A/N: Next chapter will be in Lexa's POV. Enjoy and see you next week!

Chapter 4: Healing

The next day, Lexa did not attempt to start a conversation with her, but the silence was not awkward. Observing her, Clarke determined that the other woman was deep in her thoughts, either because of their previous conversations or because she was considering what she would do in Polis.

The blonde was content to speak with the other warriors, though Gustus was not much of a talker. She learned a bit more about the different clans, the capitol and improved her knowledge of Trigedasleng. When they stopped for the midday meal, the guards let her try the bow again, with similar results. She shrugged, accepting their advices and gentle mocking with a smile.

Lexa informed her that they would be hosted in a village for the night, and that the chief of the village usually provided her with a house for the duration of her stay. They would not need the tent tonight.

Having witnessed the Commander's arrival in the previous village, Clarke wasn't surprised by the crowd that had formed to greet them. She just hoped that it would not end in another assassination attempt. Judging by how tense all the guards were – both the escort and the local warriors – and the way Gustus was scanning the crowd, she was not the only one. Lexa, however, seemed strangely relaxed. She wondered if it was because the brunette was confident that her guards would protect her, that Clarke could and would heal her, or if it was simply a facade for her people.

She was surprised, however, when the people greeting them appeared as interested in her as they were in their famous Commander. The local warriors even had to push back a couple people who tried to reach out and touch her while addressing her in Trigedasleng. They spoke too fast for her own limited knowledge of the language, so she turned towards Lexa with a confused look.

She saw the woman smile in amusement.

''I told you tales of your deeds had started to spread. They are curious about the Healing Nymph, and hope that you will bestow your blessings upon them and their sick.''

Her jaw dropped. Of course, the healers like her had been the object of near worship during antique times, but she had never expected this to happen to her. She had been raised believing that people discovering her abilities would lead to distrust, jealousy and most likely an untimely and agonizing death. Then, Lexa's very practical approach of her and her healing – despite this brief allusion to a Spirit – had led her to think, foolishly apparently, that most grounders would have the same approach. That they would be interested in what they could gain from her, without any reference to some religious practices or beliefs.

But now, people – including healthy ones – were begging for her blessing, as if her words could offer them more protection than the trained warriors protecting their village.

The Commander was taking in the scene quietly, and Clarke suddenly wondered if this show of worship might backfire on her. If her people started to look up to Clarke more than they did to Heda, would she resent her? Follow her beliefs and try to kill Clarke in an attempt to steal her powers?

She shook her head. So far, the Commander did not know how to kill her, and she had displayed no intention to do so. Killing her, though possible, would necessitate planning and time, so hopefully Clarke would see it coming – it would probably take her several attempts to determine what might do the trick.

Glancing back at the crowd, she asked Lexa to translate for her.

''Could you tell them that, in exchange of their hospitality tonight, I will heal the sick and wounded that are brought to me? But I am not some sort of spirit that goes around blessing people. It wouldn't do them any good, anyway.'' She asked, trusting Lexa to formulate her offer in a way more respectful of their beliefs.

Though she had no wish to offend the grounders – she had no reason to resent those villagers – she refused to be elevated as some sort of mythical creature or goddess or prophet or whatever. She had a feeling, though, that Lexa would do nothing to deny these assumptions. Clarke had spent enough time around the Council in the Ark to know that you did not control a people solely by enforcing the rules. Giving them things to believe in or a clear objective was often more efficient than terror.

As long as she remained by the Commander's side, it was in Lexa's best interest to have her people assume that she had been offered some kind of magical protection. And by having the Commander act as her intermediary between herself and the villagers, she had probably reinforced the impression that she was first and foremost dedicated to Lexa, she realized. It had not been her intent.

Lexa translated her words with a satisfied mien, and then conversed some more with the warriors and a few people in the crowd, before turning back to Clarke.

''Those people wish to offer you gifts, to thank you for your generosity. The warriors will prepare a house that you may use as a healing hut. Everything shall be ready in about half a candle-mark.''

Clarke shook her head. ''Their hospitality is enough. I don't need anything more at the moment, I will not have them impoverishing themselves for me.''

Lexa raised one eyebrow. ''You are my guest. You will receive their hospitality even if you chose not to heal anyone.''

''I would still feel better if I wasn't just one idle mouth to feed. Healing them will only cost me energy, and I need nothing more than food and sleep to recover it afterward.''

She paused. ''I am not sure how many people I will be able to heal before the strain becomes too much, so I would like to start with the children. Then those that are in pain or suffer from something your healers cannot cure. Whatever can be taken care of by your people's usual medicine should not take precedence.''

The green-eyed woman nodded in acknowledgment and gave more orders to the warriors.

''I am curious to see your healing abilities. I was a little distracted last time. Would you mind if I stayed by your side? Most people do not speak gonasleng, I can translate their requests and your questions.''

Clarke knew that there was some ulterior motive. Probably an effort to gauge exactly what she was capable of, or perhaps simply to stay close to her so that her presence would always be associated to the Commander's. Still, she had no valid reason to refuse, so she accepted with a sharp nod.

Soon, she found herself sitting on a chair beside a bed, with Lexa and the village healer hovering behind her. By the herbs she could see drying and the bocals carefully labeled and stored on the shelves, she guessed that she was in the healer's own hut.

The healer himself did not look extremely happy to house this impromptu gathering, and Clarke gave him an apologetic look. The man had probably spent years studying herbs, wounds and diseases, and she knew that this was not a savage, ignorant society. Though many knowledge from the old world had been lost, things such as the fact that some substance could be used to treat some symptoms would have been transmitted orally at least from master to apprentice.

This was not Antiquity, when diseases were seen as the caprice of gods. Some knowledge of pathogens and pharmacopeia had subsisted, and the healer was a man of science – however incomplete. Most of the people probably did not share his own understanding of how a human body worked and recovered, and would therefore see little difference between his remedies and her healing touch, except for the efficiency and universality of one over the other.

This man, more than Lexa, would not believe in her powers until he saw them at work. Which was probably the main reason he had chosen to stay.

The first family arrived, bringing her a young child of ten years at most, who had opened his leg on an old piece of metal in the forest while playing a few days ago. The wound had been bandaged by the healer, they reported to her as Lexa translated, but it refused to close, pus oozing from it and the skin darkening. This morning, the healer had advised to cut off the leg before it could spread further. But when they heard of her arrival scheduled tonight, they decide to take the chance and wait.

As they talked, Clarke and the healer laid the boy on the bed and removed the dressing. Just from the smell, Clarke knew what she was dealing with.

Gangrene.

She could do much, but she could not go against natural order either, she explained. Death is death, and part of the leg was already dead.

However, she could salvage what was simply dying. The boy would keep his life and his leg, but some of the muscles would remain damaged. He might have a limp for the rest of his life, but since he was so young, there was hope that the other muscles would compensate as he grew.

Once Lexa confirmed her that the parents had understood what she said, she applied her hands on the wound and watched as the pus oozed out, the dark, dead tissue fell and then as a little muscle grew back, then covered by new, pink skin that eventually took the same color as the rest. The boy hissed and moaned in pain at first, prompting Clarke to mumble an apology, but soon sighed in relief and seemed to fall asleep.

Clarke sat back, satisfied. She reassured the parents that their son was saved, and that he should exercise regularly to improve his chances of full recovery. They nodded eagerly, thanked her many times and tried to offer her some old jewels or furs. Clarke refused adamantly but gently, repeating again and again that the hospitality of the village in general was enough.

They eventually left to let the next patient in. Before she could turn to him, the healer went to stand in front of her and bowed deeply.

''Healing Nymph, I apologize for doubting you. If you wish for me to do anything to apologize, I will.'' He exclaimed.

Clarke waved away the apology. ''No need to apologize. Though I have this ability, I have also spent many years studying the art of healing, and I would not waste these powers on a wound that I could simply stitch. I have not spent enough time to learn of all these herbs properties, but I hope to remedy that lack of knowledge soon.'' She explained with a wave in the direction of the shelves.

The man put his fist over his heart as he straightened. ''If you wish, Nymph, I can give you samples of all my herbs with a brief summary of their properties and how to prepare them.''

She smiled brightly. ''That would be great, actually. Will you have time tonight?'' She asked, glancing at the long line that were waiting to benefit from her healing.

Lexa intervened. ''Perhaps you could help sort those who will recover easily enough under your care, and encourage them to go home. If the Healing Nymph is not too tired by the time she has finished tending to the others, we may call them back.''

The healer nodded, and Lexa continued. ''We are not far from Polis now. If we rise early tomorrow, you will have enough time to show the herbs to the Nymph before we depart, without delaying us.''

The man approved, promising to prepare as much as he could so that they would not be delayed, and then went off to examine and talk to the waiting people.

Clarke noted that Lexa had taken care of referring to her solely with the title that her people had invented for her, rather than her own name. Clearly, she wanted the legend to perdure. She wondered what would happen in Polis, when they might become enemies. Lexa seemed to gamble on Clarke's loyalty to her.

Hopefully, this meant that she was confident her general would have captured more than she would have killed, and that Clarke could hope to see some of her friends again soon.

And if worst came to worse, she would probably be welcomed in any village. The only question would be whether Lexa would accept to let her go or not.

The rest of the evening was spent tending to complicated injuries, long and painful diseases, and then minor fevers. Clarke only treated the fevers of elders, children or pregnant women. She felt that it was better if most of the community developed an immunity to the common cold, but knew how harmful long fevers could be to young and old bodies, and refused to leave the village fearing that someone's condition might worsen.

She could feel Lexa's gaze following all her movements. She had expected the Commander to leave after a while and provide her with a warrior as a translator – surely she had some sort of duty or meeting to attend with the village chief, whoever that was – but she stayed. Clarke had no idea what she hoped to find. Her own actions were only to assess the state of the patient – in the same way any healer would – and then put her hands on the wounded or sick flesh for a few moments.

Yes, she got that it was incredible and strange, but it had to get boring to watch after a while, right?

Once the last patient left, she rose from her chair shakily. She had exerted a lot of energy. On the Ark, she could only use her powers sparsely or she would betray her secret. She knew that healing others, contrary to healing herself, fatigued her. But she had never worked herself into exhaustion before.

She stumbled a couple of steps before Lexa grabbed her arm and helped her navigate all the way from the healer's hut to the house that the village chief had prepared for Heda and her companions.

Her guide pointed to one bed.

''Sit. I will ask for our food to be brought here. People feasted while you were working, and most of them have already returned to their homes. It is late. I will just go and salute those that are still enjoying the bonfire.''

Clarke mumbled her thanks and half-walked half-fell onto the bed, enjoying the soft furs that greeted her cheek.

She was shaken awake a few minutes later and glared at the Commander. She was tired, from healing her people. Wasn't she entitled to some decent sleep?

Lexa almost smirked at her poor attempt to appear threatening. ''You said you would need to eat to recover, and the villagers are going to be insulted if you refuse the food they prepared you as you refused all their other gifts.''

The blonde sighed and buried her nose into the pillow. The food could wait for five more minutes.

The brunette shook her again, and Clarke shot her a death glare. The infuriating woman was still smirking at her.

''The meat is warm.'' She paused, her eyes filled with mirth. ''And I must inform you that, even knowing your astonishing abilities, your current state makes the idea of you being a threat extremely difficult to believe. I have seen cubs who looked more dangerous.'' She mocked.

Clarke groaned and conceded, slowly rolling on her side and sitting up. Focusing her gaze on the large platter of food at the foot of the bed, she felt her mouth water and realized how ravenous she was.

She hesitated, glancing at Lexa. Was the plate for both of them? She did not want to insult by hogging all the food, but she was certain she could empty the platter by herself – she desperately wanted to.

The woman seemed to understand the silent question. ''I ate by the bonfire while the people prepared your meal. They insisted on offering you large portions of everything. There were also several jewels and trinkets – I refused them for you, since you refused all the others.''

''Thank you for that.'' Clarke rasped as she started on her food.

The Commander grabbed a chair and sat across from her, their respective positions not unlike those of their first discussion.

''You saved many of my people today.'' She commented.

Clarke shook her head. ''There were few life-threatening conditions. I only hastened the recovery of most, and removed the old pains of a few.'' She corrected.

''You did what none of my healers could have done for these people. A sick hunter cannot provide for his family. A craftsman with a constant pain in the arm from an old injury cannot work as efficiently.'' Lexa objected. ''Their survival may not have always been a cause for concern, but their current life are now less complicated. On their behalf, I thank you.''

''You're welcome.''

The green eyes staring at her narrowed in confusion. ''Why do you suddenly feel the need to welcome me? I have been sitting here for some time already.''

''It is what one replies to acknowledge thanks.'' Clarke explained laconically, too tired to be amused.

''My people say pro.''

Clarke just reached for another strip of meat and rolled it in the sauce. She had never eaten anything so rich and tasty. She could get used to that kind of treatment, if she decided to establish herself as the local Healing Nymph she guessed.

But she still felt a responsibility to the other delinquents.

And her mother was still in the Ark, orbiting the Earth and watching the oxygen levels lower slowly, suffocating children insidiously. Even before she was imprisoned in solitary, her mother and her had diagnosed medical problems in children that were growing without enough oxygen.

And there was nothing they could do about it. Not even with their powers.

The Commander was still examining her from her chair, but Clarke wasn't feeling very talkative. One, she was exhausted. Two, she still had mixed feelings about the other woman. And three, if she wanted to know something, she could just ask. They still had their deal.

''You could have accumulated a small fortune today. You own next to nothing.'' She said, jutting her chin towards Clarke's bag. ''Yet you refused them all. Why?''

Clarke munched on her apple and swallowed as she shrugged. Her parents had told her the tales of those like them from the old times, and how they had only gone to the temples because that was where they could heal people. For some strange reason, despite all the awe they could and had inspired, not even a single one of them had ever been tempted to abuse this power. Somehow, the idea of being seen as an object of cult made her stomach churn with disgust.

It was not rational. She was a poor hunter, she owned very little, she had no provisions for winter if she ultimately decided to refuse Lexa's hospitality. The smart move would have been to accept at least some of the gifts, to keep something small but valuable to trade as a security. Hell, Lexa had been nearly killed three days ago. She could still die, and all of Clarke's current plans and hopes would die with her.

She knew her decisive refusal could be interpreted as a lack of foresight. But no matter what, she couldn't bring herself to encourage any sort of cult. She couldn't prevent people from believing that she was a Nymph, but she would do whatever she could to ensure this never escalated into a worship. And if it somehow did, she would never behave as someone that ought to be worshipped.

She was a healer. Nothing more.

Lexa had grown impatient while she kept munching her apple.

''Is this another question you refuse to answer?'' She drawled.

Clarke sighed as she put down the core on the side of the plate and grabbed a handful of caramelized nuts.

''I refused them because I did not want them. I have no ulterior motive in this. It may be difficult to understand for a politician's mind, but it is true.''

The brunette's brow creased, uncertain. ''Did you just insult me?''

''No. I just established that we have different mindsets, and that what seems obvious to one might always appear strange to the other.'' Clarke stated in an indifferent voice.

Truth was, Clarke had a rather political mind as well, growing up with a mother on the Council and a father often consulted on important matters. So she understood why the Commander was suspicious of her intentions – humans rarely refused a gift unless they expected to gain something more through that refusal. But her power seemed to come with an innate altruism that made the idea of asking for anything in return of her healing feel almost like… well, a sacrilege.

Ironic, really, when she refused the idea of cult to be associated with her abilities.

Lexa had obviously been raised to question everyone's motive, to think through the consequences of every actions. Which was why Clarke knew she wouldn't understand her reasons. Because they were not the result of any reasoning. They just were.

And judging by the concentrated and frustrated face, Lexa was trying very hard to figure out her logic and motives.

Clarke sighed again, glancing down at the empty plate. Her stomach was delightfully full now.

''I promised you, Lexa, that I would say the truth and only the truth when I answered your questions. Let it go.''

She suppressed a smile at the low huff that escaped the woman's lips. She was pretty sure the Commander had not intended for her to hear that unspoken surrender.

''Will you explain to me why healing others took so much out of you, when you healed from a fatal wound instantly without breaking a sweat?'' She asked again after a moment of silence.

Clarke set the plate on the floor – she just did not have the heart to abandon the comfortable furs to carry it all the way to the table – and replied.

''When I heal, it is not conscious, and for some reason it costs me nothing. I don't know where the energy for that comes from, really. When I heal others, it is a conscious choice and I bring at least part of the energy required. That's just the way it is.''

''It is a frustrating answer.''

Clarke shrugged and laid back on the bed, tugging a large fur from under her to serve as blanket.

''Are you not curious about your own abilities?'' Lexa insisted.

The blonde sent her a long suffering look.

''My parents taught me all that was known about the gift. If millenias of wondering and generations of searching have not found the answer, I will not waste my time trying to figure it out. I have enough to worry about already.'' She finished pointedly.

At least Lexa appeared slightly apologetic at that last remark. Given what had happened to her lover, she was bound to have some sympathy for Clarke's worry about her friends and former companions.

With a yawn, Clarke pulled the fur tightly around her body and closed her eyes, ending their conversation.