner, the manager, and protector, of Hundred Camp, sounding dangerously close to truly losing his temper.
"I'm not keeping anybody on the hook! As soon as the ambassadors know about Praimfaya, I can explain-"
"Like they're going to care!"
"It's none of your business!" shrieked Clarke.
Her voice rising spitefully, coming forwards at him angrily, shoulders bowed up for a fight, echoing Octavia, even if she didn't realize it.
But Bellamy did. He swallowed hard. Again. Octavia was as hot tempered as Clarke was cold blooded, he would have said. Even when they huddled with their heads bowed close as they plotted and schemed together, which seemed like always to him, they faced their choices with such different manners. But they were more alike than he'd realized. Or they were growing more alike, and he hadn't noticed. Because neither of them were ever around.
"Clarke-" Bellamy's voice cracked painfully "Please, let me help you. I just want to protect you."
The admittance was rough to force out, and his eyes were wide open, beseeching her to understand him how Octavia never did anymore. Not since she'd woken up, a different girl than the one he'd always known. That he'd noticed. Just... she'd been getting older. Less a kid, closer to an adult, and still trapped... and he'd thought... of course she's angry. Angry that every day, Mom and I leave the room, but she never will.
The blonde girl did soften again.
She reached for him. Took hold of his forearm with a weary smile.
"I don't need saving. This isn't a fairytale, or ancient myth... I'm no damsel in distress, and there's no dragon to slay, nor evil prince to save me from. Trust me, Bell,"
Bellamy snapped his eyes shut. He was blocking out of the sight of her, so small and so young, and acting like she had no idea how awful this planet is. Her voice was low, and smooth, a calm command, lulling him into accepting her words. If he could focus on her voice, maybe he'd believe it. Yet...
"Nathan and Wells both offered to marry me, too,"
The admittance, half-amused, half-frustrated, was quiet enough not to be overheard by the watchers on duty- unlike their argument only moments ago.
He grunted in acknowledgment.
"My foolish, valiant boys. As if Nathan wants a wife. As if Wells isn't just smitten with Gaia." continued Clarke.
Her face warmed at the sacrifices her friends had been willing to make for her. Without even knowing it, her eyes had softened, and her mouth curved in a smile.
"And what's your excuse for turning me down?" asked Bellamy, his voice tight and hard, with his eyes scanning the forest around them, never allowing them to land on her, not when she was watching him from the corner of her own eyes.
A long, slow sigh was the only answer at first.
She mulled over it for quiet minutes.
"You're Octavia's brother, and my partner in leading our people. I'm not your sister, but you try to watch out for me, the same as her. Bell, you're my friend. Like Wells. Like Nathan. None of you should give up your lives for me. It's ridiculous. The world's ending, and the hope of being with someone you want to be might be one of only good things left for any of us,"
Somewhere close, an owl was hooting. Loudly. It sounded like home. This time around, Clarke realized, Hundred camp really was home. It was something to lose.
Bellamy's face was tight and hard, same as he held himself.
"I would protect you," he gritted out, his jaw clenching tightly.
Clarke smiled softly. She reached out, and took hold of his hand. "You already do that,"
"That's different," grunted Bellamy.
She titled her head, carefully looking into his eyes, reading the tightness of his face, and shuttered look in his eyes.
"Are you in love with me, Bellamy?" stressed Clarke pointedly.
He flushed, looking away for a moment, and when looked back to meet her gaze, he frowned.
"I love you," he assured her, far too quietly for anyone to overhear.
"That's different," she threw his words back at him.
With a lopsided shrug, and looking out into the forest, as if waiting for the appearance of the Trikru warrior, he conceded.
"But I still love you, and you still belong here," he tried again, low, and gruff.
Razor wires wrapped around her, pulling in different directions, nevermind the pain it caused. She wanted to stay, and she wanted to go. Neither was ever right.
"I'm no real use around here. In Polis, I can help with the preparations and actually get something done." argued Clarke, leaning against the horse, and grateful the little mare didn't sidestep out from under her.
"You're our only healer-" snarled Bellamy.
"They can clean their own cuts, and Nyko's always willing to help with anything worse. With the horses, it's hardly more than a half hour's ride to Ton DC. Plus with the radios, I'm only a day's ride away. You call, I'll come," soothed Clarke.
"We need you here, but you're always leaving." snapped Bellamy.
"You keep the camp running fine," dismissed the younger of the pair quietly.
"Except morale's in the toilet!" retorted her partner, his voice rasping and heated, his glare just as dark.
"I need to be with Charlotte, and Wells! You don't understand!" her voice cracked, and she turned her face into the horse's mane, hiding away until she blinked away the sudden tears.
"He must be so confused. I've watched out for her, and leave her there with him... Hell, I've asked him to protect her. His killer. I set him up as bodyguard for his murderer. Because I never thought he'd know," she whispered.
"He's a big boy, he'll deal with it." snapped Bellamy.
"No, Bellamy, I've got to go," she argued, and then swung herself up on the horse, to wait for Caliban's arrival.
"You can't seriously ride in the dark," he tried, sounding more tired now, reaching out to her pleadingly.
"It'll be fine. Caliban's made this trip hundreds of times,"
"You're actually going to marry him, aren't you?" snarled Bellamy, his temper flaring back up in full, and he stalked so close, that her little mare flattened her ears defensively.
Even on the horse, she wasn't that high above him, and as she looked down, with the torches over the gate, she could make out the tauntness of his jaw as he glared at her.
"It's none of your business." she hissed. "Now shut up, he'll be here any minute."
"Don't want your fiance to hear me talking about what a bad idea this whole damn thing is?" hissed Bellamy.
"Shut. Up." snarled Clarke.
Stiffly, he stood there at her horse's side. Silent, now. Just brooding up an awful mood.
Just before the Trikru warriors came into sight, Clarke leaned over the side of her horse a bit towards him, and hissed- "Idiot! I'm not marrying anyone!"
Long after she rode away, with that silent bear of a grounder leading the way into the dark, Bellamy stood there. He'd wanted to ask her what the hell they were supposed to do about the dreams, but instead he'd managed to get into another argument with her.
The Overnight Ride Back to Polis
Green wasn't just a color. On Earth, it was vital, sacred, all-consuming. So many more shades, fainter, deeper, brighter... than she ever could have imagined, no matter how many times she'd immersed herself in the few Art textbooks they'd had in Space. Even in the dark, with only the torch of fire he carried to lit their way, she could make out some of the bright tones.
Beyond their greetings, and going over the simple plan for the night, Clarke kept quiet till they were far from Hundred Camp.
"Does Trikru know what happened to the boy of my people that died?" asked Clarke carefully, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but listening anxiously for her escort's reply.
"The boy tried, and failed, to fight his way into the mountain." rumbled Caliban.
"The narcotics," blurted out Clarke, her face going ashen in the pale light of the torch he carried.
The Trikru man glanced over at her, not recognizing that term.
"Pain medicine. So strong it should only be used in emergencies. He wanted it, because his leg still hurts. Still had hurt," corrected the young leader grimly. "I knew he wanted it, but I didn't... think..."
Biting her lip to hold back her groan of mortification, Clarke bent her head low over her little mare's neck.
"Thank you for bringing him home, and thank you for telling me." she murmured.
"Trikru keeps watch over the mountain, as promised." reminded the warrior firmly.
Silence fell between them- but the land around so much in sound that talking wasn't necessary... the wet, fallen leaves beneath the horses' hooves, owls in the distance, and insects, that Clarke knew would soon disappear. Derek's death really was her fault, she realized. Not just because she'd failed to save him, but because she'd known he wanted into Mt. Weather, and had just left him there at camp. Knowing if he'd tried to sneak into the bunker... Trikru would defend it with lethal force.
To her surprise, Caliban broke the silence this time, though, she wondered, it had been at least an hour, maybe two, since last they'd spoken, beyond "watch that hole up ahead,"
"Be assured, Wanheda, that I do not expect to find myself your husband," he announced gravely, out of the blue.
Knowing from the heat warming her cheeks that she was flushing, Clarke held his eyes for only a moment before looking forwards again. A wicked shine of amusement taunted her from his dark eyes, and crooked grin.
"I am considering the proposals... But arranged marriages were not a custom in the sky, and I... was surprised to find myself at the certain of this-" tried to explain Clarke.
"Trikru was honor bound to propose a match once the others did, but a babe will slow you down, and a weak man even worse,"
"Indra has a daughter," pointed out Clarke.
The smile on his lined face was rueful. "But not a man. And Indra stayed in Ton DC for eight years to bring up that girl,"
"My people are too young to be parents anyway. It's gonna be hard enough for us to manage with Mary's, and Bree's," mused the blonde.
He raised thick brows when his gaze strayed back to her.
"Only so long can the next generation be put off." he returned, amusement lacing his face.
"Hod op!" barked Caliban, pulling back on the reins for his horse.
Instinctively, Clarke followed suit, but even as her horse came to a fast stop, she was cautiously looking all around. Her eyes landed him, as he turned his horse hard back the way they'd came, and urged it close to one of the numerous pine trees they'd just passed. It wasn't until his large hand came close, and pointed it out, that she spotted the bright, white spot at the base of a thick, low branch.
"Azgeda,"
"Ice Nation,"
They spoke at the same time, her not needing him to explain the significance of the white warpaint in Trikru territory. Not close enough to Polis to excuse the presence of Azgeda, much less the warpaint of their clan. The branch was a good one to tie a horse to, mused Clarke. As the tree was sunken back from the treeline a bit, with nothing blocking it from the path, and low, and strong enough to hold a horse if spooked.
"What do we do?" asked Clarke grimly.
He looked around again, and back to her.
"Cover your head," he ordered, low, and gruffer than normal even.
With a steady hand, Clarke yanked the coarse brown hood up. It went with the plain grounder garb she used she was using to travel. Then she tucked in every strand of her hair that had slipped from the braids she'd hastily done on her own, in absence of Octavia and Charlotte.
"Now, as we were. Fast. Don't stop," instructed Caliban, and the moment she accepted his plan with a curt nod, he wheeled his horse around- with a firm kick, sending it forwards quickly into a run. Clarke followed suit, groaning tiredly.
