I do not own the 100. Unfortunately, someone had the idea first and I am stuck with creating stories in my mind or on my phone with Lexa and Clarke getting the life they deserved.
Clarke's POV
The journey back to Skaikru territory was a solitary one, punctuated by the familiar rhythm of checking traps and gathering supplies. Clarke moved through the forest with the practiced ease of a seasoned hunter, her senses attuned to the subtle signs of life around her. Each successful snare yielded a bounty of fresh meat, carefully dressed and hung from Jack's saddle.
Knowing this might be her last visit to this particular hunting ground for a while, Clarke meticulously dismantled each trap, leaving no trace of her presence. She had learned to be thorough, to respect the delicate balance of the forest. Her detailed maps, painstakingly drawn over months of exploration, guided her through the dense undergrowth, leading her to hidden groves of medicinal herbs and edible plants.
The forest within Trikru territory was a treasure trove of natural resources. Clarke gathered fragrant herbs to season her meals and collected medicinal plants to replenish her dwindling stock of salves and poultices. She knew, however, that the most potent healing plants were found in other territories, necessitating risky trips into villages for trade. Those ventures required a careful disguise and a constant vigilance to protect her identity.
After hours of trekking, Clarke arrived at a secluded pond, a hidden oasis she had discovered during a previous hunting expedition. She unloaded Jack, allowing him to drink deeply from the cool water. Leaning against a tree, she munched on some dried meat and a stale piece of bread, her gaze drifting towards Jack as she sketched him in her journal. A smile touched her lips as she watched him playfully paw at the water, splashing himself with youthful exuberance. She made a mental note to give him a proper bath when they reached a safer location.
As Clarke prepared to resume their journey, a sharp twang pierced the air. Instinct took over. She drew her sword with lightning speed, slicing the incoming arrow in half before it could find its mark. A sharp whistle sent Jack galloping to safety. Clarke stood her ground, sword raised, her senses on high alert.
Five breaths. That's all it took for the first attacker to emerge from the trees. He lunged at Clarke, his weapon flashing in the sunlight. The fight was on.
Two more warriors joined the fray, their movements swift and coordinated. Clarke fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal, her swords a blur of steel. Years of survival had honed her instincts, her body moving with a fluid grace that belied the intensity of the battle. She was Wanheda, the Commander of Death, and she had not survived this long by chance.
But her opponents were skilled warriors, their attacks relentless. Clarke parried and dodged her mind focused on the rhythm of the fight. She noted their attire, their weapons, any markings that might reveal their clan affiliation. Information was crucial, even in the heat of battle.
As she downed the third warrior, a new challenger stepped forward. Petite and agile, this opponent favored speed over brute force. Clarke felt a surge of adrenaline. This was the true test.
The forest fell silent, the only sound the whisper of the wind through the trees. With a determined glint in her eyes, Clarke drew her second sword. The clash of steel resonated through the clearing as the two warriors engaged in a deadly dance.
Clarke felt the sting of wounds from the previous encounters, but her training as a healer allowed her to prioritize her targets, aiming for areas that would incapacitate without killing. Fatigue began to set in, her movements growing sluggish. She needed to end this quickly.
Feigning exhaustion, Clarke stumbled, her swings becoming deliberately sloppy. Her opponent seized the opportunity, closing in for the kill. But Clarke was ready. With a burst of energy, she disarmed her attacker and delivered a precise blow to the head, rendering them unconscious.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She whistled for Jack, who came charging through the trees, his concern evident in his frantic whinnies. Clarke reassured him with soothing words and gentle strokes, her heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering loyalty.
Approaching the unconscious warrior, Clarke secured their hands and feet with rope. She carefully checked their mouth for any signs of poison or hidden blades, taking no chances. This captive held valuable information, information that could shed light on the brewing rebellion and potentially lead her back to her people.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Clarke turned her attention to the fallen warriors. She carefully searched their bodies, her brow furrowing with each discovery. These men weren't from any of the major clans. Their attire was a mishmash of styles, their weapons bearing no recognizable markings. Who were they, and why were they hunting her after all this time?
A small, faded drawing tucked into one of the warrior's pockets caught her eye. It was a crude depiction of Clarke herself, a wanted poster from years ago, when she was the most hunted person in the land. A shiver ran down her spine. The image was a stark reminder of her past, of the fear and hatred she had inspired.
Further investigation revealed a folded piece of parchment, filled with a series of seemingly random symbols. Clarke recognized it as a cipher, a coded message. Concerned, she carefully placed it in her journal for safekeeping. This was clearly more than a random encounter. There was a purpose behind this attack, a motive she needed to uncover.
As the sun began to set, Clarke built a small fire, the flames casting flickering shadows on the surrounding trees. She sat on a fallen log, her gaze fixed on the unconscious captive. She had bound his wounds, ensuring he wouldn't bleed out, but she needed answers. Time was of the essence, and she couldn't afford to wait for him to wake naturally.
With a sigh, Clarke stood, her hand instinctively reaching for her knife. She twirled it expertly, the blade glinting in the firelight. She didn't relish the thought of inflicting pain, but she had no other choice. This man held the key to understanding the threat against her, against the fragile peace she was trying to protect.
Crouching before the captive, Clarke steeled her resolve. With a swift, precise movement, she plunged the knife deep into his thigh, carefully avoiding any major arteries but targeting a nerve cluster to inflict maximum pain.
The man's eyes flew open, a muffled scream escaping his lips. His face contorted in agony, his veins bulging. Clarke waited patiently for the initial wave of pain to subside before speaking.
"I don't have time for games," she said, her voice low and menacing. "I need answers, and I need them now. Lie to me, and I'll make sure your death is a slow and agonizing one. And don't even think about biting down on that poison pill. I already removed it."
The man's eyes widened in fear. He nodded frantically, his body trembling. Clarke removed the gag from his mouth and offered him a drink of water from her canteen. He accepted hesitantly, his gaze darting nervously between Clarke and the knife in her hand.
"Tell me your name," Clarke demanded. "And what clan do you belong to?"
The man stammered, his voice hoarse with pain and fear. "Adam," he croaked. "I... I don't belong to any clan."
Clarke's brow furrowed. This was unexpected. A rogue warrior, hunting Wanheda after all these years? There was more to this story than she had initially realized. She had a feeling this was just the tip of the iceberg.
Clarke's eyes narrowed. "Why were you hunting me?" she pressed, her voice like ice. "Who sent you?"
Adam swallowed hard, his gaze flickering nervously. "Bounty," he croaked out, his voice barely a whisper. "We were... we were looking to cash in on the bounty on your head."
Clarke's grip tightened on the knife. She yanked it out of his thigh, a fresh wave of pain washing over Adam. Before he could even register what was happening, she plunged the blade into his other leg, eliciting a scream that echoed through the silent forest.
"Wrong answer," she said coldly, her expression unwavering. "Try again."
Adam's body convulsed, sweat beading on his forehead. He coughed, his throat raw. "I... I don't know who sent us," he gasped, his voice hoarse. "All I know is... the others... they were mercenaries. Hired by someone... someone powerful. We were just... a small group, picked from a larger batch. The leader... you killed him. He was the one with the information."
Clarke considered his words, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes. This wasn't just a random attack by bounty hunters seeking a quick reward. This was organized, deliberate. Someone had hired these mercenaries to hunt her down, someone who wanted her dead. But who? And why now, after all these years?
She tilted her canteen towards Adam's lips, allowing him to take a few sips of water. He drank greedily, his eyes filled with pain and fear. Clarke sat back on her heels, her mind racing. This new information changed everything. She was no longer just dealing with the ghosts of her past. There was a new threat, a hidden enemy lurking in the shadows. And she needed to find out who it was before it was too late.
Clarke sighed, a weariness settling over her. She stood up, emptying the remaining water from her canteen onto the ground. Adam watched her with wide, fearful eyes, his body still trembling from the pain and the lingering effects of the poison.
"Since you were cooperative," Clarke said, her voice devoid of emotion, "I'll let the concoction finish its work before I end your life."
Adam's eyes widened in horror. He had been so focused on the pain, he hadn't even realized Clarke hadn't touched the water herself. A wave of nausea washed over him as the effects of the unknown substance intensified.
"It's still experimental," Clarke explained, a hint of grim satisfaction in her voice. "Previous subjects have experienced a variety of reactions. Vivid hallucinations, catatonia, euphoria... some just drop dead."
Panic seized Adam. He tried to cough, to expel the poison from his system, but it was too late. His vision blurred, his thoughts scattering. A strange warmth spread through his body, and a serene smile slowly crept onto his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
Clarke watched dispassionately as the concoction ran its course. Adam's struggles ceased, his head falling limply to the side. She crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It slowed, faltered, and finally stopped.
Taking out her journal, Clarke flipped to the page dedicated to the experimental poison. With a steady hand, she documented the final results of her latest trial. Another data point in her ongoing quest to develop a non-lethal method of incapacitation.
With a heavy sigh, Clarke untied Adam and carried his body to the pyre she had built for the fallen warriors. She laid him alongside the others, a flicker of remorse crossing her features. These were casualties of a war they hadn't even known they were fighting.
The flames crackled and roared, consuming the bodies, sending plumes of smoke into the darkening sky. Clarke turned towards Jack, who was resting nearby. She lay down beside him, her head resting on his flank. Closing her eyes, she whispered an apology.
"I'm sorry, Jack," she murmured. "We have to move. I'm going to push you hard tomorrow. We need to reach Tondc, or Skaikru, as quickly as possible."
The weight of the day pressed down on her, the encounter with the mercenaries a stark reminder of the dangers that still lurked. But with the new information gleaned from Adam, a sense of urgency propelled her forward. She had to warn her people, to uncover the identity of the person who sought her death. The fate of the coalition, the fragile peace she had helped to forge, might depend on it.
Did my best with the chapter. Not very good at writing tortures or anything fight wise... so I hope it was good enough for you. I'll try drafting some more fight scenes to help to get a feel of what works and what doesn't.