A/N: Chapter 5, and the first from Lexa's perspective. The next one will be as well. You will get to learn more about grounder culture from now on, as we are getting closer to Polis.
Again, I never read the books, and only saw the show up to the end of season three. So, really, most of the grounder culture I present in this fic is my imagination/interpretation. Some things may be different from the show, because it suits what I want to do with the story. I will only promise you to keep this culture as coherent as I can. If something is unclear or contradictory, don't hesitate to comment and I'll explain/edit if need be - unless it is a spoiler, of course.
With that said: Enjoy!

Chapter 5: A Commander's reflections

Lexa stayed in the chair a while longer, watching as the blonde healer fell asleep, the heavy fur rising and falling with her chest.

This Sky girl was confusing.

First, there was the obvious: her healing abilities. Lexa had never been more shocked than when she saw the girl pull the knife out of her own chest and witnessed the wound sealing itself almost instantly. And then the blonde young woman had shocked her again by grabbing her wound and she had felt a tingling sensation replace the burning of the poison.

She had no idea who this blonde mystery was, she had never heard of someone like her before – and with her golden hair and blue eyes, she couldn't have been simply overlooked. So she ordered Gustus to carry her inside her tent and waited until she woke up, which happened quickly.

It had been surprising, and somewhat amusing, to meet someone who had absolutely no idea of who Heda was. And even once she informed her, Clarke had not shifted her behavior to one of deference. Instead, she had pointed out that Lexa owed her life and couldn't harm her anyway to extort a deal that allowed her to keep whatever secrets she wished.

And that was the second thing that confused her about her guest. Her secrets. Lexa had been able to deduce that she was part of those young people who fell from the sky a few weeks ago. But she had been forced to separate from them when their leader – who did not sound extremely competent – attempted to kill her, seeing her as a threat to his leadership. Yet, the only reason Clarke was sleeping in this bed was because she hoped to speak for her people.

Also, she remained tight-lipped about her past. She had the mind of a leader though she was estranged from her people, and she was smart. Her behavior bordered on insolence when she debated with Lexa but, try as she might, she had been unable to have the last word with her so far.

Lexa had been groomed to be Heda since she was a child. Even with talent, she knew a mind could not develop such skills without nurturing and practice. Clarke was a healer, but she was also much more than that. Who had groomed her, and why? What exactly was her authority amongst her people?

There were some snippets of her past that had slipped out and that Lexa tried to fit in her understanding of the girl. Her mother was alive, and could heal others. Her father, despite being able to heal himself, was dead. And since that memory was painful to Clarke, it was most likely a violent, unexpected death.

What had been able to kill the man? Not that she planned to kill Clarke, but Lexa was starting to grow desperate for some sort of leverage with the girl. Once they reached Polis, Anya would probably be already waiting with the prisoners. Clarke had claimed that she would be understanding if some of her friends had been killed in the attack, to some extent. But Lexa knew how much easier it was to promise such things than to uphold your vow in the face of loss and suffering.

Tales of the Healing Nymph sent by the Spirit to protect Heda were spreading, and already beyond her control. It suited her, if her enemies believed that she had been granted a supernatural protection.

But if Clarke refused to stay by her side once they learned the results of the attack? If this mystical protector suddenly abandoned her? Would her people lose their faith in Heda?

Would her Coalition survive?

Lexa went through the motions of preparing herself for sleep, deep in thought.

Whatever happened, she couldn't allow Clarke to leave. Her sudden appearance to save her life had to be a sign from the Spirit. She just hoped that Anya had managed to get many prisoners, and had only had to kill a few of Clarke's former companions. From the blonde's try at the bow, she doubted that the sky goufas were competent warriors.

She'd rather not have to blackmail the healer in staying. She wanted to earn her trust, but the ground for that was shaky at best.

Another disturbing remark about Clarke was her allusions to a long time she had spent alone. Was it a ritual for her people? She knew some of the southern clans had a survival ritual were the young adult was on his own for some period of time. It was a way to prove that they no longer needed their parents protection, and could provide for their own family. But what Clarke had endured had sounded almost like a… punishment.

And then, there was the way the girl seemed to consider her own mystical abilities. She had refused the very idea of it being a gift from the Spirit, and proceeded to explain it was merely part of her inheritance. But why would she, the joining of two apparently ancient powers, be born and sent to Earth if not by the will of the Spirit?

Lexa had spent half of her conversations while Clarke was healing convincing the villagers that the Spirit was not offended by what they offered the Healing Nymph. That she would not stop healing them because they could not figure out what the Nymph he sent them wanted.

And after talking to Clarke, it seemed that the blonde truly wanted nothing.

But it had to be wrong. No one could exhaust oneself so much and ask for absolutely nothing in return.

Oh, she had claimed that her payment was the village's hospitality, but Lexa knew that was not entirely true. Clarke knew she would be hosted no matter what. She was Heda's guest.

And she didn't want to be.

It had been easy to realize that, when she awoke in the tent to find Clarke lying on the damp ground, wrapped in her cloak, besides the bed of furs she had intended for her. The blonde refused to be in her debt in any way.

Which did not bode well for when they reached Polis. Lexa had no doubt her blonde healer would walk away if displeased with Anya's – and indirectly Lexa's – actions.

Not for the first time since she had heard of the Skaikru falling in the Trikru lands, Lexa wondered if she had not made the wrong decisions. Should she have ordered Anya to approach them instead of merely observing and gathering information? Should she have gone herself to investigate?

But after they burned a village, how could she not retaliate? It was her duty to defend her people. No matter the cost.

She just hoped that those choices would not backfire on her because of Clarke or Anya. She could already tell that the two blondes had stubborness in common.

With a sigh, she checked that Gustus and the rest of her escort were taking the full night to rest, and growled when she found her personal guard sitting on her doorstep. Gustus was worried about Clarke's intentions and had been watching the girl closely since Lexa invited her to Polis. He had argued several times against the both of them sharing a tent or house.

She was not surprised to find out that he planned to spend his whole night guarding her from the blonde, but she trusted Clarke. If only because the girl seemed to respect life too much to take one simply for revenge. And she had no cause to seek revenge anyway.

None for now, at least.

Lexa used her Commander voice to order Gustus to leave and enjoy the bed provided by the village chief – it was only next door. He relented after begging her to be cautious several times.

Satisfied that her closest guard would get some more than deserved rest, she checked on Clarke. The girl was literally passed out from exhaustion. The healing had really taken a lot out of her, but she had hidden it so well that Lexa had not suspected anything until she saw the girl sway after her last patient left.

Idly, she wondered if the girl could be so selfless that she would heal others to death.

She traced the blonde's arm with her fingers. She was thin. Abnormally so. She had only noticed it when she saw her fail to hit the tree with her guard's bow.

A child could have pulled that string. Clarke had shaken from the toll it took on her weak muscles. Were all sky people so thin and weak? Or was it because she used all her energy in healing others?

No, Lexa would have heard of it if she had healed people from the Trikru before. And this boy leader would have known his assassination attempt would fail if he had known of Clarke's powers, so surely her own people were ignorant of exactly what they had lost when the blonde was forced to run away from her camp.

With a huff of frustration, Lexa walked to her own bed. Only Clarke had the answers she needed, and she would just have to wait until the blonde felt like sharing.

She laid on her side, eyes trained on the younger woman.

In sleep, her features were less guarded. She wondered how old she was – younger than her by at least a couple of years she estimated. Her eyes wandered to the golden hair. Though the dirt from the road dimmed its color, Lexa was fascinated by it. Fair-haired people were uncommon, and most came from the Ice Nation. Aden was one of the rare exceptions, and she knew the other Natblidas regularly teased him about it. Clarke's eyes, closed at the moment, were equally fascinating with their rare shade of clear, but not transparent, blue.

Really, it was like her whole appearance screamed her origins. Sky blue eyes and sunny hair. Lexa was almost ashamed at how long it had taken her to figure it out with such blatant hints.

At some time in her admiration of the young woman's features, she fell asleep.

She awoke slightly before dawn. She wished she could have slept longer, but knew her body would never allow her to sleep past sunrise in an unknown bed. Cautiousness had long been ingrained in her body.

Resigned, she decided to use the time to bathe instead. She rose silently – Clarke was still asleep – and found the old woman that the chief had entrusted her comfort with to ask for hot water and a wooden bath.

The old woman soon returned with a couple of villagers to help carry everything, and Lexa was soon enjoying the warmth of a bath behind the curtained part of the room.

Unfortunately, she did not have the time to soak like she wished to. She had claimed that they could meet the village healer in the morning for Clarke's benefit, but she could only delay their departure so much.

Scrubbing off the dirt of the last few days from her skin, she whispered to the old woman to prepare more water for the Healing Nymph. It would take them another couple of days before they reached Polis, and she was honestly unsure of when the blonde had last had the opportunity to bath.

Clarke was still asleep by the time Lexa was dressed, which surprised and worried her. She had seemed to be a light sleeper when they camped. Was she more exhausted than she had thought?

She hesitated. Should she let her sleep longer, and tell the healer that Clarke would come back some other time? But she had no idea when she would have time to leave Polis, and until she had some insurance she could not let Clarke wander too far from her sight. Snow could arrive in a few weeks, and the roads would not be as easy and safe as they were now.

Decided, she approached the blonde and shook her gently. She was rewarded with a groan and bleary blue eyes glaring at her.

Undeterred, she shook her some more to ensure she would not immediately fall back asleep.

''There is hot water for you to wash behind the curtain. I will make sure the healer is expecting us in half a candle-mark.''

She did not wait to see if Clarke complied, and went out in search of breakfast. Though she was used to seeing naked bodies from her time as a Natblida and Seken when they all bathed together, she feared the effect that Clarke's body might have on her. She had spent too much time studying her face last night for her not to recognize the physical attraction. It was better to extinguish that passion while it was barely a flame than to add wood to the fire.

She returned to the house a few minutes later with a plate of food for her healer. The blonde was sitting on her bed with a happy smile, clean. Her hair was still wet, and Lexa noticed with a frown that she had not used the clothes she had set aside for her, but simply put her own back on.

''What is the point of cleaning if you choose to wear dirty garments?'' She asked, trying to keep her exasperation out of her voice.

Clarke shrugged. ''Those are my spares, they are almost clean, I rinsed them in a stream the day before I met you.''

Lexa handed her the plate of food with a shake of her head. There was no point in arguing with the woman on such a trivial matter, but she made a note to offer her clothes in Polis if all went well – or strongly hint at her that she should have more than one spare, and wash them more frequently and thoroughly at least.

''Eat quickly. Asbrem, the healer, is preparing everything for your lesson but we will not have much time if we are to reach Polis before tomorrow night. The days are getting shorter.'' She indicated.

With a nod, the blonde took the plate and started eating with gusto, though Lexa was reassured that she did not seem as famished as the previous night.

Soon, Lexa was sat in the same chair as the previous evening, listening distantly as Asbrem lined up small pouches filled with dried herbs and labeled with the glyphs that most healers used. After that, he produced a handful of drawings to show Clarke what the grown and blooming plants looked like in case she ever needed to forage them herself.

''You may keep these drawings, Nymph.'' He offered. ''My cousin is sending his son to apprentice with me after the snow melts. I made those for him, but I will have time to make them again before he arrives.''

Clarke immediately argued, trying to hand the papers back. When the healer steadfastly refused, she applied to Lexa.

''Will I be able to find papers and these charcoal sticks in Polis?'' She asked, pointing to the pens that rested on the healer's table.

Lexa confirmed that she would – Polis was the capitol, of course she would find materials like this! – and listened to the rest of the debate.

Eventually, Clarke agreed to keep the drawings but declared that she would make the copies herself and send them back to the healer before his apprentice arrived. She insisted that the exercise of drawing the plants would help her memorize quicker, and Asbrem relented.

He then launched into a detailed explanation of which parts of each plant had interesting properties, how to prepare them and so on. Before he could finish on the first plant, Clarke begged to borrow one of the pen and started adding to her papers.

Lexa leaned in closer, wondering why the blonde would ruin the important drawings, until she noticed the straight lines of letters. She had seen the same letters in books from the old world, but she could only recognize a few of the words Clarke was writing down.

Writing. As if it was an ordinary thing to do. Only Flame Keepers, Nightbloods, Clans chiefs and Generals knew how to read and write. Trigedasleng had no written form, and most healers and craftsmen designed their own glyphs when they needed to label things.

Yet, Clarke was casually taking notes about what the healer was saying. Asbrem had only had a brief moment of surprise before continuing his lesson, obviously accepting her unusual skill as a sign of her rank.

It was one of Lexa's regret, that many of her people could not read. It meant messages could only been transmitted orally, with the risk of it being transformed or forgotten. Only important messages were written, orders from Heda to her generals, for examples.

And watching Clarke dutifully writing Asbrem's teachings, Lexa had to consider the educational potential. Her mind wandered to the books from the old world that were stored in the Tower's library. Titus and his predecessors were slowly reading them, attempting to decipher the contents and importance of each one. But the meaning of many words had been lost, and it was sometimes hard to know if a book spoke of truth or myth.

And it was a slow going process, as teaching the Nightbloods and advising the Commander remained his first duty. She knew Titus had only worked his way through a couple of books since her own Ascension.

Perhaps Clarke could help? With the ease she had in writing and the way some of her sentences twisted usual words in a different meaning – when she did not simply use an unknown word – she clearly had a much better understanding of gonasleng.

Most of the villagers had already risen by the time Asbrem was finished. Clarke had asked a few questions throughout his speech, and from the gleam in the man's eyes, Lexa guessed that the blonde had proven herself an intelligent student.

Soon after the blonde had thanked her teacher, they were back on their horses, and departed quickly. Clarke was much more steady on her horse than when they first started two days ago, and Lexa decided to maintain a faster pace, trotting most of the time and galloping when the road permitted it, to make up for the time spent with Asbrem. She had not expected the lesson to last for so long, but had not had the heart to interrupt it when both participants had been so enthralled by it.

The pace meant that there was very little conversation as they traveled, but Lexa noted that Clarke seemed to enjoy the new speed. She berated herself for how often her eyes wandered to study the way her golden mane floated behind her every time they pushed the horses in a canter.

All in all, they reached the place where Lexa intended to camp shortly before dark. Gustus and one of the warrior prepared the tents while Clarke gathered firewood and the last guard went hunting. Lexa tended to the horses, as she often did during traveling. Grooming them allowed her time away from her usual, heavy duties.

It was a quiet evening. Her warriors were talking together, impatient to reunite with their families in Polis on the morrow. Gustus kept watch – which meant his gaze alternated between the forest and Clarke – and the blonde was studying her drawings and notes. Lexa took out her dagger and twirled it between her fingers. She had already sharpened it a few days ago, but she liked feeling its weight in her hands. Titus used to admonish her for having nervous hands – she needed to grasp something or they were constantly moving. She had taken to holding them behind her back, or play with a dagger – at least the habit then appeared formal or intimidating rather than nervous.

Lexa itched to ask the blonde about reading and writing in the sky, but the concentrated mien of the young woman convinced her to wait. Instead, she gazed at the night sky and searched for the star Clarke had pointed to before.

It was strange, really, the idea that the girl next to her came from a star.

A stray shooting star appeared a few minutes later and Lexa smiled, remembering the delightful spectacle from about a week ago. Hundreds of shooting stars had illuminated the sky.

Wondering what insight Clarke could bring her on this subject, she turned to the blonde, but the words died in her throat when she saw the pained look on her face.

Her face was turned to the sky as well, but she clearly did not share Lexa's joy at the sight of the shooting star. Instead, she heard her whisper in a soft, sad voice.

''In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground. May we meet again.''

Lexa adverted her gaze, sensing that she was witnessing a private moment. Sky people must have different beliefs about those stars, to elicit such a reaction and… prayer? It sounded like words one might say as a goodbye.

She kept her eyes on the fire, deciding not to address Clarke until the other woman gave her some sort of sign that she wished to speak. She hoped she would. Though it had been harsh and had shaken years of teaching, she had enjoyed their last debate about duty and feelings.

Because she was so attentive, she immediately heard when Clarke started to sing.

She sang in a low voice, barely above a whisper. It was raspier than her usual voice, and certainly not the best singing voice Lexa had heard, but she was shaken by the emotion the words carried.

I saw the light fade from the sky

On the wind I heard a sigh

Lexa was intrigued by the first lyrics. Was it a Skaikru's song about shooting stars? She remained immobile, determined to catch the words despite Clarke's near whisper.

Night is now falling, so end this day.

The road is now calling, and I must away

Over hill and under tree

Through roads where never light has shone

By silver streams that run down to the sea

It was strange, to hear a song that described the forest and other lands so perfectly, that spoke of a journey, from the mouth of a woman who had admitted that she had never seen trees or walked on soil before. Was it perhaps a song from the old world, then? But why was Clarke singing it now?

We came all this way

But now comes the day

To bid you farewell

Many places I have been
Many sorrows I have seen
But I don't regret
Nor will I forget
All who took the road with me

Mourning, Lexa slowly realized. This was a song about mourning. About someone traveling and losing his companions. A glance at the woman's face confirmed her impression. Silent tears were falling down her cheeks as she finished her song, her eyes still strained to the stars. Was she missing her companions? Or the mother she had in the Ark?

Finally, the last words echoed in the night air. The warriors had heard the humming and stopped their conversation at some point – Lexa had not noticed until now, so focused was she on Clarke's song.

After a while, she commented softly. ''It is a beautiful song.''

''My mother and I used to sing it.'' She replied with a croaky voice.

''Why sing it now?'' Lexa asked as gently as she could.

''Because I fear this star was her. And I had promised to sing it at her funeral, once. It was a joke then.''

Lexa was startled. ''The shooting star?'' She lowered her voice, embarrassed by her surprised exclamation. ''Your people become stars when they die?'' She asked.

Clarke shook her head slowly. ''No. But when a body in thrown in space and approaches the Earth, it burns. That is what it looks like from the ground – a shooting star.'' She explained.

Lexa looked back to the stars, perturbed by the idea that the shooting stars she used to wish on as a child were in fact the corpses of Clarke's people. The memory of last week flashed in her mind.

''Then… a few days before we met… was that your people too?''

The blonde nodded wordlessly.

''But… there were at least hundreds of them…'' She weakly protested.

What could have happened to kill so many people in such a short time? Were her people at war? Had she ordered Anya to kill refugees? The thought made her sick.

''That was the point.'' Clarke answered in a low, and strangely angry voice.

''What do you mean?'' She pressed.

But the blonde shook her head. ''I am tired. I will go to sleep.''

She did not insist, belatedly remembering that the girl had claimed that the shooting star tonight might have been her mother. She wanted to ask why – was her mother sick when she left, or in some sort of danger? – but she respected her mourning and gave her time to fall asleep before entering the tent herself.

And when she heard the soft sobs later, she pretended that she was sleeping.