Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a moment in life, where everything changed. She used to think there was only one true pivot — the instant someone met their soulmate, if they were lucky.
That belief had changed when she'd watched her father die. And it had all but evaporated the day she came home to Earth and learned what a real turning point looked like: the smell of metal and damp, the weight of other people's lives on your shoulders, the quiet arithmetic of choices that didn't leave room for luck. Falling in love with Lexa had felt like a soft, inevitable change compared to that—another brushstroke on an already crowded canvas.

She thought that would be enough.

Instead, standing on the gravel with the mountain dark behind Lexa, the world felt like a painting smeared with rain. Sound retreated to the edges, as if someone had turned down the volume on everything except Lexa's voice, explaining all the useless reasons of why she had taken that deal. Clarke almost couldn't believe it.

"Don't do this", came out of her mouth before she could decide whether to catch it back. 

Lexa kept her chin level, the braid at the nape of her neck catching the sun into a dull gold. “I’m sorry, Klark.” She spoke without looking at her; it was the gentlest cruelty. The air between them thinned into something cold. Clarke waited for denial, for a fight, for the small mercy of bargaining. Instead the sentence landed like a flat, grey wash: “I have to do what’s best for my people.”

Clarke stood quiet, still waiting. She thought she ought to try again, tell Lexa to stay, but the words were stuck in her throat, and thoughts tumbled.
The mountain, the smell of antiseptic halls, the faces she'd promised to keep alive — all of it pressed into her chest until she could barely think in anything but color. Blue, the thin winter blue of Lexa's eyes; a smear of rust from the bars of the elevator; the sick green of the room where they kept the truth. Her brain flitted between one word and another — leave, stay, run, stop — like a bad film with no soundtrack. Numbness pooled under her ribs, cool and expansive, and with it a slow, foolish hope: maybe Lexa would change her mind.

Lexa turned away. Clarke could do nothing but watch. For a second she let herself read the small tells she had learned: the hitch in a shoulder, the brief clench of fingers. She wanted those tells to mean guilt; she wanted guilt to mean return. When Lexa paused and looked back, their eyes met: green against blue, steady against something that still wanted to be.

“May we meet again,” Lexa said. The ritual felt oddly polite in a place that no longer had room for politeness.

Clarke watched the braid disappear down the path. Time loosened — minutes drifted by. The words replayed, clean and terrible. What’s best for my people. The syllables folded into her until they took the shape of abandonment. 

It wasn’t until a sharp, tingling sensation in her palm jolted her from the haze that she finally blinked. She glanced down at her hand, her breath catching. That old scar was there, fine and angry where it had been smooth skin a heartbeat before. She remembered the way Lexa’s mouth had covered it, warm and brief, how the skin had sealed like varnish under that promise. Now the line was ragged again, a crate of red shadow under pale skin. It felt like a deliberate erasure — not of the wound but of the promise.

A soulmate was supposed to be the hand that made things whole. The rule had always been tidy in the back of her head, the kind of law that wears clean edges. Watching the scar reappear made something inside her rearrange itself into a new, quieter hurt: not only had Lexa left, but the leaving wrote itself onto her.

For a beat Clarke let herself fold inward, the immediate reflex to blame everything on the cold logic of the mountain or on Lexa's cruel necessity. Then, beneath the blame, a steadier voice rose. Her people were still there. The mountain still loomed. The oxygen of the world didn't care which private betrayals were happening on top of it.

She pressed her thumb into the broken skin as if pressure could make memory behave. The action felt pathetic and sane at once. Her breath found a rhythm again; the numbness didn't vanish, but it narrowed to something she could carry. Anger came after, but it was practical, not theatrical. There would be time to unravel what Lexa had done to them both. There would be time for everything except failing the people who had no other choice.

Clarke straightened. The sky was a washed cobalt, the mountain a hard, indifferent slab. She could feel her heart moving from stunned to functioning, like a lamp switching from dim to work-light. If Lexa could make the impossible decision for the sake of her people, Clarke could do the same — into different hands, along a different logic. She would not let the betrayal be the thing that decided everyone’s fate.

Her jaw set. "All right," she told the empty path where Lexa had gone, and the word was less an acceptance than a plan. She would save them. Even if it hurt. Even if it left another scar.

The mountain painted a jagged black against the paling sky. Clarke’s eyes tracked its edges without really seeing them, her body moving before her thoughts had caught up. Damp earth under her boots, the faint metallic tang still clinging to the back of her throat. She kept walking.

The tunnels came to her like muscle memory. Dangerous as they were, they remained her best option. She could only hope they’d be empty.

She remembered the stench, the way sound carried, the feeling of being swallowed. Her fingers brushed stone as she slipped inside, cold air closing around her like water. Her step echoed, and she tried not to notice how loud it was.

(It was deafening next to the silence within her own mind).

She didn’t think in full sentences anymore. Fragments. Inside. Get to Dante. Control room. The words floated through the haze, stitched together with the same numbness that had carried her this far. It was a desperate plan, barely stitched together, but it was all she had. A bitter voice inside reminded her that it didn’t have to be this way, that Lexa’s betrayal had unraveled everything. Clarke shoved the thought aside. There would be time to process that later—if she survived.

To her surprise, getting inside the mountain was almost too easy, the silence greeting her with its sterile hum, that always made her skin crawl. The Maunon clearly believed the grounders had retreated, and a lone infiltrator was the last thing they’d expect. Foolishness, she thought bitterly, her lips twisting into a sardonic smile. Still, it worked in her favor.

Hallways stretched ahead in the maze she’d memorized just weeks prior. She moved through them by memory, each turn recalling diagrams studied in haste. People would be gathered in the dining hall. Dante wouldn’t. She shifted course without pausing to name the logic.

She found him pacing — shoulders hunched, hands restless, a man unraveling in his own walls. The radio on his desk crackled with static, voices weaving through. Clarke’s heart thudded once, sharp, before settling back into its dull rhythm. She lingered at the doorway and tried to think.

The cages were empty, and she had no idea where Cage or the guards were stationed, though they were likely near her captured people. If only she could locate those within who had allied with her cause...

Before she could act, a flicker of movement caught her attention. She tensed, turning sharply, only to see Monty standing a few feet away. He looked gaunt, his skin pale and brittle, but his eyes were as sharp as they ever were.

“Clarke?” His voice was a thread of sound.

“Monty,” she whispered back. “Oh my god, Monty, you’re okay.” Relief didn’t flood her — it slid in quietly, muted, a note too low to change the melody. Still, she pulled him into a brief hug, hard enough that her chest ached when she let go.

“What’s going on?“, he finally asked once the embrace had loosened. „I saw the grounders leave, but our people are still in medical. Jasper and Bellamy are with the civilians, trying to keep them safe. Cage sent guards after them.”

She absorbed the words like she had absorbed schematics: in pieces, filed for later. Her lips pressed into a line. Focus. She needed to focus.

“Can you reach them without anyone finding out?” she asked, eyes flicking past him to the empty corridor.

Monty’s grin flickered, small but familiar. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” A scrap-radio appeared in his hand.

That tiny spark of competence, of Monty being Monty, lit something inside her for just a breath. “Perfect,” she said, and meant it. “Keep in touch with them. Warn me if things shift. I’ll—” her eyes cut to Dante’s door, then back, “I’ll handle the rest. Check ahead first.”

Monty nodded. Determined, though tired. “I’ve got this.”

She stopped him with a hand on his wrist, the touch grounding her more than she’d expected. “Be safe,” she murmured.

His expression softened, warm despite everything. “You too, Clarke.”

Once she’d watched Monty hurry past the next corner, Clarke turned back to Dante, who was still pacing in his office, oblivious to her presence. The voices on his desk radio grew clearer as she stepped closer.

She pressed her back against the cold wall just outside Dante Wallace’s office, her breath shallow as she strained to listen.

Inside, Dante paced, the rhythmic thud of his shoes against the polished floor betraying his agitation. The radio on his desk crackled with static before a sharp voice cut through the interference.

“—deploy the missiles. We’ll wipe them out before they ever breach the mountain.” Cage continued explaining what he’d planned. Why he’d do that was beyond Clarke, maybe to make his father understand, maybe to brag. She didn’t particularly care. Her stomach twisted.

“We have the resources,” he continued, his voice growing almost feverish. “The Reapers will guard the perimeter. Anyone who gets through, we neutralize. The rest? We bleed them dry. Every last drop. No more delays.”

There was silence, then Dante’s voice—strained, low, but edged with something dangerously close to rage. “You’re talking about— about genocide, Cage.”

A huff of breath came through the radio, followed by a disturbingly calm reply “I’m talking about survival, Father. Isn’t that what you’ve always taught me? Isn’t that why you allowed the savages to be bled?”

Clarke inched closer, careful not to make a sound as she peered around the doorframe. Dante had stopped pacing. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his body tense as if physically restraining himself from smashing the radio to pieces.

“You still have a choice,” Dante said, his voice heavy with something that almost sounded like desperation. “This is not who we are.”

If this hadn’t been the same man who’d agreed to bleeding grounders for so long, she might’ve been impressed. But as it was, she could only focus on her building horror when Cage’s tone remained unyielding. The conversation ended abruptly, leaving Dante visibly shaken.

A sharp laugh crackled through the radio.

“This is exactly who we are.” Cage’s voice was colder now, more certain. “We are stronger than them. We deserve to walk the ground again. You just never had the stomach to see it. We have one goal: preserve our people. You had your way, and it led us to this. Now, I will do what is necessary.”

Dante exhaled slowly. “You’re condemning innocent people to death. Not only that, you’re speaking of mass-murder even after we’ve achieved our dream to walk the earth again.”

“They were dead the moment they set foot on the ground. The savages were never going to leave them alive. The only question is how we use them before they expire”, Doctor Tsing cut into the conversation. Her voice was harder to hear, the static worse, as though she was standing several paces away from Cage.

Thinking what she might be doing made Clarke nauseous. She clenched her jaw, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.

„Cage please—„

“I shouldn’t have expected you to understand,” even through the static Cage’s voice sent a chill down Clarke’s spine. “Do not interfere, Father.”

The radio went silent.

Dante stood motionless in the center of the room, staring down at the device as if it had burned him. His breath came rough and uneven. His fingers trembled before he forced them to still. When he finally lifted his head, his expression was carved from stone.

That was Clarke’s moment. She stepped forward. Dante turned sharply, his eyes widening as they landed on the gun leveled at him.

Clarke tightened her grip. Her hands were shaking so badly she had to squeeze the weapon to keep it steady. Dante’s gaze flicked from the barrel to her face. If he felt fear, he didn’t show it. There was no scramble for self-preservation, no attempt to reason with her. He simply stood there, shoulders squared, resignation settling over him like a heavy cloak.

He had been expecting this. Clarke swallowed hard. “Come with me, Dante.”

Her voice was steady, even as her heart pounded in her chest. There was no time to hesitate. No time for second thoughts. Stopping Cage and saving her people was all that mattered now.

As they made their way to the control room, Clarke kept her gun raised, her eyes darting down each hallway they passed. Every sound—every hum of machinery or distant footfall—sent a jolt through her nerves. Surprisingly, they encountered no guards. Clarke guessed the enemy’s focus was elsewhere—on Bellamy, Jasper, and the remaining innocents within the mountain. The reprieve felt fleeting, precarious.

Once they reached the control room, Clarke shut the door firmly behind them and engaged the lock. Her gaze swept across the monitors lining the walls, each one showing scenes of torment that made her stomach churn. 

Her people—friends, family—were subjected to horrors she could barely stand to witness. Jasper's face, pale and stricken with fear. Raven, defiant even as she was dragged toward the operating table. Clarke's hands trembled as she gripped the gun tighter, her chest tightening with fury and despair.

Dante’s voice broke through the silence, weary and resigned. "You can’t stop this, Clarke. It’s too late. You should go. Save yourself."

Clarke turned to him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I won’t abandon my people, Dante.“ She grabbed the radio and pressed the button. "Cage," she said. „I know you have access to the surveillance system from where you are, so I recommend you turn that on so we can talk. And do be smart about this, because I have a pretty simple deal. Let my people live, and your father survives.“ 

The response was immediate—Cage’s mocking scoff crackled through the speakers. „I think I’ll have to decline“.

Clarke’s jaw tightened, her resolve hardening as she glanced at Dante. He was shaking his head, murmuring protests, his eyes wide with both fear and disappointment.

"Don’t do this, Clarke," he pleaded.

Her hand was steady as she raised the gun. "I’m sorry," she whispered, almost to herself.

The gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening in the enclosed space. Dante crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Clarke didn’t let herself look at him, but the weight of what she’d done pressed down on her like a stone. On one of the monitors, she saw Cage’s face contort with grief. He stumbled back, his hand gripping the edge of a desk as he processed the loss of his father.

Guilt clawed at Clarke’s chest, threatening to undo her resolve. She shoved it aside. This wasn’t about her. This was about survival.

She turned to Monty, her voice tight with desperation. "Can we flood the mountain with radiation?"

Monty hesitated, his expression a mirror of her own torment. After a beat, he nodded, his hands moving swiftly over the keyboard. "It’s possible," he said grimly.

As the seconds ticked by, Clarke’s eyes darted to the monitors, watching as chaos unfolded. Guards were battering at the control room door, their boots echoing like war drums. On another screen, Cage loomed over Raven and Abby, barking orders as they were strapped to operating tables. Clarke’s breath caught as Raven’s scream pierced through the speakers.

She pressed the radio again. "Cage, let them go!" Her voice cracked with rage and despair. "If you don’t, I’ll flood the mountain. I’ll kill everyone."

Cage’s laughter echoed in response, cold and maniacal. He lifted his radio, ready to respond, but all Clarke could hear through the static were the agonized cries of her people. Her hand trembled, her knuckles white around the gun.

Clarke’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his words. Time was slipping away, every second bringing her closer to an irreversible choice. Her gaze flickered to Monty, who had stopped typing and was now looking at her expectantly.

"Are you done?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Monty nodded solemnly and gestured toward a lever on the console. "It’s ready. All you have to do is pull it."

Clarke stared at the lever, bile rising in her throat. The thought of what she was about to do churned her stomach, but the alternative was unthinkable. The radio crackled again, Cage’s voice breaking through one last time.

"I’m saving my people, Clarke," he said, his tone resolute.

Her eyes fluttered shut. In her mind, she could hear Lexa’s voice, calm and unyielding. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.

Her hand hovered over the lever. Dante’s words from earlier rang in her ears, haunting her. I bear it so they don’t have to.

With a deep breath, Clarke lifted the radio to her lips one final time. Her voice was steady, though it trembled with sorrow.

"So am I," she said.

What felt like hours later, Clarke still stood in the room, hand not having left the lever though it felt like it was burning her skin. Her eyes were stuck on the screens displaying the burnt bodies of the maunon, Jasper holding Mayas wrecked body, Raven and her mother lying on the beds in medical, clearly in pain from the torture they’d been subjected to.

„Clarke?“ Bellamys voice came through the radio, „we should go“.

Had she been standing there for that long? Probably. She turned to face Monty.

„Can you seal it?“ She asked, though her voice seemed strangely distant to her. „The mountain, I mean. Make it so nobody can get in“.

Monty nodded his head, „Yeah, that shouldn’t take long. Give me like 10 minutes“. As he got to work she took the radio.

„We’re just finishing everything in here, we’ll be with you in 20. Can you start making sure that everybody is ready to leave?“ She asked him. It was strange how numb she felt. „Yeah, I’ll do that“, Bellamys voice sounded static over the radio,.

„Don’t take too long though, I want to get the fuck out of here“ yeah, not just you she thought, but didn’t reply. Clarke let her eyes roam over the room, checking if there was anything they might need, before Monty pulled her out of her thoughts.

„I could put the systems on lockdown, but that way anyone with some decent hacking skills could always get them up and running again. I could instead administer you as Dante Wallaces successor? According to the files, none of the systems were ever officially swapped from Dante to Cage. That way only you would have a way to get in. And considering that Im pretty sure you’ll never want to be back here that’s as safe as we’ll get.“

With a nod from her, Monty started reprogramming the security systems of Mount Weather. Clarke stood by his side, her mind clouded with the echoes of her recent actions. Her mind was screaming. She told it to shut up. With deft fingers, Monty manipulated the controls, disabling key cards and voice commands. Clarke watched in silence as she contemplated the weight of her actions. Finally, Monty completed his work. Clarke was now the sole arbiter of access to Mount Weather.

As they prepared to depart, Clarke cast one last lingering glance at the desolate halls of Mount Weather, a silent promise to never again allow such horrors to befall her people. With Monty by her side, she stepped out into the fading light, her thoughts consumed by what was yet to come. Little did she know, the trials that awaited her beyond the confines of Mount Weather would test her resolve like never before.

The trek back to Arcadia was a blur of muted greens and browns, the forest's once-vibrant hues dulled in Clarke's eyes. The chirping of birds, a sound she once found soothing, now felt distant and hollow, as if the forest itself mourned what she had done. Her body moved on autopilot, one foot in front of the other, while her mind replayed the agonizing echoes of the Mountain—screams, cries, and the terrible silence that followed.

She couldn't meet the eyes of those walking with her. Her people. The people she’d saved. Their stares burned into her regardless, every glance cutting into her like a blade. They didn’t say a word, but the silence spoke volumes.

You are a monster, their eyes seemed to say.

She wished she could tell them they were wrong.

Clarke clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as she tried to block out their unspoken condemnation. The memories of her actions followed her relentlessly, whispering accusations that grew louder with every step.

In the dense forest, Jasper’s voice shattered the fragile quiet, raw and biting.

„You know what, Clarke? I used to think you were different. Thought you actually cared about people. But you're not. You're just like them.“

Clarke flinched at the venom in his voice, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Jasper turned to her, his eyes rimmed with red, his expression twisted by grief and fury. "You killed her, Clarke. You killed Maya." His voice cracked, the anger giving way to an unbearable sorrow. "She trusted us. She trusted you. And you betrayed her. You murdered her. Just like you murdered everyone else in that mountain. There were children in there. Children!"

Each word slammed into her like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. Her lips parted, but her voice came out a trembling whisper. "Jasper, I didn’t mean—"

"Didn’t mean to?" Jasper interrupted, his laughter bitter and sharp. "Oh, that makes it better. You just had to, right? You just had to save our people." His voice dripped with disdain as he spat the last words. "Well, congratulations, Clarke. You saved them. Saved them from ever trusting you again."

Clarke's vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, to plead, but no words came.

"I never wanted to hurt them," she finally managed, her voice trembling, barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

"But you did!" Jasper shouted, his voice cracking with the force of his anguish. His shoulders shook, the weight of grief pulling him down. "You destroyed everything. You destroyed her."

Clarke stopped walking, her feet rooted to the ground. Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. "I’m sorry, Jasper," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the forest. "I’m so, so sorry."

Jasper didn’t reply. He just stared at her for a moment, his eyes full of pain and betrayal, before turning and trudging ahead. Clarke stayed frozen, watching his retreating form until it blurred into the shadows of the trees. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold her breaking pieces together.

By the time they reached Arcadia, night had fallen, the settlement bathed in cold, flickering light from the campfires. Clarke lingered at the edge of the group, hanging back as the others moved toward the gates. She couldn’t bring herself to enter. Not with their accusing stares, their whispers of judgment and fear waiting for her.

"Clarke," Bellamy’s voice broke through her thoughts. She hadn’t even noticed him standing there, watching her with a mixture of concern and wariness.

She didn’t answer, keeping her gaze fixed on the horizon, the settlement a blur in her periphery. After a moment, Bellamy spoke again, softer this time. „You should get some rest.“

Clarke shook her head.

Bellamy hesitated. „I could really use a drink. You coming?“ He gestured toward the camp, trying to coax her with a weak smile.

She almost smiled back, almost nodded. But the thought of sitting among her people—her survivors—made her stomach turn. "I... I think I need some time alone," she said instead, her voice distant and hollow.

Bellamy’s expression softened with understanding. "I’ll see if I can get you a private room for tonight."

She knew he meant well, but they both understood that wasn’t what she needed. Or what she intended. Clarke shook her head, her gaze still distant.

"Where will you go?" he asked after a pause, his voice quiet.

She shrugged, the motion as lifeless as her tone. "Everywhere."

"Are you coming back?"

She wanted to say yes, to promise she’d return in a week or two, but the words wouldn’t come. They’d be a lie, and Bellamy would see through it anyway. Instead, she offered a weak, hollow smile.

Bellamy sighed, looking down at the ground before meeting her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Clarke."

"You too," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

She lingered for a moment longer, watching the camp she had sacrificed so much to save, and then she turned away, slipping into the shadows of the forest. As the settlement disappeared behind her, so did the muffled sounds of her people—laughing, crying, living.

Alone under the canopy of stars, Clarke’s steps faltered, her shoulders slumping under the unbearable weight of her guilt. Her breaths came shallow, ragged, as tears streamed down her face. She had saved them. She had done what she had to.

And they would never forgive her for it.

Chapter Text

Clarke had no idea where to go. All she knew was that she needed to get far, far away from anything and anyone. As she was walking she found herself stumbling over roots and bushes. Her mind was screaming, the numbness from earlier gone, replaced by thousands of voices haunting her as she tried to run away.

„I helped you, you killed me when I helped you“ Maya screamed, „you should’ve found a better way, its your fault we died“, „I loved you, I trusted you!“ , the voices build a devastating symphony in her head. Its your fault, whatever you do its never good enough. You’ll never be good enough. You’re a monster! A sob wrecksed Clarkes body.

„I’m sorry“, she mumbled, „I didn’t mean to I’m sorry“ her words repeated like a mantra as she started to run, trying to leave the voices behind. Her foot caught on a branch and she tumbled down a hillside. Scratches and bruises litter her body but she barely felt the pain as the voices came to a crescendo.

„How can you live when we're all dead“ they screamed.

The voices pulled at her, like hands trying to rip her apart. She screamed, begged them to stop, be silent, leave her alone. Her body trembled as she got up to continue running away.

„Look at you, running away“, she'd recognize Finns voice anywhere. „The mighty Wanheda, scared and alone. You’re nothing. How can you live when we had to die. WHEN I HAD TO DIE BECAUSE OF YOU!“

The voice followed her as she landed in a creek. „Please“; she whimpered, „Please leave me alone I didn’t mean to“.

A harsh laugh escaped Finn. „Didn’t mean to? Is that what you told yourself when you killed Atom?“, the shadow of a body appeared in front of her, burnt flesh and face set in agony, the blood from the stab wound still running down his neck.

„Is that how you excused burning the village and blowing up the bridge?“ Dozens of shadows lined up in front of her now, charred bodies of innocent villagers joining the numbers of those she killed. „Is that how you excused killing Anyas warrior? Torturing Lincoln? The ring of fire? KILLING ME?“

With each word a new shadow appeared, circling around her. Finn looked at her now, a knife stuck in his chest. He watched her with so much hatred before joining the circle of the rest.

„Is it how you excused the mountain too?“ The shadows that appeared now were by far the worst. Before, she could claim self defense and accidents. Now she looked at the mutilated bodies of the children she had watched play soccer in the great hall just weeks prior. Their voices whispered a chant of murderer, monster.

„And tell me, Wanheda“, the words were almost mocking her, „Did it make you feel like a god?“

„No please I didn’t mean for anyone to die“ she whispered. „I never wanted anyone to die.“ Another shadow came forward and her heart broke. „Dad“

„You killed me, kiddo“ the ghost said „You killed so many people and yet here you are. Finn, Atom, Me, Anyas warrior, 28 people on the Bridge, 112 people in the village, 324 people in the ring of fire, Quint, 276 people in the bombing of TonDC and 391 people in Mt. Weather. Tell me kid, how can you still be here when so many have died because of you?“

1140 and she was still alive. He was right, she thought, trembling in the water. How could she be alive when so many had died?

She didn’t deserve it.

Clarke’s hands trembled, the weight of the gun pressing into her forehead. Her finger hovered near the trigger, every muscle tense with the unbearable weight of guilt. She didn’t deserve to live. Not after everything. Not after all the lives she had taken—people who hadn’t walked away, people she hadn’t saved.

Her eyes clenched shut against the memories, the screams of the dead echoing in her mind, accusing her, begging her to join them. Pull the trigger, their voices whispered, but louder than the words was the crushing silence that suddenly enveloped her. The world stilled—no leaves rustling, no water rushing, no crickets chirping in the distance. It was a silence so complete that Clarke wondered if it was what happened right before death.

A shaky smile crept onto her face. Maybe it was okay. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end. Her finger found the safety on the gun, almost automatically, a small mercy to make it quick.

“Don’t do this, goufa.”

The voice was soft but firm, distant yet impossibly close. Clarke’s eyes snapped open. Her breath caught, her gaze darting around for the speaker, but no one was there.

“It’s okay, strikon. You’re safe. You get to live. Don’t do this.”

The voice didn’t argue, didn’t scold. It soothed, cutting through her despair like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Her trembling hand lowered slightly as the weight of the gun in her fingers suddenly became unbearable.

Sound rushed back into her ears like a floodgate had opened. The hum of the forest, the rustling wind, her own ragged breaths—all crashing into her awareness. Clarke gasped, her body moving before she could think. She shot up and flung the gun away. A deafening shot rang out, and her heart slammed in her chest as she watched the bullet strike a nearby tree.

As though she was a marionette whose strings were cut, her legs immediately gave out again, and she sank to her knees, staring her hands that had almost- .

What had she done? Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her chest tightening. She didn't - she wouldn't -

Clarke stumbled out of the creek, her clothes drenched and sticking to her skin. The cool water had done little to clear her head. She was bone-weary, her steps heavy as she trudged through the woods. The sun hung low, casting golden light through the trees, and she realized with a jolt that hours had passed. How long had she been walking?

“Seven hours, strikon.” Clarke jumped, her heart pounding. She spun around, her eyes scanning the forest. The voice startled her, soft but eerily calm.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice sharp with panic. She regretted yeeting her gun, her only form of protection out here, away. “Where are you? What do you want?”

The voice giggled, a sound that buzzed faintly in her skull. Clarke froze, her hands clenching into fists. “Oh, great. I’ve officially lost it,” she muttered, shaking her head as if that might dislodge the unwelcome sound.

“You’re not crazy, goufa,” the voice replied, its tone patient and gentle, almost amused. “No more than anyone else who has heard us.”

Clarke huffed. “Sure. Because talking to a voice in your head screams sanity.” She crossed her arms, stubbornly ignoring the strange comfort in the voice’s presence, the way she felt at ease in a way she shouldn't after what she'd just tried.

“Oi!” the voice chastised, an offended edge creeping into its tone. “I just stopped you from making a major mistake, and this is how you thank me?”

Clarke froze again, her eyes darting to the disturbed earth, where she'd tumbled down before, instinctively looking for the gun she'd discarded, only to not find it. It must've landed somewhere in the thick underbrush around her. Her stomach churned.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You did your job. Now go away. I don’t need some...weird subconscious haunting me. The last ones just left, maybe you can go join them.”

The voice sighed, a strange sensation that somehow felt like air moving through her skull. Clarke grimaced. “Stop that,” she muttered, shuddering involuntarily.

“You don’t need to speak out loud, goufa,” the voice chided gently. “Nor will I leave you like this.”

“Great,” Clarke thought sarcastically, trying to adjust to the bizarre feeling of thinking at someone, even if that someone was herself. She should've paid more attention to those psychology lectures her mother had given her from time to time. “What do I need to do to get you to leave?”

“Nothing, strikon. Though listening to me might be a good start,” The voice had the audacity to laugh at her, yet it still managed to sound so impossibly kind, a thread of warmth in its tone. Clarke didn't remember the last time someone spoke to her with such kindness.

(She did. Le- heda had. Whatever. It wasn't important).

"Will you leave if I listen?"

Amusement flooded through Clarke, a strange feeling as it was not her own. Why was this so weird?

„Will you still listen if I say no?" Clarke pondered over that. Considering that it was a voice in her head, it'd be kind of impossible not to listen at least a bit, however crazy it seemed. And it's not like she was surprised she was going crazy.

Still, she couldn't help the reluctant curiosity stirring within her. “Fine, whatever” she thought. “Just - who are you, and why are you in my head?”

“Oh, I don't really want anything in that sense, strikon. But as for who I am, well, I’m you,” the voice said softly. “Or rather, I’m who you were—and who you will become.”

Clarke’s frown deepened. “That’s the opposite of helpful”, she replied, annoyance seeping into her tone. A part of her still thought she was crazy for talking to a strange voice in her ear, but what do you do. Maybe she could get rid of it like that, though somehow she doubted it. Somehow she also didn't want it, however strange that seemed.

The voice chuckled, a sound that felt oddly reassuring. “You didn’t grow up with our beliefs, strikon. This will take time to explain. But tell me—what do you know of spirits?”

The mention of spirits sent a pang through Clarke’s chest. Heda was a spirit, weren't they? Le- she had said so. Clarke hadn’t thought about—no, she wouldn’t think about her right now.

„I know you’re hurt strikon, but i’d like to know how well versed you are in the topic before I begin to explain“. Clarke shrugged, “Not much,” she admitted tightly. “Heda mentioned something about her being a vessel to a spirit of leadership or something, but that’s about it. We didn’t really have the time to talk about it.”

The voice nodded, and Clarke had no idea how to describe that she felt a voice in her head nod.

„So nothing, then. You’d think she would tell you about it, considering how much time you spend with each other“, the voice grumbled. Clarke huffed again, crossing her arms as she did. „Yeah well that’d require her to care about me wouldn’t it“

„Your anger is justified, strikon, but what happened at the mountain wasn’t Leksas decision. It was Heda. And as Heda she has to choose with her head and not her heart, You must understand that“ Clarkes jaw clenched.

„Well Heda can piss off for all I care“ she growled, clenching her hands. Just as soon as she did, her muscles relaxed again, a wave of soothing calm spreading through her body. "I see that is a topic for another time. And of no matter of the answers you have asked for".

Clarke almost felt ashamed for her reaction. Why couldn't she just be unaffected by the other woman? She'd been left behind, so she should leave her emotions on the brunette behind too.

"Sorry", she mumbled, though the nudge of exasperation - it felt as though the voice was raising an eyebrow, which was honestly even weirder - told Clarke she didn't need to apologize. "So, Heda is a spirit. And I'm guessing so are you if you're asking about it?"

“Fleimheda,” the voice corrected gently. “The Commander of the Flame. But that’s only part of the story. And for your question, yes. Though you and I...we are something else.”

Clarke stiffened. “We?”

Whatever the voice was about to answer got interrupted by Clarkes stomach grumbling loudly.

„You should get some food, goufa.“ Clarke furrowed her brows.

When she left camp, she had taken barely anything with her. The gun lay discarded somewhere at the riverside and she very much didn’t plan to get it back, not trusting herself with the weapon now that the voice had snapped her out of the initial urge to use it. She hadn't brought any knives either, so that’d make hunting pretty hard.

„Don’t worry about it, strikon“, the voice said, „I can teach you how to hunt.“ , Clarke gladly accepted. If the voice truly was a spirit - and somehow Clarke just knew that that was the truth, then they should be more than knowledgable on how to hunt.

The voice went on to explain how to make traps out of leaves and branches, telling her to wait a bit away from the contraption after it was set. By the time she was done, she could feel her hunger gnawing at her, and the utter confusion that lingered from the interrupted conversation was eating away at her.

"Anyway. You were going to tell me about what you meant with we", Clarke said, once the traps had been sat and she'd settled against a tree to wait out until they caught something for her.

The voice sighed again, seemingly admitting defeat on the matter. „Why do we always have to be so stubborn. I thought it would make sense to explain who we are on a full stomach. Makes it much easier to deal with the upcoming existential crisis“.

Clarke let out a small huff at the poor attempt of humor. "It's a bit late for that. Now, you - we - are a spirit too?"

“Yes,” the voice said softly. “I believe it would be easiest if I just introduce ourselves. Osir laik Wanheda.”

Everything in Clarke went taut. Somehow the foreign name seemed so fitting for the voice.

„Thats what the souls called me.“, she realized. The name triggered something she couldn't quite place, a sort of acceptance, belief, or maybe trust Clarke couldn't place. „What does it mean?“

The voice—Wanheda—sighed, a thread of weariness in its tone.

“I think that requires some more explanation. Wanheda in itself translates to the Commander of Death,” it - they - explained.

Clarke flinched. Of course, it did. The title felt like a cruel reflection of her life, a reminder of the countless lives lost under her watch.

“That’s what I mean,” Wanheda said gently, sensing her thoughts. “It isn’t as simple as it sounds. I’ll explain it all—when you’ve had a chance to rest. But for now, know this: long before humans existed, there were two spirits. Fleimheda and Wanheda. The Flame and Death, but a much more accurate description would be the hearth and the cycle of life, or the people and the soul. You know Fleimheda” Clarke nodded. That was heda's spirit.

“So Heda is Fleimheda?” she asked slowly. “The Commander of the Flame?”

“Yes,” Wanheda confirmed.

“But I’ve heard people call her the Commander of Blood,” Clarke said, her brows furrowing.

Wanheda’s presence seemed to weigh heavier, her voice somber. “That is mainly due to two reasons. These days, it's her night blood that grants each heda that title. But in the old days, when those chosen by heda could still be of red blood, it was because sometimes, to protect the Flame, blood must be spilled. Just as sometimes, to protect the cycle of life, souls must be taken.”

Clarke’s breath hitched. The words resonated with a truth she couldn’t deny, even if she wasn’t ready to fully accept it. For now, though, she would listen.

Wanheda paused for a moment, waiting for Clarke to acknowledge their words. Then they continued „Over the years, Fleimheda and me have chosen hosts, vessels, to aid on their path. Fleimheda does so much more frequently than me. They are always present, guiding our people, trying to achieve peace. I’m a bit… different. The most obvious one is probably that I’m not around very often. And when I am it tends to be as a reincarnation, such as you, instead of a vessel“ 

Clarke wasn't so sure what do do with the explanation. How could she be a reincarnation? Weren't spirits immortal? And even if not, how was she speaking with Wanheda when they were supposedly the same person? Was Clarke even a person if she was Wanheda? Except she remembered her life, she knew she was human, so how did that even work?

Wanheda chuckled, the sound reverberating through Clarkes entire being. "I do not think even I have adequate answers for all the questions you have. But on a rather basic level, you are me, yet you are also you. But as you grow, you will become more of me and we will keep being all of you. Right now we are two parts of one, because you aren’t ready to hold the memories and powers that you have through being me. There is a kind of, well, barrier, that keeps your mind save until you’re ready to become more.“

Clarke didn't even pretend she understood that explanation. „So you’ll leave once I’m… ready?“ Clarke didn’t know why, but the thought bothered her.

„Not leave, strikon“, Clarke had to remember to ask them what that meant, „We will simply be one. We won’t really talk in your mind like we are doing right now, but I will still be there. You’ll have all my memories, experiences. And we will be able to talk through a, well mind scape is the best description. I’ll explain that once it comes to it. For now lets concentrate on the rest of the story.“ 

Wanheda stopped talking for a while, trying to figure out the best way to explain. Normally her reincarnations and vessels had enough of an idea about spirits for her to skip the basics. „I reincarnate, or choose vessels, in times of great need. That is probably part of the reason that Death is the first thing everybody associates with me. But my, our, prerogative is first and foremost to avoid useless pain and suffering. Like you did at the mountain, how many more people would have died if you hadn’t done what you did? Death is inevitable and sometimes people need to die in order for more to live. For the ones we love to survive and thrive. We are here, because people need us right now, because the peace Lexa kom Trikru fought for so hard is crumbling slowly and we can soften the death.“

Clarke was able to follow that; it made sense, in a way. Though the reminder of Lexa stung, she understood why she was needed for the peace to prevail.

„Before we continue this, you should check your trap, strikon. You need sustenance.“ 

Slowly getting up reminded Clarke of how dizzy she was getting. To her relief, she found a rabbit in her trap when she got there. She was at a loss at what to do with the animal as it tried to escape from the twines that wrapped around it.

„Lift it up by its neck and break it, strikon. Thats the most merciful way for it to go until you have a knife“

Feeling oddly calm, Clarke did just that. The rabbit stopped moving around in her hands and she carried it to a small cave she had found while looking for twines to make the trap.

„Wanheda?“, she asked timidly, „Can you teach me how to prepare the meat and make a fire?“ The spirit nodded again. While coaching the girls through the motions, she continued the earlier conversation.

„Do you know where you’ll go from here strikon?“  Clarke considered the question for a moment. She knew what she wanted to do, but trepidation of going back sat heavy in her bones.

„The mountain“, she finally replied, „No-one will go back there and the people, their souls deserve to rest“.

She could almost feel Wanheda smile in the back of her mind, a sense of pride, or maybe encouragement flooding Clarke. „Then we will go to the mountain tomorrow, strikon. For now you should rest and sleep. Let the fire burn out by itself, it’ll keep you warm while its still burning“

Clarke nodded, getting comfortable next to the fizzling flames. After a while, she started dozing off before a thought hit her. „If we are here to help Heda, I will have to see her again, won’t I?“

Wanheda sighed in sympathy for the broken girl. „Not for a while, strikon. But at some point in the future, Leksa will need us. And we’ll be there“

Clarke nodded, not having it in her to argue about it for now. „What does strikon mean? You keep calling me that“, she yawned.

Wanheda truly wished Clarke would just sleep. She needed all the rest she could get before going to the mountain the next day.

„It means little one in trigedasleng.“ Clarke hummed. „Can you teach me how to speak it?“  Clarkes eyes were closed now. She hadn't realized how utterly drained she had been. „I will start tomorrow, strikon. Rest well for now“.

Clarke fell asleep, feeling calmer than she had the entire day. 

Chapter Text

A strangled scream tore through the stillness of the forest as Clarke bolted upright, gasping for air as though she was drowning. Her chest heaved, her fingers clawing at the damp ground beneath her as though the earth could anchor her in reality. Panic surged, wild and untamed, coursing through her like fire.

The images from her dreams were seared into her mind, relentless and vivid. Faces she loved twisted into unrecognizable masks of agony. Raven, writhing as her body betrayed her, her cries like shards of glass slicing through the air. Bellamy, choking and clawing at poisoned air, his eyes wide with terror as his body joined the heap of corpses. Octavia, her mother, Monty—burned, broken, and lifeless. And all around her, a whisper that was both hers and not:
"Your fault."

Her breathing was shallow, jagged, barely there. The edges of her vision blurred, and her chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.

„Breathe, strikon.“

The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the storm in her mind like a thread of light. Gentle, steady, it carried with it a strange, quiet authority.

„I need you to listen to me.“

Clarke clung to the sound like a lifeline, though her breaths came fast and harsh, each one stolen from her lungs. Her head swam, and the world tipped precariously around her.

„You’re at your camp,“ Wanheda said, her tone calm but insistent. „It’s morning. The sun rose about thirty minutes ago. There’s a creek nearby—can you hear it? And behind you is the cave you found yesterday. You are safe, strikon. But I need you to breathe.“

Safe. The word felt foreign, unreal. She hadn’t been safe since the day her father had died. The images in her mind screamed, but Wanheda's voice was unyielding, pulling her toward something solid.

„Breathe with me, strikon,“ Wanheda urged, her tone softening. „In—1, 2, 3, 4—hold—1, 2—out—1, 2, 3.“

Clarke tried, but the first breath caught in her throat, breaking into a sob. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest, desperate for the air she couldn’t find.

„Again,“ Wanheda murmured. „Slowly now. In—1, 2, 3, 4—hold—1, 2—out—1, 2, 3.“

The rhythm was steady. Clarke focused on it, mimicking the pattern as best she could, though each inhale was jagged. Slowly, the tight band around her lungs began to loosen. The trembling in her hands eased.

„That’s it,“ Wanheda said, her voice almost warm now. „You’re doing well, ai goufa. Keep going.“

Clarke let the rhythm guide her, counting silently with Wanheda’s voice, her breaths lengthening bit by bit. The edges of her vision cleared, and the dizzying weight pressing her down began to lift.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Clarke managed a deep, shaky breath. She sat still, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, and felt the tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

„Are you back with me, strikon?“

Clarke nodded weakly, her body still trembling, though the storm in her chest had begun to quiet. Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “Yes.”

Wanheda didn’t speak right away, letting the stillness settle between them. When she did, her tone was soft, almost tender. „You’re stronger than you think, Clarke.“

Clarke’s lip trembled as she stared down at her hands, dirt streaked and scarred. The nightmare still clung to her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until it swallow her whole.

“I should go,” Clarke said after a long moment of silence. Her voice was quiet, weighed down by the lingering remnants of her earlier panic. “I won’t sleep again anyway.”

She pushed herself to her feet, her body still heavy with exhaustion. Moving with deliberate slowness, she made her way down to the river. The cool water soothed her throat as she drank, though it couldn’t wash away the knot of dread coiling in her chest. The last scraps of the rabbit she’d caught the day before were dry and flavorless in her mouth, but she forced herself to eat. Every action felt distant, as if she were watching herself from somewhere far away.

When she finished, she hesitated, her gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the water.

“Take all the time you need, strikon,” Wanheda’s voice urged gently. “The mountain can wait until you’re ready.”

Clarke shook her head, brushing her hands on her pants to ground herself. “I’m going now,” she said firmly, though her tone wavered. “If I stay away, it’s just going to get worse.”

The idea of returning to the mountain sent a shiver down her spine, but she knew she couldn’t keep running from it. The ghosts of the dead—faces she’d never forget—already lingered at the edges of her mind. What would they become if she avoided the place where she’d condemned them? She didn’t want to find out.

The journey toward Mount Weather stretched on for hours, the forest closing in around her as the morning light filtered through the trees. The silence was broken only by her footsteps and the steady rhythm of Wanheda’s voice within her mind.

Clarke found herself caught up in their conversation, surprised at how natural it felt to talk to the spirit. Wanheda shared pieces of her history, snippets of ancient knowledge that made Clarke’s head spin. And when Clarke asked, hesitantly, about Trigedasleng, Wanheda’s response was patient, as if the spirit had been waiting for the question.

“It is a natural language for you to speak,” Wanheda explained when Clarke expressed confusion at how quickly she was picking it up.

Clarke frowned slightly, glancing at a nearby tree she was certain she’d passed before. “Why would it be natural? I thought it was a language developed after the bombs dropped?”

Wanheda shook her head — Clarke had no idea how she knew that. It felt as though the disagreement that swapped over to Clarke brushed at the edges of her mind. At least it wasn’t as weird as it had been the previous day.

“We spoke Trigedasleng before any other language existed,” Wanheda replied, her tone carrying a note of pride. “It is born of the connection between the people and the spirits. When the bombs fell, humanity returned to its roots, and so did the language.”

The explanation didn’t fully make sense—not much had in the past two days—but Clarke didn’t have the energy to argue. She nodded, choosing to accept it for now. There were stranger things in her life, after all.

The lessons in language and movement filled the hours, Wanheda patiently teaching her to navigate the woods more silently and efficiently than she ever had before. Clarke’s steps grew lighter, her focus sharper, and for brief moments, she almost felt like herself again.

But as the forest around her became familiar, her pace slowed. The closer she got to the mountain, the heavier the air seemed to grow. Even though the ghosts no longer whispered to her, she could almost imagine their voices—soft and accusing—drifting on the breeze.

Her breathing hitched, and she shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away.

“Strikon?” Wanheda’s voice was calm, grounding. “How about we rest for the night? Collect your thoughts, replenish your energy. A few hours of stillness will do you well to prepare.”

Clarke stopped, her shoulders slumping slightly. Her instincts screamed at her to keep moving, to get it over with, but the rational part of her knew Wanheda was right. Sighing, she nodded, running a hand through her tangled hair.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “You’re right. Rest might help.”

“Good,” Wanheda said softly, her presence a steadying force in Clarke’s mind. “We’ll face it together, strikon. When you’re ready.”

Clarke settled into a patch of soft moss beneath a gnarled tree, the flickering firelight casting wavering shadows around her. Just a twenty-minute walk separated her from the place that would forever haunt her nightmares. The proximity made her chest feel tight, but she forced herself to stay rooted in the present.

She had fetched water earlier, using broad leaves she’d found nearby to carry it back to camp. The small success felt hollow, as did the rabbit she’d caught and skinned for dinner. Each bite tasted like ash in her mouth, weighed down by a nagging voice whispering that she didn’t deserve any of it. Not the food, not the water, not the warmth of the fire, not the rest. Especially not the rest.

Her hands trembled slightly as she tore off another piece of meat, and she pressed her palms against her knees to still them. The guilt clawing at the edges of her mind felt suffocating, but she clung to Wanheda’s presence like a lifeline.

She glanced at the fire, then spoke aloud, though her words were as much thought as voice. “So,” she asked, “you’re always there for Fleimheda? To help them?”

“As long as the host stays true to their path, yes,” Wanheda replied. “Most do. There have been very few exceptions where we’ve had to intervene against them rather than in support. Even then, it’s rare. The last was Shaiheda.”

“Shaiheda,” Clarke repeated, the name sparking faint recognition. She furrowed her brow. “That means the Dark Commander, right? I think I remember that from earlier.”

“Sha, strikon. Shaiheda thrived on war and death, sowing chaos among the clans so they’d destroy one another. Eventually, the people recognized his treachery and rose against him. He was killed during the war that followed.”

Clarke tilted her head, pausing mid-bite. “But you didn’t interfere, did you? If you had, I feel like I’d have heard about it.”

Wanheda hesitated, her voice thoughtful when she spoke again. “No, I didn’t. At first, I hoped Fleimheda could reign him in. By the time I was ready to act, the clans had already begun their war. My interference was no longer necessary, so I let history take its course.”

Clarke nodded, chewing mechanically as she processed the story. It made sense, she supposed, though the thought of Wanheda standing by while such devastation unfolded left her uneasy. She finished her meal in silence, tucking the last scraps of the rabbit away for the morning.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “I thought we were supposed to be the soul though? Didn’t — I don’t understand how you could stand by for so long if fixing this is what you do. Or did I misunderstand what you meant by ‘people’ and ‚soul’? You didn’t really explain it, I just assumed… well.”

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves, waiting for Wanheda to reply. The spirit remained quiet for a while. „You must understand that, while we are a spirit, we are not all-knowing or all-powerful. But in a way you’re right. I regret not acting on the threat Sheiheda was to this day.“

Wanheda sighed, the sorrow that flooded Clarke was not quite hers, but she knew it all too well. The sorrow of causing death because you have made a mistake. It was a burden that wouldn’t ever go away completely.

„You still didn’t really explain the soul thing“, Clarke changed the topic, hoping it would pull the spirit out of their sorrow.

“Of course, moba, strikon,” the emotion that had been nagging at the back of her mind vanished again, only the lingering memory reminding Clarke that the chirpiness in Wanhedas voice couldn’t be quite authentic. She appreciated them for trying. 

“We—Fleimheda and I—became the People and the Soul only after humanity came into being. But we are more than just that. Do you remember how I described us before? The hearth and the cycle of life?”

Clarke frowned, brushing stray strands of hair from her face as she tried to recall. “You said Fleimheda was the hearth. Something about safety and hope, right?”

“Exactly,” Wanheda affirmed. “Fleimheda is the hearth. She embodies the warmth of family and the safety of life. She guards hope itself, and it is her power that her vessels inherit. They carry an aura of hope—something you must have felt in Lexa’s presence.”

Like it had the previous day, the mention of the current Heda made Clarke’s chest tighten. She swallowed hard, nodding. “I remember. Even when things were falling apart, she always made it seem like there was a way forward.”

Until she left her, that was. She hadn’t felt too hopeful then.

Wanheda’s voice softened. “That is the essence of Fleimheda. And it’s how she became the people once humanity came into being. She was the one to give them fire to live, she strives for their well-being, she is their hope. It is also the power that Fleimhedas vessels get from her.“ 

„You said that before“, Clarke interrupted, „That they get powers.“

„They do. The aura is a rather large part of this. But her vessels also gain control over fire—though normally not in the sense of throwing fireballs. They can nurture flames, strengthen or extinguish them. With great skill, some have even shaped weapons from fire, though such feats are rare.”

Wanheda allowed Clarke to take the words in before they continued explaining.

„More that the abilities over fire, they are hope though. It is a certain - aura, for the lack of a better term, that all Hedas hold. The ones that are strong connected to Fleimheda are even able to control the strength of the aura, take the hope away.“

Clarke hummed in acknowledgment, though her mind still reeled from the deluge of information. She traced small patterns in the dirt with her fingers, trying to focus on the physical sensation to keep from feeling too overwhelmed.

“What about us?” she asked finally, though the first person plural still felt weird. “You said we embody the cycle of life?”

“Sha,” Wanheda said, her tone carrying a note of pride. “Long before humanity, we were tied to life and death, guiding souls and ensuring the balance of the natural world. We made flowers bloom, carried the souls of animals into this world and took them away to their next life after. It’s why we are be the soul now.“

„Mind you, goufa, we cannot decide when a person lives and dies, but we can guide the dead into their next life should they be stuck. We can keep souls in the in-between should they be undeserving of passing on. There are a few souls throughout history that are imprisoned in the in between. Genghis Kahn, Adolf Hitler and the like.“ 

„Now, as the Soul, our abilities reflect that. We can heal nearly any injury by taking it into ourselves, though it comes at a cost. We will feel their pain, bear their scars. Severe injuries could overwhelm us, even kill us. Depleting out energy level could kill us.”

„We need to be keenly aware of our limits before we heal. And as much as it pains me, we cannot heal everybody. While we stand for the perseverance of life, we need death to thrive. Life looses all meaning at the absence of death. A child dying of sickness is gruesome for everybody involved, but the Childs soul will pass on. Death is only sad for those left behind, remember that, strikon“

Clarke wanted to argue, her stomach churning at the thought, but she forced herself to listen as Wanheda continued, sighing as though the words were born from painful experiences, which’ scars still lingered on the immortal being.

„Power always comes with a cost, one we cannot always pay. For Fleimheda as vessels, it does not tend to become dangerous. As long as they do not go far beyond what they should be able to do, the fire only takes the oxygen from the air, just like any flame would. And when they give hope to their allies, their foes will feel a lot more desperate than before. For us, the cost can be everything.“

Clarke wasn’t sure she wanted to know what exactly everything entailed, but by the way the warning rang through Clarkes mind, the fierce protectiveness in Wanhedas voice encompassing all of the blonde, she feared it could be a cost far worse than death.

“We also sense death,” Wanheda said, feeling as though the warning had been understood. “It’s a feeling I can’t fully describe, but you’ll know it when it happens. Like a shadow passing too close. Like the reaper standing next to you, in a way.”

Clarke shivered, the memory of countless lives lost flashing through her mind. She thought back to moments when she’d felt an inexplicable chill before someone died and realized Wanheda’s words rang true.

“And there are other powers,” Wanheda added. “Ones tied to shadow and death, though each reincarnation unlocks different parts of them, all depending on the strength of their soul and the necessity of their power. We are protectors and keepers first. The power will not come to you if you wage a war in a quest for power.”

Clarke nodded faintly, though her thoughts spun in every direction. With this power, maybe she could wipe her slate clean. Take the pain of those she meets, fix people to be okay again like she never will be.

„I can hear your thoughts, strikon“, Wanheda chided gently. The warmth extruding from the spirit felt so soft, as though a loved one was cupping her face, pulling her into a hug that could protect her from everything.

It made Clarke want to sob and run and scream at the unfairness of it all, yet her shattered soul wanted nothing but to sink into the warmth the spirit provided.

“You’re not broken, Clarke,” Wanheda said gently, sensing her turmoil. “You’re hurt, but in time, you will learn to carry what you’ve been through.”

Clarke sighed, not quite believing the reassurance but too tired to argue. She craved rest, proper rest, but sleep would simply pull her back into hell, and the answers were too alluring to stop asking. “What else should I expect when you say different powers?” she asked instead, her voice laced with exhaustion, „The healing bit sounds pretty cool already“.

Wanheda chuckled softly. “I’ll have you know that everything about me is really cool. Alas, a rather noticeable difference will be our speed and strength. It is the same for Fleimhedas vessels. We get faster, stronger, our senses improve and our instincts grow.“ 

Clarke couldn’t help but think of those old-world superhero movies. Would she be a villain or one of the heroes?

„As for the rest, there are too many possibilities to name, and many I do not wish to speak off unless you are one of the unlucky few to need them. Though there are some I expect you to unlock at some point. Like — we can blend into the shadows, sometimes even travel through them, we can call on ghosts to aid our fight, we can spread an underlying aura of death and despair to our enemies. But alas, nothing is certain“

Clarke nodded in comprehension, though she felt incredibly overwhelmed by the onslaught of information Wanheda was giving her.

„So I’ll be like way too OP“, she asserted, because she had no idea what else to say. The words drew another chuckle from Wanheda.

„Not for a while, strikon. And even then we will always be restricted by the cost of our abilities. We’re first and foremost protectors, so of course we also make much greater warriors and healers, but as I said, you’re not invincible, Clarke. Your monblud will aid your healing but while our spirit cannot, your body can die. You cannot forget that“

Clarke stiffened, panic creeping into her voice. Monblud sounded suspiciously like Natblida and she really hoped she was wrong. “What is Monblud?”, she asked slowly, suspiciously.

If a spirit inside ones head could be sheepish, Clarke imagined that that’s exactly how it’d feel.

„I knew there was something I had forgotten. As we merge, your appearance will change. Your skin will pale, your eyes will develop violet limbal rings, and your blood will turn a silvery blue.“

Sensing Clarkes panic at the changes, Wanheda tried their best to soothe her. “It’s subtle,” they reassured her. “You’ll still be you—just a little more… imposing. And much more badass.”

The unexpected expression made Clarke laugh despite herself, and she was rather certain that it was the exact reason Wanheda had chosen that word. 

She leaned back against the tree, her eyelids growing heavy. “Alright, fine. Not like I have much choice anyway,” she mumbled.

“That’s the spirit,” Wanheda teased. “Now rest, ai goufa. Tomorrow will be a long day.” Clarke barely managed a faint hum of acknowledgment before sleep claimed her.

Unsurprisingly, Clarke woke up screaming. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as the remnants of the nightmare clung to her. Her throat burned from the force of her cries, but she was grateful for Wanheda’s calm presence, guiding her through the storm. Slowly, the panic ebbed, leaving her shaky but composed enough to pull herself upright.

Once the tremors in her hands subsided, she forced herself to her feet. The morning air was crisp and biting as she made her way to the dam. The physical act of walking helped steady her, and by the time she reached the water, her breathing had evened out. Kneeling at the edge, she cupped her hands into the cold, clear stream, the icy sting jarring her further awake. She drank deeply, then paused to eat the last scraps of rabbit she had saved from the night before. Her nausea screamed in protest, but she forced down enough to quiet the gnawing in her stomach enough to start her work.

“Once we’re done, you’re going to need weapons,” Wanheda told her. “You’ll need to learn how to fight and hunt properly before you go back.”

Clarke nodded wordlessly, brushing the dirt off her hands before turning toward the mountain. Wanheda might’ve been planning for the after, but Clarke couldn’t yet focus on it.

The massive steel entrance of the mountain loomed ahead, dwarfing her and making her feel as small as she did the first time she entered.

Her breath hitched as her gaze swept across the fields littered with the bodies of fallen warriors. She knew what waited inside would be far worse.

“Take a breath, strikon,” Wanheda urged gently. “I’ll be with you all the way.”

Clarke drew in a shaky breath, trying to steel herself. “Let’s do this,” she said, bracing herself to enter the tomb ahead of her.

The key card in her hand felt unnervingly cold as she swiped it through the lock. The heavy doors groaned open, revealing the hollow silence of the mountain’s interior. The bunker seemed frozen in time, just as it had been two days ago when she sealed it. 

(Had it only been two days? She was such a different person to the last time she’d entered the place).

The stillness was oppressive, and though the halls were empty, she couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes on her.

“How about starting outside?” Wanheda suggested softly, sensing the tension radiating through Clarke’s body.

Clarke exhaled through her nose, nodding stiffly. She mentally listed the supplies she needed: needles, thread, water, wood for the grounders’ pyres.

As great as starting outside sounded, she needed to find whatever she needed inside first.

She began with Level Three. The search felt mechanical, the repetition of moving through rooms keeping her thoughts from wandering. Her hands worked swiftly, grabbing a needle and thread from the supply shelves, followed by a bucket and a clean rag. She filled the bucket at one of the sinks, the sound of running water a stark reminder of the life that once filled this place.

Discarded belongings lay scattered throughout the rooms: a child’s drawing pinned to a wall, a pair of shoes kicked under a chair, a book left open on a nightstand. Clarke’s throat tightened, her grip on the bucket turning white-knuckled. She tore her gaze away and quickened her pace, determined to make it back outside before the ghosts of the mountain overtook her.

A shovel leaned against the wall near the exit, and she grabbed it on her way out, grateful for the weight of it in her hands. It would save her the agony of digging by hand—a small mercy, but one she welcomed.

Outside, the air smelled of damp earth and decay. Clarke inhaled sharply and set to work.

The strain of the labor was immediate and unrelenting and oh so welcomed. Stitching the bodies back together demanded precision, her fingers aching as they worked the needle through flesh stiff with rigor mortis. Cleaning them was a different challenge. The rag became heavy and soaked as she scrubbed away blood and grime that had settled into every crevice of their skin. Each stroke of her arm sent pain shooting through her shoulders, but she leaned into it, letting the physical strain drown out the churning in her mind.

Her back ached as she carried the cleaned bodies one by one to the side of the field, arranging them neatly for the pyres she would build later. The weight of each corpse was staggering, even those of the smallest warriors, but she refused to stop. The fire in her muscles dulled the sting of her thoughts, giving her something tangible to focus on.

Wanheda stayed silent as Clarke worked, offering her the stillness she craved. She wiped dirt and blood from lifeless faces as though the action could wipe the stain from her own soul, smoothing out tangled hair. She forced herself not to look too closely, not to think about the lives these bodies once held.

When she finally retrieved the shovel, the first scoop of dirt felt like lifting a mountain. The earth was dense and stubborn, each thrust of the blade requiring every ounce of strength she had left. Sweat dripped down her face, mingling with the dirt smudged across her skin.

“You need to rest, strikon,” Wanheda’s voice broke the silence before Clarke had gotten through even half of the first grave, gentle but firm.

Clarke froze, the shovel slipping slightly in her grip. “I’m not done,” she muttered.

“You’ve done enough for today,” Wanheda pressed. “Go to the dam. I’ll teach you how to catch fish, and we’ll gather berries. You’ve done so well, strikon.”

Her body betrayed her before her will could argue. Her arms trembled, her legs feeling like lead. The sharp ache in her back refused to be ignored, and her vision blurred with exhaustion.

“I’m not…” she started, but the words died on her tongue. She could barely stand, let alone finish the task ahead. Reluctantly, she dropped the shovel and staggered toward the dam, her footsteps unsteady.

Tomorrow, she thought, her mind foggy with fatigue, tomorrow she could continue.

And she did, it took her a total of 11 days to rid the mountain off the death inside and around and honor the dead. When night fell, Wanheda would coerce her away from her work, and when the sun rose she’d soothe the trembling girl, who’d wake up to screams of the dead and guilt gnawing at her. 

While Wanheda did her best to keep the girl alive, she barely managed to take care of herself. She didn’t eat or sleep a lot and the physically taxing work was slowly draining her energy. Every day her body ached more, not used to the amount of physical exertion. 

But as the last bodies were buried, the reaper tunnels cleared and shut down, Clarke got a minute to soothe her mind. Walking through the forest to collect wood for the fires was almost therapeutic after the 1.5 weeks she had spend surrounded by the dead. And when the fires burnt and her bones were aching, she thought she felt a flicker of peace.

“Wanheda?” Clarke’s voice was soft, almost tentative. She stood at the base of the mountain, her clothes streaked with grime and her skin peppered with small cuts and bruises from days of grueling work. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but her eyes held a quiet resolve.

“Sha, strikon?” Wanheda’s voice was steady, ever-present. “Are there any fields nearby? With flowers?”

The spirit fell silent for a moment, as if searching through the terrain. Then, like a soft breeze brushing past, Wanheda spoke again. “There is one. Follow me.”

Clarke trudged along the path Wanheda guided her to — a strange nudge within her mind that told her when to turn — the soles of her boots crunching against loose stones and dried leaves. Her muscles protested with every step, but something in her chest—perhaps a flicker of hope—kept her moving. The air grew sweeter as they rounded the mountain, and soon the world seemed to open before her.

A field stretched out like a vivid tapestry, bursting with a riot of colors. Daisies and buttercups swayed alongside patches of lavender and wild roses. Vibrant reds, delicate whites, deep purples, and sunny yellows painted the landscape in a mesmerizing array. The sight was so sudden, so starkly beautiful against the somber backdrop of the mountain, that Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.

She fell to her knees at the edge of the field, tears welling in her eyes. For a moment, she simply sat there, letting the gentle hum of life seep into her bones. She had almost forgotten that the world outside the mountain, despite everything, continued to thrive.

Carefully, as though she might disturb the peace, Clarke began her task. She knelt in the soft earth, her fingers trembling as they dug into the soil to extract the flowers by their roots. She handled each bloom as delicately as a newborn, ensuring the roots remained intact. One by one, she laid them gently in her arms, their colors bright against the dingy fabric of her clothes.

When her arms were full, she made her way back to the graves. The flowers seemed almost to glow in the fading light as she planted them, tucking their roots into the freshly turned soil atop each grave. With every bloom she pressed into the earth, she whispered silent prayers for the souls of the mountain. Life and death, she thought. An endless cycle. She would ensure the spirits would find peace, moving on from this place.

The graves and pyres were dotted with color now, vibrant and alive. She stood for a long moment, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter than it had been in days.

But she wasn’t finished yet.

Clarke turned back toward the mountain one last time. Inside, the air was as still and heavy as ever. She moved quickly, her path lit only by the dim emergency lights until she reached the archive room. She rummaged through the shelves and storage bins until her fingers brushed cool, familiar shapes: bottles of spray paint. Gathering an armful, she exited the mountain and shut the doors firmly behind her.

She set the bottles down and stepped back, surveying the closed entrance. For a long moment, she stared at the massive steel door, her mind churning. “What flower represents hope and endings?” she wondered aloud.

Wanheda’s voice came thoughtful. “I couldn’t tell you a single flower that does both. But chrysanthemums are often used to say goodbye. Lilies symbolize mourning and loss. The daffodil, blooming in early spring, represents new beginnings and hope. That’s why it’s our symbol. Irises, too—they stand for hope, faith, and wisdom.”

As Wanheda spoke, images of each flower appeared in Clarke’s mind like flashes of memory. She nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as inspiration took hold.

She grabbed one of the spray cans and began to paint. The hiss of the spray echoed faintly in the silence, and the smell of paint mingled with the cool evening air. Her hands worked with purpose, the rough steel door transforming under her touch. She painted a wreath first, a vivid halo of chrysanthemums, lilies, and irises, their petals overlapping and intertwining. In the center of the wreath, she added a single daffodil, its yellow bloom bright.

When she finished, she stepped back, her chest rising and falling as she took in her work. The wreath was striking, a symbol of loss and renewal, of remembrance and hope. The daffodil at its heart stood as a promise for a better future. It was both a warning and a plea—to leave the mountain be, to let the past remain buried.

“This,” she murmured, her voice steady, “this will be the sign of Wanheda.”

She smiled faintly, the first smile she’d felt in what seemed like an eternity. No-one would be entering the mountain again.

Chapter Text

The forest was alive with the subtle hum of life: the distant trill of birdsong, the whisper of wind through the leaves, the crackle of a branch somewhere far off. Clarke crouched on a thick branch high in the canopy, her breath slow and deliberate as she watched the forest floor below. The sun filtered through the treetops in streaks of gold and green, but her prey moved just outside the light, its silhouette blending into the shadows.

Her muscles coiled like a bowstring, ready to strike. Two months had passed since she left Arcadia, but it felt like a lifetime. The girl who had stumbled into the wilderness, trembling and unsure, was gone. In her place was someone leaner, harder—a hunter in the truest sense.

Her hair, once a cascade of soft blonde waves, was now dyed a fierce red, the color pulled into practical braids that framed her face and kept the strands from her eyes. Her skin, once golden from the sun, had grown pale, almost unnaturally so. It carried a faint bluish undertone that reminded Clarke of ice-water—cold, sharp, and unyielding. Wanheda had told her it would only deepen with time as they continued to merge. Clarke didn’t mind. It was just one more part of the person she was becoming.

A bow was strapped across her back, its polished wood glinting faintly in the dappled sunlight. Beside it hung a sword, its hilt worn but reliable. Two knives were sheathed at her hips, the weight of them comforting. She hadn’t wanted to take the weapons at first. The idea of scavenging them from the dead warriors at the mountain had felt like another betrayal. But Wanheda had been firm.

“The dead have no use for weapons,” they’d said, their voice sharp but not unkind. “You, strikon, do. And if you want to survive, you’ll take what they’ve left behind.”

Now, Clarke couldn’t imagine life without them.

The leather armor she wore creaked softly as she shifted her weight, adjusting for a better view. The dark brown material hugged her frame, worn supple from weeks of use. It was far better than the ragged clothes she’d left Arcadia with, traded from a merchant — her name was Niylah — at a post maybe an hours’ journey from her current position.

Below her, the prey moved again—a flash of fur and muscle. Clarke’s eyes narrowed. She inhaled, steadying herself, and pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back. The motion was fluid, practiced, as natural now as breathing.

“Wait for it,” Wanheda’s voice murmured in her mind. Clarke felt the spirit’s presence like a faint heat at her back, a constant companion in the vast solitude of the wilderness. “Breathe with the forest, strikon. Let it guide you.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, her heartbeat steadying. The forest seemed to quiet around her, as though it too was holding its breath.

The animal stepped into the light—a deer, its ears twitching, its muscles taut with wariness. Clarke pulled the bowstring back, feeling the tension in her arms. She focused on the space just behind its shoulder, the place Wanheda had taught her to aim for. The lessons played in her mind like a mantra: Take the shot only when you’re ready. Never rush. The forest rewards patience.

When the moment came, she loosed the arrow. It flew swift and true, striking the deer with a dull thud. The animal staggered, its legs giving way as it collapsed into the underbrush. Clarke watched for a moment, ensuring the kill was clean, before she climbed down from the tree.

Her boots hit the forest floor with a soft thud, and she moved toward the deer. „Yu gomplei ste udon“ she murmured. Wanheda remained silent, offering only the faint warmth of approval.

This was her life now: hunting, surviving, learning. Clarke didn’t recognize the person she had been before all this, the girl who had once believed she could fix everything, who thought the world could be saved without sacrifice. That girl was gone, lost in the blood and ash of Mount Weather.

And yet, as Clarke prepared to carry her prize back to the trading post, she couldn’t bring herself to mourn the loss. The forest had taught her that survival was its own kind of hope.

The forest was quieter now, as though it had gone still in respect for the life just taken. Clarke trudged through the undergrowth, the weight of the deer slung over her shoulder a dull ache that pressed into her muscles.

But there was something else—a prickling at the back of her neck, a shift in the air that set her teeth on edge.

She paused, her breath caught in her throat. The forest had changed. No birdsong, no rustle of small creatures moving in the brush. Just quiet. Predatory. And she didn’t feel like the predator this time around.

Wanheda’s voice sounded in her mind, sharp as the edge of her blade.

“Strikon, drop the deer.”

The warning came just as a growl echoed from the shadows. Clarke spun, her grip tightening on the deer’s legs, but she wasn’t fast enough. The wolf lunged from the darkness, a blur of gray fur and snapping teeth. Its weight slammed into her with brutal force, knocking her off balance and dragging her to the ground.

Pain bloomed across her abdomen, hot and immediate, as claws raked through her armor and into flesh. Clarke gasped, her hand scrambling for the knife at her side. Blood—her own—spattered onto the leaves as she finally yanked the blade free.

The wolf snarled, its breath hot against her face, its teeth snapping inches from her neck. Clarke thrust the knife upward in a desperate arc, the blade sinking into the animal’s side. It yelped, the sound high and pained, and its weight shifted as it staggered back.

Clarke rolled to her feet, clutching her abdomen with one hand and keeping the knife ready in the other. The wolf circled her, limping now, its eyes gleaming with a mix of hunger and fury. Blood dripped from its side, staining the ground beneath it.

She wanted to finish it. The thought burned in her mind, primal and fierce: Don’t leave it alive. It’ll only come back. But her vision swam, the pain in her stomach flaring with every breath. Warm blood seeped between her fingers, soaking into her armor.

The wolf must have sensed her hesitation. With a final growl, it turned and bolted into the trees, its movements uneven but fast enough to disappear into the shadows. Clarke staggered, her knife still raised, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Don’t chase it,” Wanheda’s voice cut through the haze of pain, steady and firm, though laced with an undercurrent of worry. “You’ll only waste energy. You need to stop the bleeding, strikon.”

Clarke bit back a curse, her hand pressed against the gash across her abdomen. She grabbed the linen cloth she’d taken to wearing for exactly this reason, wrapping it tightly around her torso, a makeshift bandage already darkening with blood. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it might get her to the trading post—and to her cave beyond—before the worst set in.

The deer lay a few paces away, its lifeless form an irritating reminder to her effort and she refused to leave it behind. She staggered over, swaying slightly, and hauled it onto her shoulder with a strangled gasp. The weight of it pressed into her wound, sending a fresh surge of pain up her spine, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

The forest blurred around her, colors bleeding into one another as the edges of her vision darkened as she was walking. Blood loss was making her lightheaded, and the warmth soaking into her clothes felt truthfully disgusting.

She was in desperate need of a bath.

“Can you make it to the trading post?” Wanheda asked, their tone deceptively calm, though Clarke could feel the tension underlying their question.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her voice tight with strain. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about it.”

Even as the words left her lips, she winced, the agony flaring as her arm shifted under the deer’s weight. She forced herself onward, feet dragging over the uneven ground.

Clarke winced again, thankful for the training Wanheda had put her through over the past two months. Otherwise she was certain she would’ve dropped the deer right there. 

Admittedly, the endless drills, the relentless conditioning that had left her sore and gasping for breath day after day. Running up hills with stones strapped to her back, pushups until her arms gave out, swimming against the river’s unyielding current. At the time, it had felt more like punishment than preparation.

“You hated it,” Wanheda’s voice broke through her thoughts, tinged with something almost like amusement.

“Only because it sucked,” Clarke shot back, rolling her eyes. Talking helped, even if it was just to the spirit in her head.

“But it made you strong,” they pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah.” She didn’t argue. She knew they were right, even if she loathed to admit it outright. Without that grueling routine, she doubted she’d still be standing, let alone hauling a deer and bleeding her way through the forest.

Hoping to shift the conversation, she nudged them mentally. “Is there anything specific you want me to trade for today?”

Wanheda hummed thoughtfully. “Throwing knives. The ones you’ve been using aren’t meant for it. You need better tools if you want accuracy.”

Clarke gritted her teeth, her mind flashing back to her training sessions with makeshift weapons, knives that didn’t balance right and refused to fly true. “Fine. Throwing knives. Anything else?”

“Not unless you want me to nag you about drawing supplies again,” they teased, though their tone softened as Clarke hissed at a fresh jolt of pain. Clarke rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been nagging the spirit, only pointing out that drawing supplies should definitely count as necessity one way or another.

Alright, she might’ve been whining, but whatever. And Wanheda had agreed. If it was more agreement among the lines of It might do you well to draw your nightmares for therapeutic reasons, well, Clarke didn’t really care.

She shifted the weight of the deer on her shoulder, her muscles trembling with the effort. A familiar ache settled deep in her bones, and she found herself trying to think of anything but the pain.

Her thoughts automatically turned to Niylah and the trading post. A month ago, she’d killed two panthers and traded their pelts for winter supplies: thick leathers and, hopefully, a fur coat. She remembered the warmth in Niylah’s gaze, the way her eyes lingered just a moment too long.

“I can appreciate beauty where I see it, Klarke,” Niylah had said with a shrug, her tone casual but her meaning unmistakable. “If you’re ever interested in sharing your beauty anyway.”

Clarke had stammered a silent “mochof” before practically fleeing the post, her cheeks burning. Since then, Niylah’s looks had grown more pointed, her compliments more open. It wasn’t unwelcome. If anything, Clarke sometimes caught herself considering it, and Clarke was pretty sure Niylah had noticed that as well.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Wanheda interrupted her thoughts, their tone suggestive.

“Don’t start,” Clarke warned, her voice tight as she adjusted her grip on the deer.

The spirit chuckled. “You’re the one who keeps thinking about it. Maybe you should listen to her advice.”

„I’m not looking for a relationship, Wanheda. And for an ancient spirit you’re a horrible gossip“, she chuckled, only to hiss in pain when the movement jostled her abdomen uncomfortably.

Wanheda simply shrugged at that. „After eons of being alive, I need to get my amusement from somewhere. And I’m aware you don’t want a relationship. But as Niylah pointed out so kindly before, sex doesn’t need romantic feelings.“

Clarke didn’t respond, but her lips tingled at the thought of a kiss she couldn’t forget, green eyes flashing across her mind like ghosts. Wanheda said sleeping with Niylah might help her forget. Clarke said Wanheda was full of it.

She also happened to agree.

Shaking her head to clear it, Clarke forced her focus back to the present. The trading post was close, the trees thinning ahead to reveal its familiar structure. She shifted the deer one last time, her grip steady despite the burning in her abdomen.

Clarke waited for a while, making sure nobody but Niylah was present before entering the small building. She wasn't too keen on anyone recognizing her, especially when she was injured.

The bleeding from the injury had slowed down during the track, but not enough to fully stop. The advanced healing was something she had learned to appreciate over the past months, and with every passing day her injuries started healing quicker.

Which (sadly) meant that Wanheda also pushed her body further with every passing day.

Seeing no-one around the trading post and unable to hear anyone but Niylah walk around inside, she made her way over to the building, knocking on the door before entering.

“You’re injured.” Niylah’s sharp gaze locked onto Clarke the moment she stepped inside.

Clarke shrugged, though the movement sent a fresh stab of pain through her abdomen. “It’s nothing. You should see the other one,” she quipped, raising the deer in a mock display of triumph.

Niylah sighed, her exasperation clear as she took the deer from Clarke’s hands. “Pretty sure this one didn’t fight back,” she remarked dryly, her eyes lingering on the blood seeping through Clarke’s tunic.

“It’s big, though,” Niylah continued, running her hands over the animal’s weight. “What do you want for it?” She disappeared into the backroom before Clarke could answer, leaving the huntress to scan the shelves.

Clarke called out, loud enough to be heard over the sounds of Niylah’s preparations. “You mean on top of the meat from my last kill and that coat you promised?”

Niylah’s voice carried from the back. “Those are still tied to your last kill, Klarke. You must need something.” She reappeared moments later, balancing bundles of meat and a folded coat in her arms.

Clarke’s face lit up despite herself. “You got it done!” Her excitement made her sway on her feet, and she winced as a fresh surge of pain lanced through her side.

“Anything for my favorite customer,” Niylah purred, her gaze trailing over Clarke’s form before settling pointedly on the blood soaking her tunic. For a moment, Clarke was thankful her blood still looked normal; she wasn’t ready to explain any changes to anyone.

“Sit,” Niylah ordered firmly, nodding toward a nearby bench. “Let me clean that before we talk business.”

“I’m fine,” Clarke began, though her protest faltered as Wanheda nudged at the back of her mind. The spirit was quiet during most of Clarke’s interactions at the trading post, but she could feel their smug satisfaction now, practically daring her to refuse the help.

Recognizing a losing battle, Clarke sighed and relented. “Moba. That’d actually be... kind of you.”

Niylah smiled, her expression softening as she led Clarke through a door into the private part of her home. “This way,” she said, guiding her toward a small but tidy bathroom near the back of the house.

Clarke sat heavily on the edge of the tub, her movements stiff as her injuries protested.

“Can you take the shirt off? I’ll grab some cloth,” Niylah said, disappearing briefly.

Clarke peeled off her leather armor and tunic with care, biting back a hiss as the motion pulled at her wounds. The gashes reached higher than she’d realized, slicing through the bindings around her chest. For a moment, she debated removing them entirely, but decided to leave them in place. If Niylah needed them off, she’d say so.

The bathroom glowed softly in the flickering light of several candles scattered around the room. Clarke almost made a comment to Wanheda about the ambiance, but a quick mental check revealed the spirit had retreated to the farthest corner of her mind, respectfully silent—or deliberately uninterested.

She rolled her eyes at their absence, smirking faintly. Coward.

“I couldn’t find the needles right away,” Niylah said as she returned, closing the door behind her. “Sorry for the wait.”

Clarke nodded, keeping still as Niylah knelt beside her and began working.

Niylah’s hands were steady but gentle, her touch careful as she cleaned the blood from Clarke’s skin. When the needle pierced tender flesh, Clarke barely flinched, though the pain was a sharp reminder of her condition.

“You’re too reckless,” Niylah muttered, her fingers brushing lightly over the stitched skin. Clarke didn’t answer, lost in the unexpected comfort of Niylah’s care.

That comfort turned to something else as Niylah’s hand lingered, her touch shifting from practical to deliberate. When her lips brushed against Clarke’s abdomen, soft and warm, Clarke froze.

Her breath hitched as Niylah’s kisses trailed upward, stopping just below her bindings. When their noses brushed, Clarke swallowed hard, her throat dry.

“I—” she began, her voice unsteady. “I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

Niylah’s hands settled firmly on her hips, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not love I’m asking for, Klarke.”

For a moment, Clarke hesitated, the world narrowing to the heat of Niylah’s hands and the weight of her gaze. Then, something broke—whether in defiance or surrender, she wasn’t sure. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Niylah’s in a kiss that started soft but quickly turned urgent.

Pain flared in her abdomen as she pressed Niylah against the wall, lifting her with a groan that was part agony, part relief. The distraction was welcome, and Clarke dearly hoped she wouldn’t be ripping the stitches any time soon.

“Jok,” Clarke muttered as Niylah’s lips moved to her jaw, her legs wrapping around Clarke’s waist.

Somewhere between heated kisses and wandering hands, Clarke carried Niylah to the bedroom, her mind a blur of sensation and fleeting clarity.

But as she laid Niylah down, green eyes flickered across her mind, a memory she couldn’t shake.

“Don’t worry, Wanheda,” Niylah said softly, her fingers brushing Clarke’s cheek, ignoring the way Clarkes muscles went taut as Niylah used her moniker. Her smile was understanding, her voice gentle. “You’re not the only one thinking of someone else.”

The words struck something deep in Clarke, giving her the permission she hadn’t realized she needed.

And as her lips found Niylah’s again, she chased the memory of green eyes.

Niylah woke to an empty bed, the space beside her cold. The faint scent of Clarke still lingered on the sheets—leather, pine, and something faintly metallic. Her fingers brushed over the bruises on her neck and the scratches lining her skin, unbidden memories flashing in vivid detail.

Clarke’s lips against her, her breath hitching as Niylah’s fingers found her rhythm. The huntress trembling, crying out as her body gave in to pleasure, even as her heart clung to someone who wasn’t there.

Niylah sighed, the ache in her chest harder to ignore than the soreness in her limbs. Shaking off the memories, she slid out of bed, gathering the discarded clothing strewn across the room. She knew what last night had been—needed comfort, a brief respite—but she’d hoped it might mean something more. Not love, but at least not loneliness.

As she pulled on her shirt, a faint noise from the front room made her pause. Her heart jumped, her body going rigid. She was certain she had locked the door before disappearing into the back with Clarke.

Dressing quickly, she moved toward the source of the sound, ready for anything—or so she thought.

When she entered the room, her tension melted into surprise. Clarke stood there, a sheepish smile on her face and two bowls of steaming porridge with berries balanced in her hands.

“I couldn’t just leave without saying thank you for stitching me up,” Clarke said, her tone light, though her cheeks betrayed a faint blush. “Would’ve made coming back here... awkward, don’t you think?”

Niylah blinked, then chuckled softly, relief flooding her. She’d half-expected Clarke to vanish before dawn, slipping away without a word.

In truth, Clarke had planned to do exactly that. But Wanheda had intervened, their voice sharp in Clarke’s mind as she reached for the door. You don’t leave without saying thank you. That’s not how you treat someone who helps you—or someone you might call a friend. Especially after spending the night.

Grumbling under her breath, Clarke had relented. And now, here she was, facing Niylah’s soft, knowing smile and hating how often the spirit was right.

Niylah motioned to the small table in the corner, and they settled into a quiet, comfortable rhythm as they ate. The warmth of the porridge was a welcome distraction from the awkwardness that lingered in the air.

After a while, Clarke broke the silence. “How long did you know?” she asked, her tone cautious. “Who I am, I mean.”

Niylah paused mid-bite, setting her spoon down as she considered the question. “I don’t know exactly. Probably the third or fourth time you came here. Your hair hadn’t been re-dyed, and I could see the blonde peeking through.” Her lips quirked into a slight smirk. “Besides, everyone’s heard a description of Wanheda by now.”

Clarke nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. She’d known she couldn’t stay hidden forever, especially with scouts from every clan searching for her. Still, hearing it confirmed made her stomach twist.

“I know there were scouts here,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on her bowl. “Looking for me. You didn’t tell them.”

Niylah shrugged, her expression softening. “I care about you, Klarke. Not just because you saved my nontu from the mountain, but because I’ve grown to like you as a person. I’m not going to give you up—not when it’s clear you have your reasons for staying hidden.”

Clarke blinked, her throat tightening. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve someone like Niylah—a steady presence in the chaos of her life—but she was grateful all the same.

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips as she looked at Niylah. “Mochof.”

Niylah’s smile in return was soft, understanding, „Pro“.

Clarke ran for her life, her breaths ragged as Azgeda scouts pursued her through the dense forest. Branches whipped at her face, and the thud of boots behind her spurred her on, but every step was agony.

It had been four or five months since she’d found a friend in Niylah. In that time, their bond had deepened in ways Clarke hadn’t expected. Niylah’s humor and warmth had become a refuge, even as Clarke’s heart remained tangled in memories of someone else.

One night, Clarke had let her guard down and shared her feelings for Lexa. Niylah had teased her relentlessly after that, grinning as she said, “When you finally get your shit together, remind Heda who taught you to be so good in bed.” Clarke had laughed it off at the time, but the words lingered.

Not that it mattered. Clarke was certain Lexa didn’t feel the same—not really. Lexa’s every gesture of affection was likely calculated, political. Alas, she was pretty certain that the brunette - if they, as improbable as it was, ever were to sleep together - wouldn’t take kindly to finding out that Clarke was very regularly sleeping with someone she was incredibly close with.

Not that it was any of her business after she left Clarke at the mountain. 

And the point was, it’s not like she didn’t understand Lexas decision. It might’ve taken a while, but she wasn’t really mad about it anymore. No, what did hurt was the personal betrayal. She had been so sure the brunette had felt about her the same way she did about her, but then Lexa left her for her people.

If you love someone like that, don’t they become your people too? She thought sometimes. I care for you my ass, the more vicious part of her would reply, always ignoring the small, rebellious part of her, buried deep, that refused to accept that. That part always whispered, Your scars.

Soulmates were bullshit anyway, she lied to herself. What use was a kiss could make scars vanish, when they could still betray you, when their betrayal could make the scare return. She’d thought the tales were nothing more than fables until Lexa, and she wouldn’t mind going back to that.

Either way, the faint lines that ghosted her skin were no longer faint. They were reminders of a betrayal she had thought she could forgive, but couldn’t quite forget, so she tried to convince herself they existed because there had never been a soulmate to begin with.

The amount of scars she had collected over the past few months did actually help with that.

“DUCK!”

Wanheda’s sharp shout yanked her from her thoughts, and Clarke barely managed to drop beneath an arrow that whizzed past, close enough to brush her hair.

“Jok,” she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to run faster.

Normally, she could outrun scouts. Her training over the past months had honed her speed and agility, but the ambush had caught her off guard. She hadn’t even woken up until one of them was on top of her, his sword leaving a deep gash across her back as she rolled away.

Breaking free from their circle had only worsened things. Blood streamed from the wound, and two arrows were embedded in her thigh. Each step sent fire through her legs, and dizziness crept in, threatening to pull her under.

She swerved sharply, hearing the hiss of a knife cutting through the air. She leapt down an embankment, tumbling into the dirt below.

Her landing was far from graceful. She stumbled, the world spinning as her body fought to keep upright. Dizzy and unsteady, she didn’t notice the next arrow until it was too late.

It struck her shoulder with brutal force, and she hit the ground hard.

“Jok,” she mumbled again, though her voice was barely a whisper now. She didn’t even register Wanheda’s frantic shouts in her mind as black spots filled her vision. Her body grew heavy, the pain fading into an almost eerie numbness.

As she lay there, the forest spinning above her, one thought surfaced before the darkness claimed her:

Niylah is going to be so pissed.

Chapter Text

Niylah paced back and forth in the front room of her trading post, her hands wringing nervously as thoughts tumbled over one another. Nearly two fortnights had passed since she’d last seen Clarke. Normally, the blonde stopped by every few days, maybe stretching to a fortnight if something kept her away, so this felt horribly wrong.

Her mind raced through the possibilities. Was Clarke simply delayed? Caught up in one of her pursuits? Or had something worse happened? Niylah chewed her lip, trying to decide what to do. If Clarke was just busy, she’d surely be furious if Niylah sent word to Heda’s scouts unnecessarily. But if something had happened…

The sharp creak of the door startled her, yanking her from her spiraling thoughts. She quickly smoothed her expression and turned to greet the new arrivals with a practiced smile. “Sonop. How can I help you?”

A group of figures entered, their presence heavy and commanding. Weapons and armor gleamed in the dim light, their Trikru markings unmistakable. Niylah’s stomach tightened, but she kept her expression calm as one of them stepped forward, clad in dark cloth with a hood obscuring their face.

“I need you to tell me if you’ve seen this girl.” The voice was steady, though there was a distinct edge to it. The hooded figure held out a drawing, but Niylah didn’t need to look to know who it depicted. Clarke.

Her heart thudded painfully, but she forced herself to meet the speaker’s gaze evenly. “If someone stays hidden for so long,” she said carefully, her chin lifting slightly, “maybe they don’t want to be found.”

The tension in the room spiked instantly. The warriors surrounding the hooded figure shifted, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. Despite the threat, Niylah stood her ground. She wasn’t about to give anything away without knowing who she was dealing with.

“Who is looking for her?” she asked, her voice steady despite the way her pulse raced.

The hooded figure raised a hand, signaling the others to stand down. They obeyed immediately. Then, the figure pushed back their hood.

The sight stole the breath from Niylah’s lungs. The woman who stepped forward was no ordinary warrior. Her piercing green eyes and commanding presence were unmistakable.

“Heda,” Niylah whispered, her voice barely audible.

Four Months Ago

A knife whistled through the air, embedding itself in the bullseye with a sharp thunk. Lexa stood in the center of the ring, surrounded by targets. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths, sweat dampening her brow. She reached for another blade, her movements precise but heavy with exhaustion.

“You know, not sleeping won’t solve your problems, Leksa.”

The voice cut through the quiet, startling her. Lexa spun to find Anya leaning casually against a nearby tree, arms crossed but eyes sharp with concern.

“What do you need, Onya?” Lexa asked, her tone clipped as she turned back to the targets.

Anya raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been working yourself into the ground. Skipping meals, barely sleeping, throwing yourself into training. That’s not strength, Leksa. It’s avoidance.”

Lexa didn’t respond immediately. She steadied her grip on the next knife, throwing it with enough force to make the target wobble. “What I need,” she said, voice tight, “is to get the coalition back in line. Ever since the mountain…” Her words faltered, vivid memories rushing in—blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, a desperate plea for her to stay. She shoved the memory aside. “The clans want blood. They’re angry that we spared the Maunon. They’re calling for war, and I need to—”

“To what?” Anya interrupted, her tone blunt but not unkind. “Talk them out of it? Reason with ambassadors who see only vengeance?”

Lexa pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to meet Anya’s gaze. Jus drein jus daun. The familiar words echoed in her mind, the bitter refrain of the coalition. But another memory fought for attention—blue eyes blazing with anger and contempt for that very saying.

“I can’t give them war,” Lexa finally admitted, her voice quieter. “If we go back to fight now, we would have left the mountain for nothing. And that would mean—” She stopped herself, throat tightening. It would mean Clarke had died for nothing.

Anya shifted, suddenly looking uneasy, a rare sight for the formidable warrior. “Yeah, about that…”

Lexa glanced at her, brow furrowing. “What is it?”

“Some Skaikru came to TonDC,” Anya said, her tone careful. “Waving guns around like they own the place.”

Lexa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I expected retaliation sooner. Surprising it took them this long.”

“They weren’t the ones left behind in Arcadia,” Anya said, drawing Lexa’s full attention. “Apparently, the mountain fell.”

The words hit like a blow. Lexa’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, it fell? How—”

“I don’t have all the details,” Anya interrupted, her tone more subdued. “But from what I gathered, Clarke went into the mountain. Alone. After we left.”

Lexa’s breath hitched. Her chest tightened at the sound of Clarke’s name, at the thought of her going back, knowing she would lose. Or should have, because apparently she had triumphed. “She didn’t listen,” Lexa whispered, more to herself than Anya. “She—what happened?”

Anya hesitated, as though considering how much to say. “She tried using Dante Wallace as leverage to get her people back. When his son refused to cooperate… she shot him. Made Cage listen.”

Lexa’s stomach twisted. She gestured for Anya to continue, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more.

“Cage started drilling into Skaikru,” Anya explained, her words carefully measured. “I don’t know exactly how, but Clarke managed to stop him. She killed the Maunon.”

Lexa stared at her, shock rendering her speechless. She didn’t remember the last time she had felt so relieved yet desperate at the same time. Relieved, because maybe this meant Clarke was alive, that she was okay. But at the same time she hated herself for leaving more than ever before, hated even more how the thought of the girl despising her for what she had done hurt so much more than thinking she had died.

„When you say killed the maunon, do you mean their warriors?“ Anya shook her head. “No, I mean all of them,” Anya added quietly. “Almost four hundred dead. If what Skaikru said is true, she ended them all.”

Lexa felt like the ground beneath her had vanished. Clarke, who had been haunted by TonDC, who had carried the weight of Finn’s death and the ring of fire, had done this? She couldn’t imagine the cost to Clarke’s soul. She had never felt worse about a decision. And the worst part was that she’d do it again, because her people must always come first. 

But isn’t she your people too?  Whispered a voice in her head. She told it to shut up, rather focusing on that small part of her, selfish and desperate, that felt relieved. Clarke was alive. Clarke hadn’t lost her people, her family

“What do they want?” she asked, her voice flat, forcing herself back to the present.

Anya shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the interesting part. They’re demanding we return Klarke to them. They say, even if she committed war crimes, it was in Skaikru’s conflict, not ours. That any punishment should come from her people.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened at the idea of punishing Clarke at all, let alone handing her over to Skaikru. “But we don’t have Klarke.”

“I know,” Anya said, her expression uneasy. “Apparently, she didn’t return to Arcadia. No one’s seen her since the mountain.”

For the second time that morning, Lexa felt her world crack. Clarke was gone. Truly gone. And this time, there was no map to lead her back.

Abby growled at Lexa as she stormed into the tent, ready to throw hands. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and only Marcus’s firm grip on her shoulder kept her from striking the Commander on sight. „Where is my daughter“, the woman hissed, voice dripping in frustration.

Just as Indra moved to intercept, her hand inching toward her sword, Lexa raised a calm hand to stop her. The Commander’s piercing gaze met Abby’s head-on. “We don’t have her, Abby kom Skaikru.”

Abby’s face twisted in disbelief, her voice rising. “What do you mean you don’t have her? Where is she?”

Lexa fought to maintain her composure, though Abby’s words mirrored her own gnawing fears. “As you were informed when you arrived, I have no knowledge of Clarke’s whereabouts,” she said evenly, though her throat tightened around the sound of Clarke’s name spoken in Gonasleng. It felt wrong.

“You mean since you betrayed us?” Raven’s voice was sharp, accusatory, as she spoke up from behind Abby.

Lexa tensed at the reminder, guilt flaring hot in her chest. “Since I made the decision to retreat, yes,” she admitted, her tone clipped. She tried to ignore the voice in her mind that whispered: You betrayed her. It’s your fault Clarke is gone.

“Leksa, be calm,” the soothing voice of Becca Praimheda echoed in her thoughts. “You chose with your head, not your heart. Stand by your choice.”

Lexa forced a breath, drawing herself upright. “I cannot tell you where Clarke is because I do not know,” she stated firmly. Her voice betrayed none of the turmoil she felt, at least she hoped. “If that is all, I ask that you leave. Consider yourselves fortunate I am allowing this confrontation to pass.”

Predictably, Abby surged forward again, but Marcus restrained her with a firm hand. “Abby, she’s not here,” he said softly. “Don’t start a war we can’t win. Clarke wouldn’t want this.”

The words seemed to deflate her. Abby’s body sagged as if the fight had drained from her entirely. “You’re right,” she muttered bitterly, her glare still fixed on Lexa. “But I swear, if I find out that one of your people hurt her…”

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but clear. Rationally Lexa was aware that there was nothing Abby could do, but she couldn’t suppress the slight shudder. A mothers anger was, truly, one of the most dangerous things she could encounter.

“No one under my command has harmed her or will harm her,” Lexa replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “You have my word.”

Abby scoffed, a humorless sound. “Forgive me if your word doesn’t mean much.” Despite her bitterness, she nodded sharply and turned toward the exit. Her companions began to follow her, but Raven lingered, her face set in defiance.

“Raven,” Marcus warned. “Let it go.”

But Raven had already stepped forward, her sharp gaze locking onto Lexa. “No, Kane. Not this time.” Her voice was low, trembling with restrained fury.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for the storm to hit.

“You stand there in your armor, acting like none of this matters. Like you’re above it all. But look at me, Heda, and tell me you don’t care. Look at me and tell me you’re not worried about where Clarke is. Look at me and tell me you don’t care that you’re the reason my best friend might be dead!”

Lexa flinched imperceptibly, the words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. Still, Raven pressed on, and it would’ve been far kinder if she had been screaming.

“You can pretend all you want, but I saw you two at the mountain,” Raven continued, her voice shaking with emotion. „You spend so many days planning, spend so much time around each other, so look at me and tell me that Clarke meant, means, nothing to you. You might act like a cold hearted bitch, but I refuse to believe you don’t care about Clarke. I saw her scars vanish before the mountain, and I saw them return after you left“

The admission drew several choked gasps from those surrounding the pair, and if possible the Skaikru looked even more murderous at the prospect of Lexa breaking Clarkes heart than they did at the betrayal itself. Lexa couldn’t fault them for that.

„If I hadn’t taken you for a fucking monster after you send those warriors after us, thought you were heartless when you had Finn executed and cruel when you cut into my flash for nothing, betraying your soulmate would’ve done it“.

Lexa flinched back, having her failures and doubts thrown at her face.

“I saw the way Clarke looked at you, the hope in her eyes. I hated you for all you have done, but Clarke didn’t. She always understood. She believed in you. And you—” her voice cracked— “you left her. You left her to do what she did. You let her bear the weight of genocide because you couldn’t face the mountain yourself.”

The tent fell silent, save for Raven’s uneven breaths. Around them, Skaikru and Trikru alike watched, stunned by the intensity of her words. Even Indra seemed momentarily taken aback.

“If something happens to her,” Raven finished, her voice trembling with unshed tears, “I will never forgive you. Not for leaving her, not for making her go through this alone. I think you’re cold and cruel but Clarke didn’t think so, so I need you— I need you to prove her right because if Clarke was wrong about you that means I’ve lost my best friend and I won’t accept that. Please, prove she wasn’t wrong to trust you. Or admit that you are the reason Clarke is gone.”

Lexa stared at Raven, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the weight of the room seemed unbearable.

“Out,” Lexa growled finally, her voice low and dangerous. “Everyone but Raven and Anya—GET OUT.”

Indra hesitated, her concern clear, but Lexa’s venomous glare left no room for argument. “Sha, Heda,” she said quietly, bowing before ushering the others out.

Abby lingered at the entrance, her gaze lingering on Lexa as if searching for something. Marcus gently touched her arm, and she relented, following the others outside.

For the first time in weeks, Lexa allowed herself to hope. To fear. To feel.

Once the tent emptied, Lexa descended from the raised dais of her throne, her movements slower, more deliberate, as if the weight of her decisions had physically anchored her. Her hand rested briefly on the carved armrest of her seat, steadying herself.

“Leksa,” the voice of Fleimheda whispered in her mind, calm but cautionary. “Are you certain this is wise? Your duty is to the coalition. They will see this as weakness.”

Lexa shook her head slightly, as if trying to dislodge the doubts clinging to her. “She freed us from the Mountain. I can make them understand,” she murmured inwardly.

The spirit sighed, its tone reluctant but yielding. “I have faith in you, Heda.”

“Leksa?” Anya’s voice drew her attention, a mix of concern and curiosity. The words grounded her, pulling her back to the moment. Lexa blinked, focusing on Raven, who stood with arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

“I cannot do what you ask, Reivon kom Skaikru,” Lexa said at last, her voice even but quieter than usual. “To tell you I don’t care would be to lie about the one thing I know to be true.”

Her admission hung heavy in the air. Raven blinked, startled by the raw honesty, and even Anya’s stoic expression softened in surprise. Lexa stood exposed, the walls she so carefully constructed cracking under the weight of the truth.

“Then why did you send us away?” Raven asked, her voice quieter now, a trace of hurt bleeding into her words. “Why would you act like this doesn’t matter?”

Because I can’t face what I’ve done. Because I’m terrified of what’s happened to her. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I look too closely. The thoughts clamored for release, but Lexa swallowed them back. “I…” Her voice caught, and she forced herself to take a breath. “I need to think carefully about how to proceed. Anything I do now must protect her, not put her at greater risk.”

Raven stepped closer, her anger fading into desperation. “I don’t like you, Commander,” she said bluntly, her eyes hard but wet with unshed tears. “But if there’s even a shred of decency in you, then I’m begging you—help us find her. I need to know she’s safe.”

Lexa’s eyes closed for a moment, the plea striking her deeply. What if helping them puts her in even more danger? whispered her doubt. The voice of the spirit returned, measured and calm. “Consider the outcomes, Leksa. What happens if you don’t act? What will you sacrifice by staying still?”

She began pacing, her mind racing. “If I send scouts for Klarke,” she said aloud, more to herself than anyone, “it will raise questions. My people may see it as a misuse of resources. Gona meant to defend our lands, searching for a Skaigada? I would need an indisputable reason to justify such an action.”

Raven nodded slowly, though frustration lingered in her posture. “That makes sense,” she admitted begrudgingly. “But there has to be a way.”

“It’s not about justifying it to you, Reivon,” Lexa countered. “It’s about the coalition. The other clans. They will not take such a move lightly.”

Anya, who had been silent until now, stepped into Lexa’s path, halting her pacing. “Then don’t frame it as a mere search,” she suggested. “Frame it as an act of diplomacy. Use the alliance—or forge a new one.”

Raven tilted her head, catching on. “If we haven’t broken the alliance,” she reasoned, “could we reinstate it? Or make it stronger? Maybe even convince the coalition it’s worth protecting Clarke.”

Lexa hesitated, her brow furrowed. “A simple alliance may not suffice,” she mused. “But incorporation into the coalition… that could justify action. Yet, I would need a compelling reason to bring Skaikru into the Kongeda. There’s too much hostility, too much blood spilled between us.”

“And what about between Skaikru and Trikru?” Raven retorted, her tone sharper now. “You think my people want to follow your laws any more than your clans want to welcome us? We’ve barely stopped fighting.”

Lexa’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “If Skaikru were to join the coalition, you would not be subject to our laws in all things. Only in dealings between clans. In return, you would gain protection from attack, free travel within the Kongeda, and access to trade.”

Raven’s expression softened slightly at the practicality of the idea. Lexa continued, her voice quieter. “And your tek… your medicine. Clarke told me of its advancements. If not for the deaths, convincing the ambassadors might have been simple.”

“But there have been deaths,” Anya reminded gently. “So convincing them will not be easy.”

“No,” Lexa agreed. “It won’t.”

The three fell into a pensive silence until Raven finally spoke. “If Skaikru were to join, would you help us find Clarke?”

Lexa didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then we need Abby and Kane,” Raven said decisively. “They’ll know how to make this work.”

Lexa nodded, not looking forward to the conversation. “Onya, bring them back.” Her voice regained its commanding edge. “We have much to discuss.”

“I still fail to see how you propose to justify Skaikru’s inclusion in the coalition, Heda,” Indra challenged. “After everything that has transpired, neither side will readily join forces.”

Lexa inhaled deeply, steadying herself as the room pressed against her. She had been here before, defending the indefensible, finding a path where none seemed possible. The voice of Fleimheda lingered in her thoughts, unusually aligned with her own instincts. She had a strategy, even if it didn’t entirely settle her doubts.

“Has anyone visited the mountain since its fall?” she asked, her voice even, calculated.

The question drew puzzled glances. Indra’s brow furrowed, and Abby and Kane exchanged uncertain looks. Finally, a few shook their heads.

“If we go to the mountain,” Lexa continued, her gaze steady as it swept across the room, “show our people that it has fallen—show them that Skaikru, that Klarke, freed us from its shadow—gave us the blood we deserved… I believe they may be inclined to listen.”

She ignored the foreboding feeling that it might as well be taken as another sign of her weakness. If it could help Clarke… well, the consequences for herself paled drastically in comparison.

The silence stretched, tension crackling in the air. She hoped her words carried the weight they needed to. More than that, she hoped the reality of what they would find at the mountain could bridge the gap between the two factions. Fleimheda’s agreement bolstered her confidence.

“So you’ll convince your people by showing that the Mountain Men are gone,” Abby said, breaking the quiet. Her tone was cautious, as if testing the logic for weak points. “And we’ll convince Skaikru by explaining the safety and opportunities offered by joining the coalition. And then you’ll help us find Clarke?”

Lexa nodded.

Abby hesitated, her voice softer now. “And the coalition won’t interfere with Skaikru’s chosen punishment for Clarke’s crimes?”

The words hit Lexa hard, unexpected. She stiffened, her eyes narrowing as anger sparked in her chest. Clarke’s crimes? It took every ounce of her control to stifle the retort poised on her tongue. She spoke carefully, her voice clipped but measured. “We will not interfere with how you choose to treat the person who saved you—should Clarke choose to return and remain a part of Skaikru.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched as she forced the last words out, but her heart burned with frustration. She prayed Clarke wouldn’t have to face her people’s condemnation for doing what had to be done to save them all.

Abby frowned at Lexa, skepticism flickering in her eyes, but whatever she intended to say was interrupted by Kane stepping forward.

“All right then,” he said, his tone breaking the tension in the room, though his words were no less solemn. “I think we have a mountain to visit.”

The words sounded too cheerful at the reminder of pain, betrayal and broken bodies littering the place.

The ride to the mountain was heavy with silence, each member of the assembly locked in their own thoughts. Lexa led the group, her posture rigid as the weight of the journey pressed on her shoulders. Behind her rode Anya, Indra, Lincoln, Octavia, Abby, Marcus, and Raven, their expressions grim. Twenty-five gona followed closely, a protective escort braced for the worst.

As the mountain loomed ahead, the unease gripping the group only grew. The memories of fallen warriors strewn across the mountain’s entrance resurfaced. Lexa’s stomach churned. She had made the decision to leave those bodies behind, denying them the honor of a proper farewell. Now, she would face that choice anew.

The air thickened as they approached. The silence spoke volumes, as each rider braced for the sight of decomposing bodies and the echoes of the carnage within the mountain’s halls. But nothing could have prepared them for what they found.

Lexa pulled her horse to a halt, her breath catching in her throat. The clearing, once a site of brutal devastation, was transformed. Bright, wild flowers blanketed the ground where bodies had once fallen, their colors vibrant against the memory of death. Hundreds of graves stretched in crude rows, each marked with care. At the end of the rows stood a burned pyre, its blackened remains adorned with more flowers, as if an offering of peace.

Lexa dismounted, her legs unsteady beneath her. She turned to Abby, her voice tight with disbelief. “You say none of your people have set foot on the mountain since its fall?”

Abby shook her head, as stunned as the others. “None,” she said softly.

“Commander, are you certain your people did not come to bury the dead?” Marcus interjected, his voice laced with cautious curiosity.

Lexa’s gaze hardened, but her words were measured. “No-one would have entered this place willingly, not when they believed the maunon might still live.”

“Then who could have—” Indra began, before the answer dawned on her. Her expression shifted, a flicker of astonishment breaking through her stoic demeanor. “Klarke came back.”

Abby’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth. “My daughter…”

The graveyard before them, a show of care and sorrow, seemed so tranquil compared to the violence that had once claimed this place. Anya moved forward, her steps reverent, as she approached the pyre. “She honored our warriors,” she murmured, her voice thick with something close to awe.

Lexa’s heart clenched at Anya’s words. She turned to her people, who stood in silent respect, their heads bowed. “Search the area,” she commanded, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. “If Klarke returned to care for the dead, she may still be nearby.”

The gonakru obeyed immediately, scattering to comb the area. As they moved, Lexa wandered among the graves, flanked by Indra, Anya, and the Skaikru. Abby stumbled alongside them, her voice breaking as she whispered, “My baby…”

Lexa swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists. She, too, felt the weight of Clarke’s strength. To return here—to this place of nightmares—to lay the dead to rest was a kind of courage Lexa could hardly fathom.

“The skaigada is stronger than I’ve given her credit for,” Indra rasped, her voice tinged with reluctant admiration.

The first scout returned quickly, his steps hurried as he approached. “Heda,” he said, his tone laced with urgency. “There is something you need to see.”

Lexa exchanged a glance with Indra before nodding. “Lead the way.”

The group followed, wary but intrigued. As they approached the mountain’s entrance, Lexa stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat.

On the great steel door, a stunning arrangement of flowers had been painted, vibrant against the muted gray. At its center, a daffodil stood tall, its petals a stark symbol of hope and defiance.

“Clarke,” Abby breathed, her voice trembling. “I’d recognize her work anywhere.”

The effect on the Grounders was immediate. Heads lowered in reverence, and a ripple of unease crossed their faces. Anya’s voice rang clear in the stillness. “Wanheda.”

Lexa’s hands trembled as she stared at the door. Her connection to the spirits stirred violently within her, Fleimheda’s presence surging toward the surface. “Is it true?” she whispered inwardly, her thoughts directed to Fleimheda. “Could Klarke be Wanheda?”

The spirit’s response was a brush against her consciousness, soft yet undeniable. “I knew you’d come back to me,” Fleimheda murmured.

Lexa swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the daffodil.

“What is Wanheda?” Octavia asked, her tone laced with confusion.

“Klarke,” Lexa answered, her voice low and steady. “Klarke is Wanheda. The Commander of Death has returned.”

The Skaikru collectively inhaled sharply, the weight of the title settling over them.

Lexa squared her shoulders, snapping back to command. “Recall the scouts. If Klarke is not here, she has already gone. We will organize a proper search for Wanheda. We must find her.”

Chapter Text

The next four months had been relentless.

Skaikru’s vote to join the coalition had been razor-thin, and the aftermath was anything but smooth. Lexa had spent countless hours convincing the ambassadors of Skaikru’s value as the thirteenth clan while quelling a seemingly endless stream of complaints about their behavior. On top of that, her concern for Clarke, still missing, gnawed at her daily.

Lexa’s focus was shattered by the sharp voice of Anura, the Delfikru ambassador. The woman’s tone was full of the disdain she'd gotten so used to whenever Skaikru was discussed, her words cutting through the room like a blade.

“Heda,” Anura began, rising from her seat, “I must once again address the blatant disrespect shown by Skaikru traders in our territory. They challenge anyone they disagree with, flaunting their arrogance as if they are above coalition law.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened, though her expression remained composed. The murmurs of agreement from the other ambassadors grated on her nerves as they echoed through the chamber. A chorus of grievances followed, each ambassador eager to pile on their complaints about Skaikru’s integration.

When the uproar began to spiral, Lexa raised a hand, silencing the room. Her gaze turned to Octavia, Skaikru’s ambassador, who straightened under the scrutiny.

“What do you have to say for your people?” Lexa asked, her voice forced to remain calm to hide the edge of frustration bubbling under her skin.

Octavia cleared her throat, meeting Lexa’s gaze with determination. “Heda, the traders have not yet returned from Delfikru territory, so I have not had the chance to hear their account. However,” she continued, her voice steady and deliberate, “if it’s determined that Skaikru initiated these altercations, I will ensure that those responsible face the proper repercussions. And we will send more suitable representatives next time.”

Anura’s lips curled in barely concealed anger. “Proper repercussions?” she spat. “For offenses against Delfikru law, the punishment is lashes and sanctions, not whatever leniencies Skaikru deems acceptable!”

Lexa’s gaze sharpened, flicking to Anura, but she held her tongue. The ambassador, emboldened by her indignation, launched into a tirade about the importance of teaching Skaikru their place in the coalition and soon other ambassadors were nodding in agreement or adding their own criticisms.

Patience, Lexa reminded herself, though her fingers itched to grip the armrests of her throne. You cannot throw people off the tower simply because they’re insufferable.

She glanced at Octavia, who remained quiet, her expression unreadable. Lexa respected the effort Octavia made to defend her people, but it was clear the young Skaikru ambassador was walking a fine line.

The meeting dragged on, veering from the heated debate over Skaikru to broader disputes about territory and trade. When the ambassadors finally filed out, their arguments leaving a residue of tension in the air, Lexa slumped back into her seat, her hand brushing her brow as weariness etched into her features.

„We knew it wouldn’t be easy once Skaikru joined the coalition“, Octavia remarked, electing a groan from the other woman. 

The initial phase, before Skaikru's official inclusion, hadn't been too bad, really. Dealing with the troublesome elements of Skaikru - mostly those people that had been adamant on not joining the coalition for various reasons - had fallen to Kane as the chancellor. 

He'd kept their interactions with other clans minimal (which suited Lexa just fine and seemed easy enough since they  didn’t want to surround themselves with the `savages` - which, rude), so the most troublesome actions for Lexa had been to convince the other ambassadors of Skaikrus usefulness.

The amount of time she had to argue that no, Skaikru were not like the maunon, their culture was just different, and no they weren’t too weak, they just hadn’t had to survive on the ground and needed to learn but had so much to bring to the coalition, was innumerable. 

But if that period had been headache-inducing, the real issues arose when Kane took the brand of the kongeda.

Several weeks after they had discovered Wanhedas return at the graveyard (Lexa still shuddered thinking about it), more and more Skaikru wanted to leave the confines of Arcadia, heedless of territories for hunting, or even trading deals. 

Oftentimes there would be physical fights between members of any clan and Skaikru, over apparent disrespect. (Though Lexa had to concede that, for many older Skaikru, their reputation for disrespect wasn't entirely unfounded).

„At least most delinquents seem to be adapting“, Lexa remarked with a rueful smile. And that much was true; relations between the younger Skaikru and the clans had markedly improved in recent months. Most (informal) trade deals were facilitated by the delinquents, stepping up to stop the adults from doing irreparable damage through their stubbornness.

„On that note“, Octavia interjected, shifting the topic to the concern as to why she had even stayed after the meeting was over, „Are there any news from the scouts?“

Lexas sour expression answered that question for her.

„I’m worried that Klarke is not just hiding“. 

Octavia nodded, knowing as much. She had heard whispers of Azgeda and their Allied clans sending out scouts to find Wanheda, wanting to take the power of death for themselves. She could only hope that Clarke had realized she was being hunted and stayed away and hidden to keep safe. 

She didn’t know and she hated it. For the past 4 months scouts had returned without any trace of the blonde. 

Octavia, along with Raven, Lincoln and Anya had made a habit of going out one a month to look for the blonde, hoping that maybe she’d stumble upon them and show herself. So far their search had been fruitless.

The council chamber was silent now, save for the muffled sounds of Polis bustling beyond its stone walls. Lexa and Octavia remained seated, their thoughts churning.

The doors burst open with a loud boom, making both women snap their heads toward the sound.

“Moba, Heda!” A scout strode in, their voice urgent. “I have news of Wanheda.”

Lexa’s heart jolted, though her face remained composed. “Have you found her?” she asked, keeping her tone even despite the hope clawing at her chest.

The scout hesitated, their gaze dropping. “Not her, no. But we found what we believe to be her weapon—a gun—near a creek. It’s been there for a few months, but it’s the first sign of her in weeks. The creek is near Azgeda territory, right on the edge of Trikru lands.”

“Take us there,” Lexa ordered without hesitation, rising to her feet. Her voice carried sharp authority, leaving no room for argument. Octavia was already moving to follow as the scout turned on their heel.

It didn’t take long to assemble the search party. Due to their status as ambassadors, Octavia and Raven - and thus Lincoln - were in Polis already, so was Anya, who had taken to be a part of Lexas guard. 

Abby also stayed in the city, since she had been helping the fisas, learning their ways as they learned of Skaikrus in return. 

Lexa was fastening the final clasp of her armor when a familiar voice called out.

„Heda!“ She turned to see Titus approaching, his expression set in a grim mask. Lexa sighed inwardly, stepping away from the others to speak with him privately.

The past months he had tried to convince her that looking for Clarke was foolish and that the only reason to bring her to Polis was to take the power of Wanheda for herself (She had been trying to avoid him since, feeling sickened at the thought of harming Clarke). 

Titus wasted no time. “You cannot believe leaving Polis for the skaigada is wise.”

Titus had reached her, looking at her with the typical poorly concealed condescension. Lexa resisted running her hand through her hair in frustration, instead adapting a diplomatic smile. 

“Wanheda must be found,” she replied evenly. “Her presence is critical to the coalition. When she joins us, the dissident clans will fall in line, and Nia will lose her leverage.”

Though the words were true, they left a bitter taste in her mouth. Yes, Clarke - Wanheda - submitting to her would quell the unrest of the past few months, but it very much wasn’t the reason she wanted to find her. Clarke was not merely a political asset to be wielded. 

Despite the fact that she was reasonably certain that the blonde would never bow to her. 

Titus’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes narrowing. “Sending others to search would suffice. To leave yourself is to appear weak, Heda. The ambassadors already question your strength after the retreat at the mountain. Pursuing a skaikru fugitive will only confirm their doubts.”

Lexa’s patience wore thin, but she restrained herself. “Klarke is no fugitive, Titus.”

"You cannot let a simple imposter-"

There they were, Titus insistence that a Sky fallen could never bear the spirit of Wanheda. Lexa interrupted the man before he said something to piss of Fleimheda as well as her. 

„I saw the mountain, Titus. Klarke is Wanheda. And we need her“ 

Titus scoffed, his disdain poorly hidden. “What you need is to slay the girl for her insolence. And if she is Wanheda, then she must be made to bow—or her head taken to prove your strength. That is the way of the commander. You cannot let personal feelings cloud your judgment. Love is weakness, Leksa. You cannot afford to be weak.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched, her fury simmering beneath her calm exterior. For months, she had endured his lectures, his veiled accusations. His words echoed the teachings she had once believed in, but they now felt hollow, cruel.

She could recount dozens of conversations (arguments) with Fleimheda and Anya coaxing her that no, love is not weakness, that the commander isn’t supposed to be alone. Until Clarke, she hadn't believed them, even now she didn't know. It made her hate the teaching nearly as much as the thought of hurting Clarke. 

“Call me weak again, Titus,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. Her piercing gaze pinned him in place. “And I will remind you of your place. You are my teacher and advisor, but I am Heda. You do not question me.”

Titus hesitated, startled by the raw steel in her voice. He stepped back, his condescension giving way to uncertainty. “Moba, Heda,” he said, bowing his head. “That was not my intention.”

“Yes, it was,” Lexa countered coldly. “I have tolerated your defiance long enough. If you continue to challenge me or speak ill of Wanheda, I will not be so merciful. Leave me.”

For a moment, it looked as though Titus might argue, but he seemed to think better of it. He bowed again, his movements stiff with frustration. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Heda.”

There was something in his tone—a veiled threat, a warning—that made Lexa’s eyes narrow as he turned and walked away.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she rejoined the group. Whatever Titus was scheming, she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it now. Clarke was out there, and that mattered more than anything else.

The journey to the creek where Clarke’s gun had been found stretched into the better part of a day. The party rode in tense silence. When they finally arrived, the sun was sinking low, casting long shadows over the gurgling water.

Lexa dismounted her horse gracefully, her gaze already scanning the area for clues, closely followed by the others.

Dela, the Trikru scout who had discovered the site, stepped forward, gesturing toward the shallow creek. “The gun was found there,” they said, pointing to a spot near the water’s edge. “There were no obvious signs of a struggle, but it was buried under twigs and leaves, like it had been there for weeks.”

Lexa approached the indicated area, her eyes missing nothing. Raven crouched beside her, brushing dirt from the weapon.

“It’s been here a while,” Raven murmured, inspecting the barrel. Her fingers came away smudged with residue. She glanced up at Lexa, her expression grim. “It was fired before it was left here. Hard to tell exactly when, but the barrel’s residue suggests it wasn’t too long before Clarke discarded it.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks. The find, while promising, only raised more questions.

“Why would she fire a weapon and leave no trace of a fight?” Lexa asked aloud, her tone a mix of curiosity and unease. “There’s no blood, no bodies. Nothing to suggest anyone was injured here.”

Dela had switched to Gonasleng for the benefit of the Skaikru present. “That’s not all, Heda,” they added, motioning for the group to follow. “We found tracks leading away from here—someone was running. But it was only one set of footprints, and they disappeared into the river.”

Lexa followed Dela to the torn-up brush and disturbed earth. She crouched down, her fingers brushing the faint impressions on the ground. The pattern was erratic, the signs of a hurried retreat.

“We traced the tracks back as far as we could,” Dela continued, leading them up a small incline. “Here.”

They pointed to a shallow indentation in the ground, surrounded by broken branches and compressed earth. It was subtle, nearly invisible to the untrained eye, but unmistakable to those who knew what to look for.

“She fell,” Dela explained. “Stayed here for a while before moving on. After that, we lost the trail. The path above is too heavily used by traders to find anything distinct.”

Lexa studied the area for a long moment before straightening. “This is more than we’ve found in months,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “Mochof, Dela. Your efforts are appreciated.”

She turned to the group, her eyes seeking Lincoln and Anya. “If these tracks are as old as I suspect, they must be four or five months old—before Klarke returned to the mountain.”

Lincoln nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Heda, I would agree. Klarke learned to move undetected somewhere between this point and the mountain. Whatever happened here taught her how to vanish.”

Fleimheda’s voice stirred in Lexa’s mind, calm and confident. “If Klarke awakened Wanheda fully, the spirit would guide her. Teach her to survive.”

Lexa acknowledged the thought, the logic undeniable. Wanheda’s presence would have heightened Clarke’s instincts, honed her skills. It was the only explanation for the girl’s ability to evade detection so completely.

“If Wanheda taught her, there may be no more tracks to follow,” Lexa mused aloud, her tone edged with frustration.

Abby, standing slightly apart, hummed skeptically. While she still struggled to accept the existence of spirits, the evidence before her made disbelief increasingly difficult.

“But we know where she was,” Anya interjected firmly.

“And we know she was at the mountain,” Raven cut in, her voice sharp with exasperation. “This just confirms she passed through here first.”

Anya shot her a withering look but didn’t argue. “It’s possible she returned this way,” she conceded, turning to the Skaikru. “You knew her best. Would she have come back here?”

Abby hesitated, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know what Clarke would do anymore,” she admitted quietly.

Octavia, however, was more certain. “Yes, she would,” she said, her voice firm. The others turned to her, waiting for her reasoning.

“She’d be worn out—physically and emotionally,” Octavia explained. “She wouldn’t want to be around anyone, so she’d go somewhere familiar. Somewhere she wouldn’t expect to run into people. She knew this area was safe before. She’d come back.”

Raven nodded in agreement. “Exactly. She’d need a place to hide, somewhere she could live without being disturbed.” She turned to Dela. “Are there any caves nearby? Anywhere she could’ve holed up?”

Dela paused, thinking. “There are a few caves and old shelters between Azgeda and Trikru territory. About two hours from here. No one goes there much—it’s disputed land.”

Lexa’s gaze sharpened. “You’re sure Klarke would have returned this way?” she pressed, needing confirmation before allowing herself to hope.

“I’m sure she’d consider it,” Octavia said confidently, only to be interrupted by Raven.

“If I know her at all, she did,” Raven said, a rare certainty lighting her expression.

“She’d need supplies to survive out here for so long,” Anya pointed out. “Weapons, food, clothing.”

Dela brightened. “There’s a trading post three hours from here. She could’ve gone there.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened with determination. “Then take us there.”

Lexa tried to get the Skaikru to stay outside of the building, however they were too anxious to find Clarke to be willing to be left out. 

„Alright“, Lexa finally gave in, „But I need you to stay behind us. „Anya, Lincoln, Octavia and Dela, I want you to flank me and guard Raven and Abby“. 

She pulled up the hood of her coat and took out the drawing of Clarke she had been carrying around with her for the past months, before entering the trading post.

„Sonop, what can I do for you?“, She was greeted by a woman in her twenties. By the way her stance shifted, she didn’t seem too comfortable at the idea of several Trikru warriors entering her trading post.

„I need you to tell me if you saw this girl“, Lexa demanded, showing her a creased drawing of Clarke. The girls breath hitched, concern clouding her face for a second before an indifferent mask fell back into place. 

„If someone can stay hidden for so long, maybe they don’t want to be found“, the woman answered, chin raised in defiance. 

Lexa was distinctly aware of her companions moving to draw their weapons, but she couldn’t care less at that moment. It was a roundabout admission that she had seen Clarke, probably more than once, judging by the slightly protective tone her voice had taken on. 

„Who is looking for her?“, the ash-blonde woman asked, not seeming too put off by the warriors itching to draw their weapons at her insolence. 

Lexa signed at them to relax, studying the girl for a second. „I am. Have you seen her?“, Lexa lowered her hood. 

„Heda“, the girl gasped. 

Having made her point, Lexa took on a hopefully slightly less threatening position. 

„Something tells me you have seen her“, the trader mustered Lexa. She had heard many stories of the commander, most told stories of her merciless strength, her quick wit, intelligence and courage. 

But at the same time she thought of all the stories Clarke had told. 

Of clouded pain in haunted green, a gentle smile full of care and promises, unshed tears at the death of her people, righteous anger at the mountain, heartless betrayal for the sake of her people, but more than anything, what always stood out in Clarkes  though was never explicitly stated, a soul of gold and a burden too heavy for a single person to carry. 

Looking at the Commander, Niylah almost felt like she knew the girl in front of her. 

She stayed put for a while, simply mustering the crowd. 

Would Clarke feel betrayed If she entrusted the commander with what she knew? Surely not if the blonde was in danger. And Niylah could almost feel that something had gone horrible wrong. 

The people behind heda shifted, clearly uncomfortable at being mustered so thoroughly. There were four warriors flanking Heda and guarding the two people behind them. 

Niylah recognized them from Clarkes drawings. 

Raven stood tall, her hands clenching and unclenching in a steady rhythm. 

Abby - Clarkes nomom - had her hand on the girls shoulder, the gesture supposed to be comforting, but by the tautness of her muscles the woman was probably digging her fingers into the girls skin. 

Now that Niylah really looked at them, she could also recognize Octavia as one of the warriors. Next to her was Lincoln, Clarke had described him as a gentle soul, who loved too deep and cared too much. He was Oktavias Niron if she remembered correctly. One more person, Anya was recognizable from Clarkes drawings. 

Anyas attention seemed split between Niylah and Raven, as though she didn’t know if she could confront the trader or comfort the - mechanic, Clarke had called her.

Niylah didn’t recognize the last person. She must be a scout, or simply backup should something go wrong so close to Azgeda. 

It was rather surprising to see  heda with so little guard so close to enemy lines. 

Making up her mind, Niylah settled back against the counter of the shop, letting previously concealed concern slip into her expression. 

„What do you want with Klarke?“

Lexa felt like those words were the shore she hadn’t known she needed. Abby rushed forward, ignoring the warriors around her. „You know where Clarke is?“, 

Niylah frowned, eyes flitting over to Lexa for a second before she looked back at the doctor. „She’d usually come by every few days“, the trader admitted, „but I“, she interrupted herself as though the admission hurt her. If Lexa didn’t know any better, shed say the woman seemed worried, „I haven’t seen her in the past two weeks. She was supposed to pass by 7 days ago at latest, we were going to, well, anyway, she didn’t get here“. 

Niylah averted her eyes from the older woman, crossing her arms in front of her chest. „I haven’t been able to find her. Im sorry, I don’t know where she is“, it seemed like she wanted to say more before interrupting herself. 

„When you last saw her“, Raven didn’t know what she wanted to ask. Was she okay? Was she hurt? Was she healing from toe mountain? Did she plan to come back to us? To me? Apparently her last question was written on her face. 

„She talked about you a lot, Raven kom Skaikru, always telling me anecdotes when she saw something you’d find funny. The best mechanic she’s ever known, though she has yet to explain what a mechanic does beyond and I quote „Making sparks fly and things go boom““, Niylah giggled softly.

„Just like she talked about you.“, turning to face everyone else, a wistful smile appeared on Niylahs face, as though she had been lost in a precious memory, 

„She’d tell me about Abby“, she revealed, facing the doctor, „how her mother was an incredible fisa and taught her basically everything she knows about healing“, Abbys lips trembled, and she had to bite down on them to not start weeping right then. 

„She also told me about Octavia“, Niylah looked at the brunette seken, „about your fierce friendship, about how you didn’t hesitate to call out what you thought was wrong“.

If Octavia hadn’t been holding onto Lincoln once Niylah started talking, she would’ve broken down right then. She remembered blaming Clarke for TonDC, then telling her she’s not good enough in front of the mountain and she never hated herself more than in that moment. 

Niylah ignored the brunettes guilt-stricken expression, opting to continue talking to get her point across. „She’d tell me how you found balance in Lincoln, a steadfast and gentle soul who cared too much. She told me about how you, Octavia, were so strong, that the chief of TonDC made you her second“.

Still, Niylah continued. 

„She’d also tell me about a general who escaped the mountain with her. She’d say that Anyas trust and loyalty were hard to earn, but she hoped she had won your friendship“, 

Anya nodded, not prepared for the flood of emotions. Over the time she had spend with Clarke she had indeed grown to care for the girl as an ally. In another life, with more time (perhaps when Clarke returned?) She could maybe find a friend in the girl. Her humor and sarcastic comments had won the general over after a while. 

Lastly, Niylah turned to Lexa. She wasn’t sure if she should share what Clarke had said about the commander, sure it was private. Well, more private than what she had disclosed already, though at least she had had Clarkes permission to share the previous information.

However right now she needed the people to understand that Clarke wouldn’t simply have vanished again, so she had to make sure they understood she still cared. She could feel guilty about divulging private information after.

„And she’d talk about you, heda. To quote her, the green eyes that haunt her dreams are the same eyes that help her push through and make it out alive“.

Dela stood to the side, looking at the group of people they had led here. They didn’t know a lot about the girl they had been searching for, but looking at the glistening tears and shaking shoulders of their companions, they realized that the girl must’ve been special indeed.

It took Lexa longer than it should have to gain control over her emotions once more, and she internally berates herself for that moment of weakness. It had been happening much too frequently for her liking whenever Clarke was concerned.

Fleimheda tried soothing her vessel. 

They, too, were deeply affected by the words of the woman in front of them. 

How could someone who had gone through so much pain care so much? Regaining control of the situation, Lexas mask slipped back into place. 

„And you have no idea where she could’ve gone these past two weeks?“ 

Niylah shook her head. 

„Well, she normally stayed at a cave not too far from here. But I’ve already checked it out, there was no sign of her being there the past weeks“, 

Niylah shifted on her feet, „I’ve been going every day to make sure I wouldn’t miss her, but she hasn’t come back. I’ve taken her more precious belongings here, to make sure no-one would take them. It’s what she asked me to do should I ever worry that something happened to her. She said if she was alright she’d just pass by later to pick them back up“, 

„Her stuff“, Raven interjected, „Can you show it to us? Maybe there’s a hint somewhere or…“. 

The girl was grasping for straws, but given the situation she couldn’t blame her. 

Niylah considered the request briefly, before nodding. Even if the chance of finding the slightest trace of a hint on Clarkes whereabouts in her belongings was minuscule, she owed it to Clarke to take the chance.

„I have them packed up in the bag, let me bring them here“, she turned to the back room before she reconsidered. 

„Actually, if someone could lock the front door you can just follow me into the back, it’ll be much more comfortable there“.

That's how Niylah found herself going through Clarkes belongings with people she had never met but felt like she’s known for ages. 

The belongings were sparse. A few changes of clothes, a quiver and bow, some charcoal and pens - she had even found colorful ones - and, of course, the drawings. 

Raven had been the first to spot them, a drawing featuring Arcadia at sun set. Sitting huddled together, they went through the pictures.

(Niylah had thought about protesting in favor of Clarkes privacy, but the girl wasn’t there and she knew some of those drawings would be valuable to the rest. As with disclosing what Clarke had confessed in private conversations, she could ask for forgiveness later). 

Most pictures depicted animals or sunsets, Clarkes friends (Raven had choked up at a picture of her sitting in a mess of cables in the drop-ship) or her family. 

A drawing of Clarkes father and mother standing under a waterfall had Abby nearly in tears. Niylah remembered watching Clarke as she drew the picture. 

„She said he would’ve loved water had be come down with you“, Niylah explained. „Oftentimes, when she’d have a bad dream“, she felt Lexa glower at her at the information that Niylah had seen the other woman asleep and it gave her a certain vicious satisfaction, „she’d tell me about the things her father would’ve loved. How he used to teach her about the stars and would’ve been in awe about how much better you can see them from here, or how he’d probably walk around barefoot all the time because on the arc he’d always stand barefoot on a carpet, talking about how calming it must’ve been for people to stand on the grass.“

Niylah trailed off, realizing she had gotten lost in her memories again. She felt a hand on her leg as Abby looked at her with unshed tears glistening in her eyes 

„Thank you“, the woman croaked. 

Gently putting the drawing to the side, they turned to look at the next one. 

And keryon, Niylah wished she had looked through all the drawings before letting the others see them. 

The picture showed Niylah lying on her bed, the blanket low enough to barely cover her butt, legs poking out below. A few sun rays light up the room, casting Niylah in an almost angelic light. Her eyes were closed, still asleep. Her entire back was on display, Clarke had to have put a lot of effort into getting her tattoo just right. And, she realized with a blush, the hickeys and scratch marks Clarke had left on her body. Niylahs arms were spread across the pillow, holding it to her head. 

She glanced up at Clarkes friends. 

Octavia and Raven wore quiet, pleased expressions, as they studied the drawing. They seemed undoubtedly relieved that their best friend had found solace in the girl, though - from what Clarke had told her about the two - Niylah knew they'd relentlessly tease Clarke about the picture once she returned.

Anya remained absorbed in her own thoughts, her gaze never lifting, yet Niylah caught a flicker of movement as Anya's eyes briefly darted towards Lexa.

When Niylah followed the generals gaze, she felt a surge of relief for the others in the room, preventing the commander from actually murdering her. (Would this be cause enough for Lexa to execute her? Cause Niylah was certain it was one of the thoughts currently crossing the commanders mind).

Lexas expression was a perfect mask of impassivity, devoid of any hint of emotion. If it weren't for the slight smile she'd shown earlier, Niylah might have believed the commander didn't care at all. But now, that emotionless facade seemed tinged with a silent promise for pain.

Having a knife at her throat right now would’ve been much more merciful. 

Niylah wasn’t sure if she should tell Lexa that Clarke was just a friend and that while they shared certain benefits, she’d be the last person to stand in Clarke and Lexas way if Clarke would ever be ready for that again. But judging by the quiet desperation rolling off of the commander, she opted to let the topic be for the time being. 

She cleared her throat when nobody said anything, drawing the attention of the occupants in the room to her. 

„We should focus on the drawings Clarke made of the people she spotted nearby, I know for a fact she had a habit of drawing some of the scouts she saw to recognize them later on should they come back.“

A short while later the stack of drawings was greatly reduced, only those that showed scouts from different clans in different areas around Clarkes cave still on the table. 

Niylah was incredibly thankful for the girls habit of drawing anything she saw. 

„We don’t have any proof that anyone snatched Clarke“, Anya stated carefully. 

Several sets of eyes snapped up at those words. 

„I understand the need to find her“, her next words were directed specifically towards Lexa. „I also understand the need to bring this up with the ambassadors and demand answers. But right now we don’t have any information. We don’t know if she was taken and if so by who, considering that these“, she pointed at the paintings on the table „show at least 5 different tribal markings on the scouts. And given the increased amount of scouts in general Niylah has mentioned, it is very well possible that Clarke had to run and hide elsewhere before she had the time to warn Niylah about it“. 

Lexa yearned to contradict her former fos, but she knew she was right. Even if someone had captured Clarke, there was nothing they could do until they had actual proof. 

„So what“, Abby seethed, „we just let some - some monster hold my daughter captive?“ 

„No“, Lexa replied, „What we do is get the proof we need that someone captured Clarke“. 

„Do you have an idea who we should look at especially?“ The uncertainty in Octavias voice made her sound so much younger than her age. 

Lexa paused. She had an inkling (well really an educated guess), but she couldn’t just march Azgeda on a hunch. „I’m not sure.“, she said instead.

„A huge part of me thinks it must be Nia, but I don’t understand why she hasn’t informed the Kongeda of Wanhedas death yet. She can be subtle, but she wants power over anything and she would get that by executing the Commander of Death. There are clans like Sankru, who would probably play nice with Clarke to get her loyalty, but…“. 

She didn't know what her but was, she just wants to find Clarke.

As ideas were tossed between those occupying the trading post, Lexa found herself unable to shake the drawing of Niylah she had seen earlier, each glance at the older woman tightening her chest a little more. 

Taking note of her vessels quiet distress, Fleimheda nudged the girl to take a break.

„Sitting here and not finding any solution to your problem isn’t going to help either“.

Lexa conceded the point, (secretly glad it had been the spirit who told her to take the short break), but she couldn’t allow herself to be affected by her weakness for Clarke. Instead, Lexa maintained her stoic facade, following the ongoing discussion.

Thankfully (or frustratingly, Lexa isn’t too sure), it didn’t take long for the discussion to come to an end. Without any specific evidence, there was very little they could do at that point. And rather than scrutinizing the same information over and over again, they decided to reconvene when more information became available. 

On the journey back to Polis, Lexa clung to her commander's mask, refusing to let the emotions raging within her surface. She could feel Anyas concerned gaze on her, and refused to meet the generals eyes. She wouldn’t parade her weakness around, not even in front of the people she had learned to trust.

It took way too long for her liking to reach TonDC. It had already been well into the night when the group left the trading post. Niylah had offered to show them the caves nearby, as they wouldn’t reach Polis long after dusk, but Lexa had denied the offer, deciding to ride to TonDC instead. The village was a mere three hour ride from the trading post and thus in an acceptable distance. (Honestly Lexa just didn’t want to have to face Niylah the following day, she needed time to process).

As they entered the newly rebuild village, they were greeted by Indra, who had been woken by the guard who spotted their arrival.

„What brings you here so late, heda?“, the village chief asked as she led the group deeper into the village, where the houses for visitors stood.

„We had business concerning Wanheda“, the commander explained, eyes directed right in front of her. Indra dipped her head in acknowledgement - which was about as much of a sign that the information had captured her attention as they’d get.

„You’ll be filled in before we depart tomorrow“, Lexa promised, as they came to a halt in front of the buildings. „For now, we have had a long day“, she gestured for her encourage to go into the building in front of them.

„I believe it is best to rest for the night before we follow up on any questions you might have. The rooms are the same as before I assume?“.

Indra nodded, „Sha, heda. The guest rooms are on the first and second floors, and your room is just as you left it last time. Is there anything I can do for you before you retire?“, the request was met with a shake of Lexas head. „We’ll be alright, thank you, Indra“.

Entering the building, Lexa quickly showed everyone their guest rooms, before excusing herself into her own. She was so ready to sleep.

It took considerably less time than expected to brief Indra on the current situation and prepare for their departure back to Polis. Just like the previous day, Lexa spent the ride mostly in silence, though this time she could make out chatter behind her. She couldn’t get herself to join in.

The entire ride, she held her head high, her mask firmly set into place. It wasn't until she reached the safety of her private quarters in Polis that she allowed herself to retreat and confront the turmoil consuming her soul.

Anya seemed poised to follow, when Lexa excused herself only minutes after returning to Polis, but seemingly thought better, though the slight crease in her eyebrows wouldn’t leave, even as Raven demanded her attention to ‚get a proper fucking break before the next hellish ambassadors meeting‘.

As for Lexa, she had just stepped inside her own chambers when her composure wavered, hot tears burning in her eyes, begging to fall.

„I know you care about the girl, but you cannot expect her to not move on“, Fleimheda chided their host.

Lexa paced restlessly, forgoing answering the spirit. Her mind was racing, filled with self doubt and regret. 

If she had started looking for Clarke earlier, if she had never kissed her, (if she had never left at the mountain). 

Deep breaths, she told herself, she couldn’t be mad at anyone but herself. And from how much Niylah had shown to know about Clarke - which was so much more than the blonde had ever entrusted her with, she realized painfully - the trader seemed to be good for the blonde. She was allowed to find love in someone who’s not Lexa. Its just that Lexa didn’t think she could find love in someone who wasn’t Clarke. 

Lexa let her hand trail over her arm that used to be littered in scars, now gone thanks to Clarkes care. The scars staying away after she had left her taina at the mountain had given her a speck of hope that the girl wasn’t gone from her completely, but now…

She looked at her arm, suddenly wishing the scars would come back. She growled, grabbing one of the knifes in her belt and flinging it at the wall, where another dent joined those she had previously made by throwing numerous sharp objects at it. 

She hated Niylah for being what she couldn’t be for Clarke. She hated herself even more for being at fault for Clarke finding comfort in the arms of a woman that wasn’t her.

Chapter Text

Days away from the trading post, in the cold belly of an Azgeda prison, Clarke Griffin lay restless on a cot too thin to provide comfort. A ragged excuse for a blanket barely shielded her from the bite of the frozen air. Her body was still, save for the occasional twitch of her fingers or the way her lips parted on a breath too sharp, too broken. She was lost in another nightmare.

Once, it had only been ghosts—faces of the dead, whispering blame with hollow eyes. On lucky nights, that’s still what she’d see. But by now, most of the dreams had turned crueler, larger than life, twisting reality until she couldn’t tell where memory ended and nightmare began.

Tonight was not a lucky night.

It started gentle, like dreams often did. The sun was high, its warmth on her back as she walked through the woods she had called home for five months. A panther draped over her shoulder, its weight as familiar as the chirping of the birds around her. The trees whispered with the wind, and just ahead awaited Niylah’s trading post.

But as she stepped inside, the warmth was gone.

She found Niylah strung up against the wall, deep gashes torn across her body, crimson dripping onto the wooden floor. Her dark eyes burned with betrayal.

“You left,” she hissed. “You left, and they came for me. Because I wanted to protect you. Because I cared. This happened because of you!”

Before Clarke could speak, a second figure appeared beside her.

Raven.

Clouded eyes. Blood-matted hair.

“I trusted you, Clarke,” she rasped. “I was looking for you. Look where that got me.”

Clarke stumbled back, heart hammering, only to trip over something on the ground.

She turned.

Her mother’s lifeless blue eyes stared at the ceiling, mouth frozen in an unfinished plea. Beside her, Octavia lay sprawled, a knife still buried in her stomach, fresh blood pooling beneath her.

No.

She pushed herself up, shaking, as a shadow loomed.

“They trusted you, Klarke.”

Nia’s voice was cold amusement, and Clarke forced herself to meet the queen’s gaze. The woman’s hands gripped something, lifted them into the flickering light—two heads, lifeless and battered.

Roan. Ontari.

Their faces were unrecognizable beneath the bruises, the swelling, but she knew.

She knew.

Nia smiled, tilting her head. “And look what you did. Such a good little warrior for me.”

Clarke wanted to run. To scream. To tear herself apart so she wouldn’t have to exist in this moment. But Nia shoved her forward, past the trading post doors, into something worse.

The ground was red.

Bodies littered the earth—friends, family, people she had sworn to protect. The scent of blood filled her lungs, thick and cloying. And in her hands—

A sword.

Dripping.

Drenched in crimson.

“No,” Clarke whispered, voice raw. Her grip tightened. “No, I didn’t—”

“Klarke kom Skaikru.” The words cut through the air, flat and final. She turned. Lexa stood before her, green eyes blazing with something beyond rage, beyond grief.

“For your crimes against Skaikru, the Kongeda, and Heda, you will face your execution at the capital.”

Clarke shook her head, stepping forward. “Leksa—” Her voice cracked. “Beja. I didn’t—I didn’t do this!”

Lexa did not hear her. Rough hands grabbed her, bound her wrists. She thrashed, but they forced her to her knees.

And as they dragged her away, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the field of the dead, from the blood soaking her skin.

Clarke shot upright, a strangled cry dying in her throat.

Her breath came in frantic, uneven gasps, pulling at the bruises and cuts scattered across her body. Pain bloomed across her ribs, but it barely registered. She was shaking, rocking back and forth as the words tumbled from her lips, barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The cell door creaked open. Footsteps. Then—warmth.

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against a solid chest. A steady heartbeat.

“You’re okay, Klarke,” Ontari murmured, her voice softer than Clarke had ever heard it. “It was just a dream. You’re okay.”

Another presence stirred—Wanheda. The part of Clarke that was fury and survival and strength, the part that whispered she could not afford to break. But even Wanheda was quiet now, her presence not a command but a comfort.

“I didn’t—” Clarke hiccupped, pressing her face against Ontari’s shoulder.

“I know,” Ontari soothed. “It wasn’t real. You’re safe.”

But safety was an illusion, and they both knew it.

Still, Ontari held her, whispered reassurances in her ear as Clarke tried to steady her breathing. Tried to quiet the lingering horror that clung to her skin.

“Moba,” Clarke whimpered.

“We’ve got you,” Ontari whispered. “We’ve got you.”

She rocked Clarke gently, grounding her, until the blonde’s exhausted mind gave in to sleep once more.

And as Ontari tucked the fragile girl back beneath the thin blanket, she stared at the bruises, the cuts, the haunted shadow of someone who had already survived too much.

Nia would pay for this.

For every bruise.

For every nightmare.

For every broken piece of Clarke Griffin.

Right after Clarke was captured

Clarke awoke to pain.

It was everywhere, pressing down on her ribs, pulsing through her limbs, throbbing behind her eyes. It took all of her willpower not to let out a sound, to not immediately sink back into the darkness she had crawled out of. Sleep had been blissfully empty for once—no ghosts, no nightmares, just silence. And yet, something told her she couldn’t afford to slip away again. A pity, really.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves filled the air, their cadence deep and steady, matched by the sway of the body she was pressed against. The movement was rough on her bruised ribs, but if she let herself, she could almost pretend it was soothing. Almost.

She kept her eyes closed.

Maybe Niylah had found her. Maybe she was being taken back to the trading post, and this was all just some cruel misunderstanding. Maybe—

Clarke forced her eyes open, and reality crushed whatever foolish hope she had left.

The world swayed around her. She was thrown over the back of a horse, the pounding hooves she had heard belonging to a full company riding fast over a wide road within a forest. Trees blurred past, just as dirt and grass blurred below beneath them, the setting sun casting long shadows against the earth. She must’ve been out for a good few hours then.

She barely suppressed a groan as the movement jostled her wounds, pain flaring where arrows had pierced her skin. But there was no fresh bleeding—likely cauterized before they’d tied her down. Because she was tied down, her wrists and ankles bound, the rope digging into her skin.

A body sat firm behind her, keeping her steady in the saddle. 

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to remember what exactly she knew. It took a moment for her mind to catch up, and, coming out of her groggy mind scape, panic began coursing though her body. The last thing she remembered was running from a group of Azgedan scouts—fast and desperate, the sound of their cries in the distance, the snap of a bowstring—then nothing.

Fucking Azgeda.

Her breath caught.

Jok, Clarke thought bitterly. This was bad.

She swallowed down the rising panic, forcing herself to think. She needed a plan. „Wanheda“, she called out, praying the spirit would answer. „Are you there?“

A beat.

Then—„Sha, strikon“.

Relief flooded through her, though it did little to loosen the ropes. Still, she allowed herself to relax a bit — well, as much as she could while being thrown around on a galloping horse.

„So“, she murmured internally, „any ideas on getting us out of this?“

Mind you, spirits were very unpredictable. After eons of living, that was to be expected. But one thing Clarke had come to learn the hard way, was that silence was never a good sign. Except that’s exactly what she got — Silence, followed by a sigh. A defeated, unimpressed sigh.

It was an even worse sign when Wanheda sighed.

„There are eight gona surrounding you, plus the one directly behind you. While your wounds are healing, you are still injured. They poisoned their arrows—your body is weak. You are tightly bound to a horse moving at approximately 35 kilometers per hour, and neither you nor I know where we are.“

Clarke clenched her jaw. „So, I’m screwed“.

„Completely and thoroughly, I’m afraid.“ Wanheda confirmed.

This day was just getting better and better.

The hours passed. The sun was dipping below the horizon when the company finally slowed, the riders pulling their horses to a halt.

“We rest here for the night,” a voice behind her commanded, firm and authoritative. Clarke felt a shift—the weight of hands loosening the ties that secured her to the horse.

She startled at the touch but forced herself to stay still.

“Don’t try anything stupid, skaigada,” the same voice murmured, quieter this time, as though not wanting the rest of the scouts to hear. There was no mockery in it, only warning. “I’d rather not hurt you more than necessary.”

The voice was young. A woman, Clarke noted.

She simply nodded, muscles too stiff and aching to do much else. That seemed to satisfy her captor, because the next second, she was hefted off the horse like she weighed nothing.

“Make a fire. Get food started,” the woman ordered toward the rest of the warriors. The other riders obeyed without question.

Clarke’s head spun as she was lifted, her body weak and unsteady. Her vision swam—double images, shifting shadows—but even through the haze, she could tell these warriors were built like stone, large and strong. Azgeda bred their fighters hard.

At that thought, her body was filled with strength. Not enough to really stand up on her own, but at the very least her vision cleared and her thoughts lost their haziness.

But before her sudden strength could take hold, before her feet barely touched the ground, really, she was lifted again, arms hooking under her legs. Frustrated, Clarke noted how she still wasn’t able to see her captor.

“Hey—” she huffed indignantly.

A scoff. “If you’d rather walk, be my guest.”

Clarke wanted to argue—she really, really did—but Wanheda’s silent warning - and getting random bursts of emotions from the back of her mind was still weird even after several months - echoed in the back of her mind. A feeling, sharp and clear, not yet.

So, for once, she held her tongue.

She didn’t fight as the woman carried her a short distance away from the others, just far enough that the firelight wouldn’t reach them. Which, to be fair, Clarke didn’t think she would’ve gotten very far even if she had fought.

Only when she was finally set down did Clarke get her first good look at her captor.

The woman was young, perhaps a few years older than Clarke, with pale skin and deep black hair. Icy blue eyes bore into her, expression unreadable. She was taller by a few centimeters, but it was her build that stood out—lean muscle beneath thick furs, the easy way she had carried Clarke as if she weighed nothing.

Somehow, it surprised Clarke, who had expected sharp angles and Azgedan scars.

Instead, there was something softer. A jawline that wasn’t quite as harsh as the warriors behind her. A nose that tilted up slightly, making her look far less threatening than she probably was. But looks could be deceiving. This woman had commanded warriors older than her, carried herself with confidence that came from skill.

And, apparently, was responsible for Clarke’s basic survival.

“I’ll help you relieve yourself, skaigada,” she stated bluntly. “I won’t untie you. I won’t let you out of my sight. I’ve heard of your resourcefulness, and I won’t have you fouling my horse or slowing our ride.”

Clarke flinched at the words, embarrassment creeping up her spine.

It was humiliating. But it was also more mercy than she had any right to expect.

She gave a short nod of understanding.

Something in the woman’s expression shifted—just the slightest flicker of tension leaving her shoulders. Like she had expected resistance and didn’t quite know what to do with Clarke’s silent compliance.

Interesting.

Clarke filed that reaction away for later.

Just as the girl had commanded, they continued their journey early the next day. 

Clarke had spend the night tied to a tree, guarded by three gona at all times. If she didn’t hate how they made it impossible for her to escape, she’d think it was funny how paranoid they seemed to be. 

Though, as Wanheda kindly reminded her, she had eradicated the mountain. And after training with the spirit for several months, she hd developed enough muscles and skill to be able to take on two of the gona. If she hadn’t been basically unable to get up due to the poison and ties, anyway.

As they settled on the horses, Clarke was prepared for another journey of being thrown over the horse like a bag of potatoes. To her surprise and relief, the girl from the day before untied her feet and told her to get onto the horse. For a second, Clarke was tempted to run. But the armed soldiers surrounding her made her reconsider. Besides the fact that her arms were still bound and the girl held onto the rope than connected her arms like a leash. 

Glad that Niylah had insisted on teaching Clarke how to ride a horse, she got settled on the animal. 

Before she could do anything, two of the gona  grabbed her ankles and tied them on the saddle.

„So much for that“ she complained to Wanheda, who gave a tense chuckle at the humor. 

The spirit had spend most of the night trying to find a way to get Clarke out of the situation, but whatever she thought, tied up and weak from the poison that would take days to properly leave her system - even with her advanced healing - there wasn’t a lot Wanheda could do for her reincarnation.

Before Clarke could ponder about trying to rip the horse from the gonas grasps and maybe hopefully ride away, the black haired girl had already mounted the horse. Her arms wrapped around Clarkes abdomen, holding onto the younger girl as the caravan continued their ride to Azgeda. 

At least, I’ll be able to see snow the blonde thought. Her dad had taught her to always be positive, after all.

By the second night, things had only gotten worse.

The journey to Azgeda’s stronghold took several days, and Clarke had quickly learned that her captors found entertainment in tormenting the spirit who resided within her.

Which meant that she suffered for it.

By the time they neared the outskirts of Azgeda, Clarke’s body was a battlefield of bruises. Every breath ached, every shift in the saddle sent fresh waves of pain through her ribs. And yet, she had the sinking feeling she would have preferred this journey—preferred the exhaustion, the cold, the bruises—to whatever fate awaited her at the hands of Queen Nia.

The terrain had changed over the last two days. The forest had long since given way to barren fields, dusted in a thin layer of snow. Clarke was freezing. The wind was sharp, cutting through the linen layers she’d been left with. When the warriors had taken her, they had stripped her of her coat, her armor, her weapons—leaving her exposed to the bitter cold.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t asked for warmth, because she knew none would be given.

And yet—

A heavy coat was draped over her shoulders.

Clarke stiffened in surprise as Ontari, the dark-haired warrior who had taken to carrying her - Clarke had learned the girls name after two days of annoying her with all kinds of nicknames - adjusted the thick fur and pulled a hood over her head.

“Kwin Nia doesn’t want anyone alerted to your arrival,” Ontari muttered, voice quiet but firm.

Clarke didn’t thank her. She wouldn’t give her that. But she also didn’t shrug the coat off.

Without another word, the company rode into the city.

The streets of Absol—Azgeda’s capital—were eerily silent.

Vendors were beginning to set up their shops, but they moved carefully, speaking in hushed voices, heads down, eyes flickering toward the warriors with barely concealed fear. Clarke had seen war-torn cities before. She had walked through TonDC after it burned, seen her people struggle through war, but even in those places, there had been life.

This place was suffocating.

Lexa had told her stories of Azgeda—of Nia, the mad queen who ruled through fear and bloodshed. Who starved her people so she could have more. Who raised warriors not through honor, but through brutality.

This was what that kind of rule created.

She had known—on some level—what she was walking into. But seeing it? Feeling the weight of it press down on her? That was different.

A deep unease settled in Clarke’s bones. She had a sinking feeling that whatever awaited her in that castle would not be pleasant at all.

Nias castle was build atop a mountain hovering over the city. 

Built into the side of a mountain, its stone walls stretched high into the sky, an impenetrable fortress designed to keep enemies out—and prisoners in.

The closer they rode, the more warriors Clarke spotted. Guards patrolled the walls. More were stationed at the gates. Encampments were set up inside the perimeter, warriors moving between them, sharpening blades, preparing for something unseen.

Hundreds of gona were awake and alert—visible proof of Azgeda’s military strength.

As they neared the gates, more warriors emerged, watching the approaching party with calculating eyes. No one stopped them. No one questioned their arrival. And Clarke knew that was because of Ontari.

She had seen enough over the past days to recognize that the dark-haired warrior held rank. The others deferred to her, even the older ones. She had commanded their group without challenge. That kind of respect wasn’t easily given—not in Azgeda nor anywhere else.

Clarke couldn’t reconcile that version of Ontari with the one who had, in the quiet moments of their journey, shown her something almost resembling kindness.

If she believed Lexa - which was much easier after having had time to cool down for nearly 5 months - the high positions of command only went to those who revered Nia. Those who enjoyed the violence, torture and wars she brought, and basked in being able to hurt any and all citizens simply because of the power they held. Ontari simply didn’t seem to fit that picture, with how she’d — in a way — protected Clarke.

Not when the others were watching, of course. Never then.

But in the long hours of riding, when the world was nothing but frozen landscapes and endless silence, Ontari had let the mask slip. She had spoken to Clarke—not explaining anything, not answering questions, but saying enough that Clarke had started to understand.

She couldn’t stop the beatings.

She had tried, the first two nights. Ordered them to let Clarke rest, citing the poison in her system, the risk of killing her before they reached Nia. But after that, she hadn’t intervened.

Couldn’t.

Doing so would raise questions. Would make the others suspicious. Would put her in danger.

And so, Ontari had done nothing.

No—that wasn’t true. She had done something.

On the fourth night, when the others had their fun, Ontari had joined in.

Not as brutally as the others. Not enough to break anything. But enough that it would look real. Enough that Clarke understood the truth buried beneath the blows.

The next morning, Clarke had simply looked at her and sighed.

“I don’t know or understand you, snow-white,” she had said, voice soft and weary. “But we all do what we have to in order to survive.”

It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something. And somehow, that made what was coming even worse.

By the time they reached the castle gates, Clarke’s limbs felt like dead weight. She barely registered the transition from saddle to ground, barely kept her balance as Ontari yanked her forward.

She tried to stay aware of her surroundings, but her body was failing her. Wanheda was alert, at least. „I am watching“, the spirit murmured, keeping Clarke from spiraling too deeply into her exhaustion.

Ontari pulled her through the halls of the stronghold, moving at a brisk pace. Clarke stumbled, barely able to keep up, but the warrior didn’t slow. She simply yanked Clarke forward whenever she lagged too far behind.

Clarke clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus.

Her captor walked with purpose, but Clarke could see the tension in her shoulders. The way her grip tightened and loosened, as if caught between two instincts.

Ontari had done what she needed to do to survive the journey. But here—here was where Clarke’s survival was no longer in her hands. Here was where Queen Nia decided her fate.

Nia sat on top of her throne when they entered the room, giving the perfect picture of sociopathic cruelty that she was. 

As Ontari - and thus Clarke - halted in front of the pedestal that led up to the queen, Nia got up. She walked down, bypassing Ontari to get a better look at Clarke. 

The girl was still wearing the coat and at a wave of Nias hand it was ripped from the girl. Nia grabbed the blondes chin between her fingers, forcing her to look up at the queen. 

„So this is the mighty Wanheda“ the queen sneered. 

Ontari had to give it to Clarke, even battered in bruises and weak from the journey, she glared at Nia with a fierceness she hadn’t seen in a prisoner before. 

„And you are the sociopathic Ice cunt I've been told about.“ Ontari didn’t know if she should laugh or shrink back in fear at the queens reaction. 

Nia growled, hand wrapping around the girls neck so hard she started to choke. 

„You will learn your place, Wanheda“, she let go, the girl dropping to the floor, gasping for breath. 

„Break her in for me, Ontari“, the queen stroked the black haired girls cheek. „I will join you later this evening“

Ontari felt like she was on autopilot as she led Clarke into the dungeons. The girl walked behind her, silent except for a few raspy breaths.

„Strip“ Ontari commanded once they had reached the designated cell. Since she had captured the younger girl, she had seen fight and fierceness, refusal to give up even when she knew she had lost. But now she thought she saw a flash of fear. Sympathy overcame her as she quickly made sure there was no-one around to hear her. 

Thankfully, Nia had chosen a secluded cell for her special plans concerning the blonde. Ontaris gaze softened and she took a careful step towards the blonde captive after closing the door behind her. She carefully untied the rope, revealing irritated and partly bleeding wrists. She winces at the sight. „Listen, Skai prisa“, she hoped her voice carried her sincerity, 

„The things that are about to happen to you will be horrible. They will hurt more than anything you have ever experienced“, not a great way to soothe someone, she chastised herself. 

„But“, at that she takes the blondes hand as gently as she can, „You need to stay strong. Nia doesn’t only want your power, she wants to break you and then build you into her puppet to control. You cannot let her do that. You cannot“, she hesitated for a second, meeting curious blue eyes, „You cannot turn out like me.“ 

Memories of leather whipping into her skin, water burning in her lungs, the dead eyes of her sister staring up at her at a sign of disobedience. 

„Will you be the one to do it?“ The skaigada rasped. 

Ontari swallowed, nodding as she feared her voice would betray her. She wants to apologize, plead with the girl to forgive her for the pain she is about to put her through. But the blonde doesn’t look at her like she’s afraid, her gaze is almost soft. 

„Then we are in the same position, Ontari. Both tortured by an Ice queen without a heart. Wether it’s you or someone else, I’m guessing I’d still be here“  

Ontari couldn’t disagree with that, so she simply shrugged. The blonde smiled sadly. 

„For what it’s worth, I’m glad the person hurting me won’t be getting satisfaction out of it for themselves.“ It was as close as Clarke could get to an I will forgive you right then. She still didn't understand the other girl, but she looked so afraid, so haunted, that she felt like her own position might actually be the kinder one. 

She felt Wanheda agreeing with her, anger rolling of the spirit in waves at what the queen had turned the black haired girl into. As Clarke stepped back to take of her clothes, she hoped that she would be able to forgive Ontari for what she'd be forced to do. And she hoped Ontari will forgive herself too.

Clarke felt vulnerable, standing in front of Ontari in only breast bindings and panties and the older girl shifted uncomfortably. 

„Part of the reason people break under Nias ways, is that she makes them feel inhuman“, the girl whispered guiltily. 

Clarke needed a second to understand, before she turned to take her underwear off as well. Ontari swallowed, pointing at a chair in the middle of the room. 

„I need you to sit down, Skaigada. I'll tie up your hands and feet“, she hesitated a second, „They’ll be tied to the legs of the chairs. And „, she held up a knife she had gotten from a table, „braids are a sign of honor. In our culture“. 

Clarke sighed, feeling like she knew what was about to happen. 

„You need to cut my hair off.“ Ontari nodded. 

„Well“, Clarke said, „No time like the present to rock a new hairstyle. At least if it doesn’t suit me no-one will see me for a while“ 

and at that point, Ontari knew that while she would be forced to break the girls body, she would do anything to protect her spirit. 

„Make it look at least okay please“, the girl requested, leaning her head back a bit so Ontari had easier access to cut it off. And if Clarkes lips trembled as Ontari cut off her hair, nobody mentioned it.

Later, when Clarkes hair was a short mob against her head and her limbs were secured to the chair, Ontari crouched in front of her, making sure she avoided looking anywhere but at Clarkes face. 

„Nia will be here in a while. Before she gets her, I will need to - as she puts it - break you in. Please know that anything I do is needed to stop her from punishing me by making me hurt you even more“  

Clarke nodded, giving a small smile. „I know, Ontari. I'll be okay.“

Ontari doubted that, while it was not a skill she was proud of, she could break experienced gona within two days. But looking at the blonde she prayed that the girl would survive. Just as she was about to grab a knife to start, Clarke interrupted her. 

„I might not talk to you, during this time“, the blonde warned, „I can distance myself from this, but I won’t be… here, per se. Ill feel it physically, partly, but mentally ill be away“.

Clarke didn’t know why she trusted the girl with the information of her mind space, but both she and Wanheda felt like they could trust her, and at this point she had nothing to loose anyway. 

Ontari looked like she wanted to ask, but decided that the less she knew the better for the time being. Her hand wraps around a knife. 

„Whenever you’re ready, skai prisa.“

By the time Queen Nia entered the cell, Clarke’s body had become a canvas of pain—cuts, bruises, and deep, aching wounds mapped across her skin.

She was shivering uncontrollably. The ice water they had doused her in still clung to her like a second layer of skin, the freezing dungeon air only making it worse.

But she didn’t make a sound.

Not when Ontari had struck her. Not when she’d humiliated her. Not when the cold seeped into her very bones.

Clarke’s blue eyes flickered up as Nia stepped inside, but Ontari saw it immediately—Clarke wasn’t here.

Her mind had retreated somewhere far away, and for that, Ontari was almost grateful. The pain that would come after would be enough. There was no reason for her to endure it twice.

Nia hummed in satisfaction as she circled Clarke, inspecting the damage.

“This is going well,” the queen mused, a pleased smile on her lips.

For a while, Nia had wondered if Ontari was growing soft—if her once-loyal puppet was beginning to fray at the strings. Perhaps she had considered disciplining her, just to remind her of her place.

But this?

This proved that Ontari was still hers.

Straightening, Ontari forced herself to frown, careful not to appear too eager to agree. The queen would see through that. Instead, she spoke in a measured tone.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, ai kwin.” She kept her eyes on Clarke, feigning disappointment. “When I ripped her clothes—” (a lie; she had only torn them strategically before Nia’s arrival) “—she barely reacted. When I cut her hair, she said nothing. When I beat her, she stared at me in contempt.” Ontari met Nia’s gaze. “She refuses to make a sound.”

A flicker of intrigue passed through the queen’s expression.

She had not been truly interested in anyone in years. Not since Costia—the foolish girl who had remained loyal to the false Commander even as her head was taken from her shoulders.

But this blonde?

Perhaps she was more than just a political nuisance. Nia’s lips curled. “Remove the back of the chair.”

Ontari obeyed, unfastening the restraints so that Clarke’s back was exposed.

Nia could feel the prisoner’s eyes on her as she walked toward the table. Good. Be afraid, she thought as she picked up a leather strap, twisting it between her fingers.

She turned back, locking eyes with Clarke.

Then she struck.

The first blow cracked against pale skin, leaving a searing red welt across Clarke’s back. The blonde’s body jerked with the force of it—but she made no sound.

Nia’s brows lifted slightly.

Interesting.

The strap fell again. And again. She lost count of how many times she swung.

At some point, the leather began to bite deeper, breaking skin, drawing fresh crimson lines down Clarke’s back. The scent of iron filled the cold air. Sweat beaded on the prisoner’s brow, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Still, she didn’t scream.

Inside her mind, Clarke lay in the grass, the warmth of the sun washing over her.

Wanheda lay beside her, watching the clouds.

“Mochof,” Clarke murmured, voice soft. “For helping me escape.”

The spirit turned her head, studying her. During the long days of captivity, during the beatings, the torment, Wanheda had built this place for them—a refuge. Somewhere Clarke could go, even if she could never truly leave.

It didn’t stop the pain. Not entirely.

She still had to keep just enough awareness to stay coherent—to stay alive. But it was better than nothing.

Clarke winced, her body spasming briefly. Wanheda scowled. I should be able to shield her from all of it.

As if sensing the thought, Clarke gently bumped their shoulders together.

“I’d be in so much more pain out there,” she said. “I’d feel every second stretch on forever. Every cut. Every bruise.” She inhaled shakily. “You might not be able to take it all away…” She tensed as another bolt of agony tore through her. “…but only feeling the worst of it for a short time is better than feeling all of it.”

Wanheda didn’t respond. Because Clarke was right. And that only made her anger burn deeper.

Nia’s patience was wearing thin.

The blonde had barely let out a whimper, even when the whip struck the sensitive flesh of her thighs, her stomach, even when Nia tried to provoke something.

She only got clenched fists. A contorted expression. The occasional grunt of pain. The queen exhaled sharply, lowering the whip. Infuriating.

And yet, she admired it. If this girl could be broken… If she could be trained…

She would make an excellent weapon.

A slow, satisfied smirk stretched across Nia’s lips. “Ontari.”

The warrior stepped forward immediately.

“I want you to continue,” the queen ordered. “Do your worst. And you will be rewarded.” She paused, considering. And punished, should you fail.

“Sha, ai kwin,” Ontari answered, forcing a smile.

Nia turned back to Clarke.

Inside the mindscape, Wanheda stiffened.

“She’s speaking to you,” the spirit warned. “Goufa, you need to go back.”

Clarke flinched, the first hint of fear flashing in her eyes.

“I will hold back the pain for as long as I can. Maybe ten minutes. But you need to respond. If you don’t—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Clarke exhaled slowly, then nodded.

And then—she was back.

The shift was subtle. Her gaze cleared. Her body tensed.

Nia studied her, intrigued. Then, finally, she spoke. “You will remain here,” she said smoothly. “For the next month, Ontari will break your body.”

Clarke’s expression didn’t change.

“But I doubt she will break your soul.”

The queen’s jaw tightened, frustration bleeding through. She hated that Skaikru was under the Coalition’s protection. That she couldn’t simply kill this girl without provoking war.

But war could wait.

“I have another use for you,” Nia declared. “After this month, you will train. Every day. Every week. You will become the best warrior this world has seen.” Her eyes gleamed darkly. “And every eight mornings, you will return here. To break.”

Ontari inhaled sharply, about to object.

Nia cut her off with a single raised hand.

“She will fight in the pits. Without name or title. No one will know who she is. But she will win.” The queen’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I will not have my champion embarrass me.”

Silence fell.

Ontari hesitated for only a moment before bowing. “Sha, ai kwin.”

Nia turned back to Clarke, reveling in the bloodied, beaten sight of her.

“Do you understand, skai fallen?”

Clarke lifted her head. Her lips were split. Her skin was raw. But her voice was steady.

“Sha.”

Chapter Text

It was interesting how close you can grow with someone who is partly responsible for the worst pain you have ever been submitted to. But as the month passed, Clarke learned to value Ontaris presence. 

After the first day Nia had her moved to a different room. It was split into two parts, a living area with shelves, a moderately comfortable looking bed and desk to eat, and a small cell right next to it. The cell held a small space for a toilet and a rag covered bunk that barely passed as a bed. A small slot under the door of the cell made it possible to get food. 

Ontari had had to carry Clarke to the cell the first night, sending for a fisa to clean the girls wounds. Once the fisa had left, the two girls were left alone. Ontari got comfortable in the living space, as Clarke lay down on the hard rack. 

At first, neither had talked, caught up in what had happened that day, until. 

„If we are gonna be roommates, you might as well call me Klarke“. 

Ontari had stared, and Clarke had smiled. 

They had spend time talking after that. Getting to know each other. And by the time they went to sleep, Clarke couldn’t help but think that Ontari would make a great friend.

Roughly a week into her imprisonment, Clarke found herself lying on her stomach on the cot, her back a mess of cuts after that days session. 

(Though admittedly, she did prefer the physical punishments over the waterboarding, it was always incredibly hard to stay in her mind space when everything told her she was drowning.)

Alas, she was spread across the cot, when she heard the door to Ontaris room open. 

She drew in a sharp breath (tensing up had become much too painful), already expecting to be pulled out for another session (it had happened before). Instead, Ontari got out of bed with a smile, clearly happy to see the intruder. 

Said intruder greeted the woman, before his eyes found Clarke laying on her cot. 

Coming over with Ontari in tow, he winced at the sight of Clarkes injuries. „You’re not going easy on her, are you Tari?“ 

The mans voice was surprisingly soothing to Clarke, who had decided to stand up when she saw him walking over (She had regretted that decision almost instantly but was much too proud to lay back down, though by Wanhedas silent fuming she’d get a lecture about that later). 

„Klarke, meet Roan“, the warrior introduced, unsuccessfully trying to mask how she had recoiled at Roans statement. 

Clarke waved awkwardly, a bit lost at the situation. Roan chuckled. „Ai laik haihefa kom Azgeda. Nia ste mi nomom“ he explained, as though that would clear everything up. 

Judging by Clarkes ridiculed expression, it didn’t. He looked at Ontari in slight exasperation. „You didn’t explain?“ The older girl shrugged „We were a bit busy“ snorting despite himself, Roan eyed the blonde. „I can see that“.

Turns out, Clarke and Roan got along great. 

After the rather stiff introduction, the two Azgedan natives explained how not a lot of people in Azgeda stood behind Nia. 

Most citizens were too afraid of what the queen would do, should they ever go against her. None of that surprised the blonde, as it was pretty much what Lexa had hinted at as well (the thought of the girl still send a pang of pain through her heart).

What she hadn’t been aware of however, was that Roan and Ontari had been building a network of warriors, spies and assassins, who were ready to rise against their queen. 

But due to Nias tight grip on a majority of the leading positions in the army and the citizens, they had no way to win any kind of fight against the queen as it is. 

„So what is my role in this?“ The blonde asked once the two had explained the basics. 

„You’re our solution. Kind of like our bomb, really. My mother rules through fear.“ (Clarke was aware of that. Why else would Nia want her to bow to her instead of killing Clarke. Controlling the commander of death makes her seem so much more powerful than wielding that power - especially because the idea of holding the power of a spirit when you killed a vessel is wildly argued about.)

„Our people need someone  whose reputation makes her seem much less terrifying.“

„So you need me to rise up against Nia?“ The two nodded. 

„And how do you expect me to do that? Don’t misunderstand me, if there is a fight against Nia I will join, because Azgeda deserves better and I won’t let innocent people get hurt over a selfish royal sociopath“, 

Wanheda hummed in agreement with her words, 

„But right now I don't see any real way out. I can fight, sure, but I don’t think I’d hold myself against more than two warriors at a time, Nia is keeping tight security on me, judging by the amount of guards around this room“,  

the other two winced at the remainder that those guards meant Nia didn’t find Ontari entirely trustworthy, 

„And even if I could get out and join the fight, we’d be grossly outnumbered with no chance of survival once the fight starts“. 

„Well, you’re not wrong about any of that“, 

Roan send Ontari an incredulous look at the admission, 

„But there’s always time to figure it out. You’re right, without the Kongeda behind us we don’t have a chance. But Heda won’t start a war against Nia without cause, inviting her to the coalition after my nomom killed Costia showed that already. And while our people hate Nia, she also has them believing that Heda is weak. And they won’t follow a weak leader“  

Roan leaned forward to look at the blonde intently, 

„But they will follow Wanheda. They will follow the mountain slayer“. 

Clarke considered the words, a part of her scared of what that meant for her future. 

„If we do that, I need to get stronger. Much stronger than I currently am“ 

„I can help you with that, strikon“ Wanheda interrupted.

„The strength and fighting will come. Both Ontari“, she looked at the woman, „And Wanheda can prepare me“. 

„So can I“, Roan threw in, earning himself a raised eyebrow. 

„Im the best sword fighter in Azgeda. If I join your training for the pits once or twice a week, I can always say Ontari asked me to be your sparring partner because you’re supposed to become the best“.  

Clarke nodded. 

„Only issue is, how do I get out of Azgeda and find Leksa?“  

The familiarity when using the Commanders name drew a surprised sound from Roan, but he decided it’d be better not to ask. From what he heard, the Commander had left Clarke at the mountain, breaking the girls trust beyond repair, which wasn’t something he was too keen on bringing up any time soon.

Besides that, neither Ontari nor Roan know how to answer the question. It would be much easier if they knew what exactly Nia had planned for the girl. 

„Well“, Wanheda cut through Clarkes musings, 

„From where I stand there are three choices. The first would be that Nia lets you go“  

the blonde snorted incredulously at the idea 

„No, hear me out, strikon. Normally, Nia makes her prisoners fight in the pits for up to 6 months before they are given the choice to serve her or to be released. If she wants you to fight as an unnamed prisoner, you might get the same choice. She does tend to send assassins after those she releases, but that’s something we can deal with when it comes to that. The second option is to try to escape. I don’t have any information regarding the guards, traps or area. And i’m sure that Nia expects you to attempt to escape, which means doing so would be incredibly hard. But with enough patience and planning, I am sure we will figure something out. Especially with Roans and Ontaris help. Now the last choice Im hesitant to bring up. Nias goal in all of this is for you to submit to her. You could Make it seem as though the fights in the pits were breaking your spirit, until all that is left of you is a shell of pain and anger. Anger at Leksa and the Kongeda, a deep rooted wish to make them pay for what you went through“  

Clarke sickened at the notion of betraying Lexa. She had long since come to accept, that while the commander might not care for her (And in the dozens of conversations they’ve had about the topic Wanheda still disagrees, stupid reasoning about how her scars had disappeared before the mountain after all), she cared about the commander too much to betray her like the other girl had done, even if it was only a temporal betrayal for a greater goal. 

The death spirit noted the girls unease. 

„I did say it was an option i’m hesitant to mention. Not for the apparent betrayal, but because if I were Nia“, she shuddered at the comparison, 

„I would make you bow to me and swear fealty with a blood oath in a public setting before I use you. And once you made a public blood oath, you cannot go against Nia. Doing so would mean your word means nothing, that you’re dishonorable and disloyal. No-one would follow you“  

She hated it when the spirit was right. 

„So? What did they say?“ Ontari pressed, used to Clarke zoning out of conversations when she’s talking to Wanheda. 

„Well“, she relayed what the spirit had said. 

„I’ll do my best to find out what I can about the security measures my mother put in place“ Roan promised, which was something he had already been working on anyway. 

„I cannot be sure she’ll give you the choice to be free, but we can prepare for the second option in any case“, 

Ontari was quick to agree. 

„I will train you harder than anyone, together with Roan and Wanheda we will make sure you become the best. And then if she doesn’t let you go, we make sure you escape“, 

Ontari squeezed Clarkes shoulder. 

„You will be free from here, we will ensure that“.

For the next month and a half, it turned into a bit of a habit for Roan to slip into their quarters every few days. 

Through training and planning, the three had grown inseparable. 

A part of Ontari worried about how much she cared for the younger girl, who had become like her sister, because the following day, the girl would be standing in the pits as Nias champion, before leading a war against Azgeda that wasn’t even hers to fight and everything inside of Ontari screamed to get the blonde out of there before any of that happened. Free her from her cell, take her far far away from all the death and heartbreak. 

She had brought it up with Roan once and he had simply wrapped her in a hug. 

„She won’t let us do that, Tari“, the older mans voice sounded weirdly choked up as he admitted that. 

„She is born to lead, born to fight for those who can’t defend themselves. There is no way she’s backing out of the fight“  

And Ontari knew he was right, just as she knew that he too itched to grab Clarke and make a run for it. 

Every day when cuts from the torture littered the blondes skin and Clarke wrapped Ontari in a hug to tell her its okay, the older woman wanted to beg the girl to run. 

Every time the blonde woke up in screams of terror, she held her little sister and wished she could keep her safe from the rest of the world. 

She hated it. Roan hated it too. But, she looked over at Clarke, sitting in a meditative stance as she and Wanheda trained in her mind scape, the blonde would never want that. 

So Ontari would do what she could to protect the blonde from the sidelines.

Meanwhile, Nia was lounging on her throne,  one of her spies crouched before her. 

„The scouts have yet to be successful to find Wanheda, ai kwin. Allegedly the false commander is still sending out scout missions for the girl, though it has been seven months since the mountain fell. Apparently she even goes out herself at times, spends days away from Polis to find the girl“, 

the spy looked up at the queen, 

„My informant told me she is as lost as she was when you took her love away“.  

Nias face lit up in a vicious smile. That was something she could work with. 

A wave of her hand dismissed the girl, and Nia made her way to her chambers. 

Pulling out hair she had stored in a bag around two months ago, a blonde lock twirled around Nias fingers. She smiled. 

She had a brilliant idea.

Chapter Text

The morning of her first fights in the pits, Clarke barely managed to make it through breakfast without throwing up. Ontari and Roan gently coaxed the girl to finish her food. 

„You need your strength, Klarke“, Roan said „You might be stronger and more skilled than your opponents, but you cannot let yourself go into the fight in a weakened state“, Clarke knew he was right.

Once she had eaten, her self-proclaimed older siblings led her through the underground tunnels to the pits. Her fight would be the last one to take place, Ontari had explained. 

While she was waiting for the others to finish, she would be getting a small personal training area to warm up and stretch, as well as come back to after if she won her fight to wait for medical care if needed.

On their way to the pits, they passed several gona who bowed to Ontari and Roan before quickly averting their eyes. None of them recognized Clarke and she was glad for it. The girl from before the mountain was barely recognizable.

Wanheda and her had continued merging, thus Clarke had taken on a lot of the spirits physical attributes.

Her (even before) pale skin now spotted the blue tint Wanheda warned her about, her blue eyes had developed the slight purple hue and her short hair had paled into a nearly whiteish blonde. Thanks to the consistent training with Roan, Ontari and Wanheda, her physical body had gone through vast changes as well.

Gone was the soft princess from before, now she stood at 1.8m tall, taut muscles covering her impressive build. Ontari liked to say that Clarke looked like an angel of death. She fought like it too. Merging with Wanheda had given her some of the experiences of all her past life times, and while she still missed practice in the body she inhabited, the skills she had earned made even Roan and Ontari barely able to beating the blonde in a two on one. 

As the three stepped into Clarkes designated training area, Ontari closed the door behind them, giving the three some privacy from the outside world.

„You are ready, Klarke“, Roan promised, wrapping the girl in a hug. She clenched her fists in his shoulders. „I don’t want to kill anyone, Roan“, she had been struggling with the notion since she had found out what the pits were.

At first, she had decided that she wouldn’t fight. She’d go to her first fight and let her opponent kill her. It had taken Wanheda a while to convince her of the stupidity of the plan.

„The people you will fight will not survive wether they kill you or not“, the spirit had snapped at some point, „Because they will have to fight someone stronger who will kill them then or they will die to the assassin Nia sends if they don’t join her ranks. And if you fight anyone who is not a prisoner they will be those that follow Nia because fighting in the pits when you are not a prisoner is an honor in the eyes of those that follow the queen. They will not be innocent, Klarke“,

neither am I, the blonde had thought, remembering the faces of the 1140 people she had killed within just a few months.

„No-one who survives is innocent, Klarke. We hurt people and we kill them and we loose our own, that’s how we survive. But you are needed to stop this, goufa. Not once have you killed for callous reasons, not once have you enjoyed taking a live, not once have you dishonored the dead. Don’t dishonor them now by dying an easy death“,

it was mostly the last sentence that got to the girl. After the mountain she had sworn to protect the innocent and honor any that fall in that fight. She couldn’t just give up because she’s scared.

„Plus“, Wanheda had said, sensing that they were close to getting the girl to see their point, „do you want your friends and family to get the news of your death at Nias hand? Do you want Leksa to get another package delivered with your head in it?“

Wanheda hated using the other girl against Clarke, but  when reason failed the commander seemed to be the only thing to bring the blonde back to herself. It had taken Clarke finding out how Lexa had taken her disappearance, to see that the commander cared more about her than she had hoped to think. Wanheda wasn’t done though, the blonde needed one more shove, „Do you want Ontari and Roan to suffer for your failures when Nia gets mad? And mostly, do you want them to never escape her wrath because you aren’t there to lead their troops at Leksas side?“. 

Clarke felt Roans hand on her shoulders, the other forcing her to look at him. „The people you kill do not define you, Klarke. Why you do and how you deal with it do. And fighting for the safety of everyone else while hating the death on the way does not make you a bad person. You aren’t a monster, Klarke“, he repeated the words he had heard her scream in her sleep so often.

„You are a leader and a protector and right now this is what you do to save the most you can“. Ontari moved next to Roan, putting her hand on Clarkes other shoulder.

„He is right, Klarke. You are not who you kill, this is not your fault. You cannot hold yourself responsible for deaths that are Nias fault“. The words don’t quite get through to Clarke, but she is thankful for them none the less. Sensing the girls reluctant acceptance, the other two let her go, giving her some space. „How about we use this time to actually be productive?“ Roan asks, drawing his sword.

About an hour before Clarkes fight is supposed to start, a servant enters the room to notify the occupants of the time. As the servant is about to leave, Ontari quickly walks over to him, ordering him to her chambers to grab some things for Clarke.

It didn’t take very long for the boy to come back, carrying a wooden box with the help of three other people. Clarke looks at them in confusion, as she does her stretches in preparation for the upcoming fight.

Once alone again, Ontari turned to Clarke. „I“, looking at Roan she corrects herself „we, thought, that since you will spend some time here, the least we can do is make sure you have good equipment for your fights“. Clarke had gotten up by now, joining Roan and Ontari by the box. The man smiles at her, before lifting the lid off of the box. Inside, Clarke could make out the most beautiful armor she had ever seen. „Can you help me put it on?„ she whispered in an awestruck tone, pointing at the armor. „Anything you need, kid“.

The armor was made out of blackened, hard boiled leather. It sat light enough to leave her room to move, not constricting her speed, but strategically placed iron plates protected any vulnerable spots. Blue highlights swirled over the garments, giving the illusion of icey flowers ranking up her sides. Black armguards covered her forearms, eating in a triangle shape over the blondes hands. A shoulder pauldron sat on her right side, protecting her slightly weaker arm. The armor ended just below her neck, where a dark blue cloth sat.

Roan helped her pull it up to cover her face, along with the attached hood that hid her hair underneath. „That way no-one will recognize you“, Ontari explained. „We thought about getting you a helmet, but you’d always complain how the weight put you off your game. The hood should give you no such restrictions“. And Ontari was right. Even though the hood should’ve limited her peripheral vision, it sat tight enough and far enough back on her head, that her vision wasn’t narrowed at all.

Checking herself in the mirror, Clarke was amazed at what she saw. Hair and face hidden from view, you couldn’t make out a single feature. The armor covered her entire body, gloves spanning over her hands, that even her skin wasn’t visible anymore. „The black will hide your blood from anyone who is not in close vicinity to you. Since you’re bleeding kind of purplish right now before it’ll turn blue, we thought it best to have no-one realize“. Clarke gave her friends a grateful look, before realizing they couldn’t see her face anymore.

„Its perfect“, she whispered. While yes, Nia wanted her to stay unrecognizable in the arena, she was also glad for the chance of anonymity. If word came out that Wanheda was fighting in the pits, there would be countless of warriors challenging her for her power, much more than Nia would pitch her against already. The other two smiled, „I’m glad you like it. However“, Roan turned around to grab something else from the box, „No armor is complete without the proper weapons for it“. Clarke couldn’t describe how grateful she was for her friends.

It wasn’t long before she was called to the arena.

Standing in front of the gates that would lead her into the ring she turned to look at Roan and Ontari once more, before she remembered that they had had to leave her before she went into the entry area. She could hear cheering from the pits, alerting her that Nia must’ve started announcing the next fight. Blood rushed through Clarkes ears and it takes Wanhedas interference for the girl to get her nerves back under control.

„…their debut fight“, she hears Nia announce to the crowd, „I introduce to you my chosen champion of the pits!“ At these words the gates in front of her opens, signaling Clarke that she had to enter the arena. Straightening her shoulders, she walks through the gates, emitting an air of calm confidence that she didn’t feel.

The crowd went wild, hushed conversation of just who this person was, joining shouts of excitement. For the people in the stands, Clarke was an enigma, a warrior no-one had heard about, introduced as the queens champion. They didn’t know what to think, but as they saw a hooded figure confidently stroll into the death fields, dual wields strapped to their back and a row of knifes strapped to their waist, they screamed in support of the girl.

As Nia went to announce her opponent, Clarke took the time to look around. The arena itself consisted of a fighting ring in the middle, about the size of an old-world baseball field. All around it were seats, starting three meters above the ground. Hundreds of people sat in the seats, leaving about three quarter of the seats empty. According to Ontari the arena was build to hold 2.500 people in total. Standing there under so many watchful eyes who were about to witness her first kill in the arena, Clarke suddenly felt so small. She tried to calm herself again, looking for Roan and Ontari. She could spot them on the grandstand that also held Nia, jaws set in silent support, she felt her racing heart calm. Her family was here, she’d be okay. 

While she was getting a feel for the arena, she had been listening to Nia introduce her opponent, hoping to get some information on the upcoming fight even before seeing who she would have to fight.

„My champion is strong!“ Nia had shouted. Clarke glowered at that. Nia was lucky Clarke needed to get out of this ordeal alive, otherwise she’d take a great second of joy at getting herself killed in the first fight just to embarrass the ice queen.

„And I don’t pitch strong ones against weaklings who aren’t worth their time! So for their first fight, they will face gona that have travelled here just for the opportunity of challenging my champion!“ Clarke tried to keep cool at the implied plural, „Everyone please make noise for Alaric kom Sankru, the prince and his closest honor guard!“

The arena erupted into utter chaos at the name. During her training, Roan and Ontari had taught her a lot about the different clans and fighters. From what she remembered - and, judging by her siblings reactions she was right - Alaric kom Sankru was one of the cruelest fighters in the clans. Roan had once said that while he could win a fight against the man, he’d never want to fight him because he has a tendency to aim to maim before he decided to kill his opponent when they’re already close to death from the injuries they had to endure.

The gates in front of her opened and four people entered the arena. She could easily make out the prince. He was wielding a bastard sword in one hand, holding an iron shield in his left. Clarke tried not to be put off by the apparent strength the man had at welding the sword one handed, but judging by the sadistic smile appearing on the mans face he had seen her tense up. Behind him stood his guard.

The two men flanking him had similar build to the prince, bulging muscles clearly visible under leather armor, whirling a battle axe and longsword each. The fourth person had her hands wrapped around a glaive and a short sword strapped to her waist.

Clarke stood calmly as she assessed her opponents, electing astonishment from the ranks.

How had they not reacted to their opponents names, how did they stand so calmly, no weapons drawn, as their opponents began to form a circle around them?

The answer was that Clarke simply waited for the right moment to strike. Pull your weapons too soon and they will think she’s scared, move too soon, and they might get a read on her before she’s done assessing them.

The arena was bathed in tense silence, waiting for the queen to start the fight.

„You can do this, strikon“, Clarke smiled at Wanhedas support, not a single second of doubt that her reincarnation was skilled enough to walk out of the arena alive. „Im more worried about the Sankru king getting at me for killing his son“ She admitted.

The four warriors had circled around her now, taking position to strike. Clarkes hands found their way to her dual wields.

„May the better party win!“ Nia opened the fight.

Right at that second, the battle-axe guard came forward, aiming a clear strike at Clarkes abdomen. Lightning fast she drew her swords, blocking the strike and using the space he had created to dance out of the ring as her second sword came up in an arc towards the gonas throat. She turned to face the rest as the first gonas’ body fell to the floor, his head following right behind, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. The crowd was silent before excited screams rang across the arena. Clarke stood there with blood spatters on her armor, the black blades glistening with red. Nia smiled in approval.

Her champion had drawn first blood.

The rest of the fight was harsh, drawing out much longer than Clarke would’ve liked. By the time she had killed the other male guard - her sword was still stuck between his rips as she hadn’t had the time to pull it out before the price attacked her from behind - she was spouting an angry gash on her left tight, along with numerous bruises all over her body.

She needed to remember thanking Roan and Ontari for the sturdy armor, otherwise she would be covered in gashes where blades had hit her body. Right now she was engaged in a vicious trading of blows with the female guard. The woman had shed her glaive, opting to switch to a close range fight in the middle of the battle. The prince, who she had thrown back a few feet not so long ago, shook of his pain and preshed to rejoin the fight.

As she was engaged in the two on one, Clarke tried moving back towards the discarded longsword of the second gona she had killed. As she moved back to grab the weapon, she felt a piercing pain in her left arm the woman’s sword drove into it. Clarke jerked back, barely keeping hold of the two weapons she now held, ripping her arm free from the blade in the process. She barely registered the murmurs of the surrounding crowd, placing bets on who would make it out alive.

Roan and  Ontari stood by Nias side, outwardly a picture of calm and collected, as they did whatever they could to stop themselves from pressing forward and protect Clarke.

The blonde in question barely avoided the princes sword swinging at her. She stumbled a few steps, blood loss and pain getting to her. The two warriors coordinated a simultaneous attack, not giving the blonde time to react.

The Sankru woman caught Clarkes chest with her sword, but the iron enforcement protected Clarkes skin. The force of the hit shoved her back, landing a few feet away, swords having slipped from her grasps. The prince smiled at the sight in front of him, malice creeping into his gaze.

„Nia promised me a strong champion, I thought she judged better than this“ the prince taunted, raising his sword.

Heavy with pain, Clarke closed her eyes for a split second. Was that it? In her first fight? Before the sword hit it’s target, the blondes body jerked back.

„You will fight, strikon. Tu gomplei no ste udon“ Wanheda growls, lending the blonde strength to continue. The former skai princess gets up. „Lets play then“ she growled, eyes flashing vibrant purple.

The rest of the fight was a haze for Clarke. All she knew was that after, she stood in the midst of four bodies, covered in their blood. The prince lay at her feet, dismembered parts thrown through the arena. Inside her, Wanheda growled.

When the prince finally fell, his head joining the pile of limbs, the arena was silent for a second. Just when it had seemed like the queens champion was about to loose, they went berserk. As though driven by another power entirely, two of their knifes sailed through the air into the body of the blonde gona who had thrown the champion back just seconds before.

Before her body had even collapsed, the champion had been on their feet again, snatching the weapons they had let go off before, bringing them down in a devastating arch on the prince. Not knowing what hit him, he barely had time to lift his sword before the hand holding it landed on the ground.

Blocking the next strikes with his shied, the man backed away. But the champion left him no way out, black blade cutting through warm flesh as the shield arm followed the hand. The prince had stared at the warrior before him, eyes wide in fear. They were covered in blood, their armor glistening in the winter sun.

For a second, their eyes met. Angry purple orbs met terrified brown, and as the champions sword met the Princes neck, he could only think of the honor it was to be killed by an angel of darkness itself.

Clarke was panting as the crowd screamed out to her. Her body was aching and she was covered in grime and blood. Nia mustered the girl with a satisfied smirk. As the noise slowly subsided, the queen rose from her throne, her presence commanding everyones attention.

„For their debut fight“, Nia makes a dramatic pause, „it is my great delight to declare the winner of the fight, my champion of the pits!“ Roars erupted from the stands, a cacophony of cheers reverberating through the arena.

As Clarke bowed out to leave the ring, a chant rose from the crowd, tributing the warrior in black.

„Radha Absyl!“

What started from a single person quickly spread to the rest, the moniker sweeping through throngs of spectators, echoing off the stone walls of the arena.

Clarkes head was held high as she left the ring, embracing the name with every step.

The Champion of the Abyss.

Clarke sat on a table in the same room she had stayed in before, a fisa tending to her wounds. The woman had introduced herself as Asandra, explaining that she would be the one to tend to Klarke from now on. The woman hadn’t been surprised to see Clarkes purple blood, simply aiding the girl in shedding her armor before working on cleaning her wounds.

„So“, Clarke said as it became evident the older woman wouldn’t speak to her. „Did queen Nia send you or…?“ Clarke tried to hold in a hiss of pain as the woman’s hand inadvertently tensed.

„Moba“, she murmured before continuing stitching the cut, „And no, Prince Roan requested my presence“.

Clarke mustered the other woman with new interest. Had Roan simply been send to find a trustworthy fisa for Nia or was this someone her friend trusted beyond her ability to keep Wanhedas presence a secret?

Thankfully her question was answered as her siblings stormed into the room. Their eyes were wide in worry, and Clarke could make out a bandage around Ontaris hand.

Later, Roan would explain that it came from Ontari clenching her hands so tightly, that her fingernails had drawn blood when watching the fight. Clarke would pull the older girl close at that, letting her listen to her heartbeat to convince the girl she was still okay.

„Asa, you’re here already“, Roan seemed relieved at the presence of the other woman, giving her a tender smile. The woman barely glanced at the prince before she continued treating Clarkes tight.

„You don’t need to sound so surprised, Roan. We are not all branwodas who don’t know how to read the time“. Clarke glanced at Ontari for an explanation as the older girl chuckled. „Roan has a bad habit of leaving the castle late because he doesn’t know what to wear“.

And for a slight second Clarke feels incredibly dense. „Of course, you’re Asa“, she realized. And considering all the times Roan had swooned over the girl, she should’ve maybe recognized it. „You’re Roans Niron“.

The woman resisted a slight smile, at the confirmation that Roan had talked about her to his - as he called her - little sister.

„Sha, Klarke. He wanted you to get the best care without the danger of revealing your identity“, Clarke smirked slightly at that, „Oh I’m sure he did, but I’m also sure he’s very happy to have you here“. For what it’s worth, she was beyond happy that Roan’s love was close to him again.

„The fights will continuously get harder“, Roan explained later that night, leaning over his bowl of soup. „Nia will have you fighting here at least four times a week, he rest you will get to rest and train, except for one-weekly sessions with Ontari“. Honestly, Clarke hadn’t even expected to go from 4 days of torture a week to one, so she’d take what she’d get.

„Which brings me to another point“, he grinned up at her, „I have managed to find a tattoo artist to come here like you requested. He said he could come to the castle in three days time. I gave him the sketches you drew for the tattoos and according to him it’ll take about 20 hours to get them done, so he’d recommend coming in twice, so you can still train for the rest of the day“. Clarke beamed at that, she had waited for what felt like ages for him to find an artist willing to come up here.

„Mochof“, surrounded by her friends, she felt so much lighter than before.

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The arena thrummed in anticipation, as the man closed in on Clarke. Beside him his five monstrous pauna prowled, muscles rippling beneath coarse fur.

At a sign from Kaele, the first pauna lunged at Clarke, claws extended like razors. 

Dancing out of the way, she aimed her swords onto the paunas back. Her blades struck true, carving through thick flash, leaving a crimson trail in their wake. 

The beast howled in pain as it turned, focusing in on the girl. Their master shouted a command and with bared fangs, the pauna lunged at her again. 

Relentless attacks followed, not leaving the blonde any room to breathe. 

For each strike she made, there was another pauna striking at her, only Wanhedas advanced agility giving her a fighting chance. 

It was pure luck by which she got the first Beast that had attacked between the eyes, delivering a killing blow. 

As the other four pauna surrounded her, Kaele stood back, watching the fight unfold. 

The warrior was quick and much stronger than he had anticipated, even after watching their last few fights. Nonetheless, he was sure of his win, no human could take on five pauna and leave alive.

As Kaele shouted out orders to attack, Clarke dodged under another swipe, causing the pauna to crash into the beast behind her. 

The two creatures, confused and enraged, turned on each other. Snarls and roars filled the arena as they fought viciously. 

Clarke watched with grim satisfaction as one pauna tore into the other, eventually leaving one dead and the other heavily injured.

Using the distraction, the champion pressed forward, landing a blow on the beast in front of her. Before it could retreat, she had jumped over it’s head, sinking her sword into it’s flesh as she settled on the beasts back. 

Rather than going down, the pauna buckled, throwing Clarke into the wall behind her. The blondes head hit the stone with a sickening crunch, as she slumped to the floor.

The arena was silent.

(Ontari wanted to cry. Shout. Roan grabbed her hand to hold her back.)

Kaeles face contorted into a vicious grimace. He snapped his whip to his three remaining beasts, ordering them to advance the unmoving body once more.

As a pauna lunged, burning purple stared back.

„Oh no you don’t“, Wanheda growled, throwing themselves over the pauna, tearing out Clarkes swords in the process.

The previous silence gave way to tumultuous cheers all around them. Wanheda ignored it, twirling Clarkes swords as they stood their ground in front of the beasts.

One more fight, they told themselves, then we’ll be free.

The two healthy pauna attacked first, their claws slicing through the air where Wanheda had stood a moment before. With supernatural speed and agility, Wanheda dodged their strikes, focusing their attack on the one already injured. The injured beast lunged at them, but Wanheda was much faster – and far angrier.

They cut a deep gash into its paws, causing the pauna to howl in pain. Taking advantage of its momentary distraction, they tore both swords through its throat, dragging the blades down to its stomach. The pauna fell, its life extinguished in a matter of seconds.

Wanheda turned to face the remaining two, but before they had fully turned, one of them charged, catching them off guard. 

The blonde was thrown back once more, the body hitting the arena floor with a thud. Blood flowed profusely from a deep gash in their shoulder.

In agony, Wanheda cursed the limitations of mortal bodies, but needs must. They lifted the swords to fend off another attack. 

Cornered against the arena wall, they scanned for a way out. Trying to duck under one pauna, they felt a clawed paw rake across their leg, slicing through armor and flesh alike. Liquid blue gushed from the wound, concealed by the black of her armor.

The pauna slashed again, and Wanheda cursed their mistake, stumbling back in a sluggish attempt to escape. Gritting her teeth, Wanheda pushed through the agony. 

(Internally they apologized to Clarke in advance for the pain she was bound to wake up in).

On the stands, the crowd had fallen into chaos. They had expected a slaughter at the sight of the pauna, the champion torn to shreds within minutes. But Randha Absyl once again showed why they were the first champion to reach this final match. 

Minutes flew by, and they still stood, injured and weak but alive.

Thrown to the floor once more (it was starting to feel like a theme), Wanheda saw one pauna lunge at them, claws stretched to rip them apart. 

Unable to move away, they grabbed their last sword and lunged it at the beast. The black blade embedded itself in the pauna's shoulder, stopping its advance. 

Wanheda could barely move now and had no more weapons on them.

At Kaele's command, the pauna lunged again. With their back against the wall, bleeding profusely, Wanheda saw no chance to win. 

They closed their eyes.

Only to open them when they felt the expected ice spread through their veins.

Focusing on the still lunging pauna, they stretched their arms outward. 

In the second they had to act, the spirit felt everything—the way its heart beat, muscles tensed, limbs moved. 

And just when the beast came in contact with skin, they pushed the power outward. 

The pauna shrieked in pain as its ribcage collapsed into itself, its bones shattering and piercing its organs. 

The beast landed on top of Wanheda, crushing them under its weight. 

It was dead.

Wanheda could barely move, breaking its bones had taken everything out of Clarkes body. 

Yet, they shoved the beast off, pulling out the blade that had still been embedded in its shoulder in a fluid movement. 

The audience was enraptured, nobody understanding what just happened. 

Kaele shouted in outrage.

He was desperate. Never had he anticipated losing four of his pauna to the champion. With a guttural growl, he cracked his whip, joining his last pauna in the fight.

Wanheda knew they had to win quickly. Their control over Clarke's body was waning, the overuse of powers getting to them on top of the numerous injuries they had sustained. 

Kaele’s whip cracked menacingly as he advanced, his eyes filled with fury. Trying to channel the last of their energy, Wanheda’s movements became more deliberate, their senses heightened as they danced through the onslaught of whip and claws. Each step was calculated, every move designed to exert themselves as little as possible while avoiding the deadly strikes.

They weaved closer to the pauna, feeling the beast's hot breath against their skin. Kaele's whip cracked again, narrowly missing them as they sidestepped and pressed forward. The spirit could feel the adrenaline surging through Clarkes body, keeping them focused despite the agony.

Finally, they stood right in front of the beast, barely avoiding its massive paw as it swiped at them. Kaele's whip lashed out again, and with a swift, fluid motion, Wanheda hurled themselves out of the way. The iron tip of the whip caught the pauna instead, tearing a deep gash from its eye to its snout.

The beast howled in pain, its movements becoming erratic.

In confusion and anger, the pauna lunged at the one who hurt it – Kaele. The monster tamer jumped back in fear, shouting commands to attack the champion instead.

Using the distraction, Wanheda jumped onto the pauna's back, burying the sword into its thick fur. The beast thrashed and roared, but Wanheda's grip was unwavering. With a final, powerful thrust, they drove the blade deeper, cutting through sinew and bone.

The pauna fell, collapsing under its own weight, and Wanheda gracefully slid off its back, tearing the sword free in a fluid motion. 

As the black blade sliced through the matted fur, the arena exploded in disbelief. 

There Wanheda stood, battered, their breath ragged, the five pauna lying dead at their feet.

Taking a deep breath, the champion turned to Kaele, raising an eyebrow, mocking him to come close. 

Standing there, crimson blood of the paunas building a stark contrast to the paleness of their skin, they looked like death coming to collect it’s price and for a moment, Kaele found himself terrified for what’s to come. 

As Kaele snatched his whip, Wanheda jumped. Their duel a fierce frenzy of movement, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. Wanheda danced on the edge of unconsciousness, their movements fueled by sheer willpower alone. 

The monster tamer's whip lashed out time and time again, but the spirit was quicker, ducking and weaving with unprecedented grace. 

Finally, with a swift strike, Wanheda disarmed their opponent, sending the whip clattering to the ground. The tamer's eyes burned with madness as he lunged forward, but it was too late. With a single, well-placed blow, the spirit brought him to his knees.

The arena stood silent for a second, before tumultuous applause rose from the overcrowded stands, chants of Randha Absyl echoing through the ring. 

Roan and Ontari stood, gaping at their sister, who had done what no-one managed to achieve before. The tension of worry seemed to seep out of them, leaving them in breathless awe.

As Nia rose, the chants quieted. A satisfied smirk plastered on the Ince queens face as she gazed at her champion. Armor in shreds, the blood of their enemies covering their body, a river of blue and red dripping from their chin, blood mixing with the smudged warpaint, indiscernible which parts were blood and which were not.

„Randha Absyl“, Nias voice rang out across the arena, „Today, you revel in your triumph, and tomorrow we will celebrate to pledge you into my ranks!“, the crowd is listening to the queens every word, „For now“, Nia dressed the stands now, „rejoice, for my champion has risen from darkness, and with them, a new era for our kingdom! A new era for the world!“, cheers enveloped the arena, like a drumming beat of anticipation, a promise for war and bloodshed to the commander of the 13 clans „Randha Absyl“, the queens ice eyes met Wanhedas, „You are freed of the pits“.

The champion left the stands, cheers echoing long after they had left. 

For Wanheda, once they had left the arena, every drop of adrenalin that had kept them standing left their body. 

They barely stumbled into the room where Asa waited, collapsing the second the door fell shut behind her. Glowing purple orbs slipped back into their normal blue-purple color, as Clarke let out a pained gasp.

„You branwada“, was the first thing the fisa said, struggling to lift Clarke onto the wooden table she had laid on so many times before. Clarke wanted to reply, but the mist in her mind took ahold of her, and slowly she slipped away.

That’s how Roan and Ontari found her nearly two hours later. Asa had stripped the girl off her armor, stitching the wounds and cleaning the girl off the blood and grime from the fight. Lying there on the cot, you could almost think she had fallen into a peaceful slumber. 

„It shouldn’t take much longer for her to wake up“, Asa soothed the two warriors, who stood frozen at Clarkes unconscious form. „Her wounds have already started healing, you would think they are several days old. She’ll be alright“, 

a small sigh of relieve left Ontari, she hadn’t even realized she had held her breath. 

„Will she be up for tonight?“, Roan mumbled in quiet worry. If Clarke couldn’t run, they’d have to improvise and he had no idea what they would do. „We’ll just have to wait“.

Clarke woke up confused and in pain. The last thing she remembered, was getting thrown against a wall in the arena. 

Instinctually, she lifted her hand to cradle the injury on her head, though the expected gash seemed to be absent. As was something else, she realized in slight panic -

„Wanheda?“ She called for the spirit, whose absence was notably off-putting. The spirit didn’t answer.

Had she died?

If this was death, it sucked.

„Klarke!“, the blonde sat up with a jolt, cursing herself as pain raked through her body.

„Jok“, she growled.

„You branwada, thank fuck you’re alive“, Ontari breathed in relief, wrapping her arms around the blonde, careful not to agitate her injuries. „How are you feeling?“

„Like I was body checked by a truck“, she mumbled. She would’ve said pauna, but felt like her companions wouldn’t appreciate that comment quite so soon. 

„Don’t do that again, do you have any idea how worried we were“, Roan mumbled, pulling her into a tight embrace. 

A chuckle escaped Clarke, „Next time your mother sets five pauna on me I’ll happily let you join“, Clarke groaned in pain as she moved out of the embrace. Which reminds me. How am I here?“

Clarke hummend in understanding when Asa narrated the fight. „Well, if Wanheda stepped in it makes sense I don’t recall it right now“, she said.

(It also made sense that she couldn’t feel the spirit - thus being unable to call on any power beyond her natural healing and strength - because her body probably still needed to recover from the overuse of power. She opted to keep that information for herself, it wouldn’t do any good to make them worry about it too).

„Well, besides the fact that I technically only beat one of the pauna“, she smirked, „I bet I looked really cool“. 

Ontari was the first to laugh, but the other two quickly joined, tension flowing out of the room.

The four spend the next while talking over the details for the night. 

„Nia gave orders for you to rest“, Roan explained, „I think she wants you in perfect condition tomorrow“. 

Clarke smiled at the man, this would come in handy in her escape. 

Once Clarke was settled back into her cell, Ontari gave her a bone crushing hug. 

„I hate not being with you in this“, the black haired woman whispered. „You’ll be there when I make it to Trikru, right? I’ll be okay. Just make sure my people are okay“, the blonde reassured. 

As she drew out of the hug once again, she mustered her siblings and Asa carefully. „Take care of each other, alright? I don’t want to hear about any of you dying or getting hurt“, gentle smiles answered her request. „First you need to not die, little wolf“.

It was dark by the time the three Azgedan citizens left the quarters. 

Clarke stared at Ontaris bed, where a pile of clothing lay for her to use. Ontari and Roan had taken her custom weapons and armor with them, as they would make her way too recognizable. 

Instead, Clarke would wear typical Azgedan gear. The fabric was dyed in blue and grey colors. Sturdy cargo-styled pants were secured by a belt around her waist. A bag was secured to the belt, holding a waterskin and a few rations of dried meat. Around her legs, dark leather wraps around her shinbones, the blue color growing into silver edges with inlaid steel. 

In a similar fashion, a dark blue garment covered her upper body, sturdy enough to keep the chilly air away and offer some protection should she be attacked. Her arms were covered by braces in similar fashion to those on her legs. A shawl was draped around her neck, to be pulled over her face should she pass by someone who might recognize her.

Two knifes were strapped to her warm leather boots and a bow and quiver are tied to her back. Lastly, two curved swords - resembling scythes - were strapped to her waist.

Dressed once more, weapons at the ready, Clarke waited for her time, her heart pounding with anticipation. 

Tonight, she would break free from the chains that bound her, and nothing would stand in her way.

As it turned out, the nothing stands in her way consisted of half of Nias royal guard.

Roan and Ontari had told her to wait bout 30 candle marks after she heard the tower bells go off, after that anything was fair game.
In the beginning, it had gone exactly as planned. Having Ontaris key to lock the door to their quarters once she left, no-one should’ve realized she was missing too quickly. 

After, Clarke easily entered the inner wall tunnel. An entire net of those tunnels spread through the castle, known only to Nia and those closest to the queen. They’d be used to escape the castle should Nia ever be attacked and see no way to win.
Clarkes way out of the dungeon area went about as smoothly as it could have. There had been several moments in which she had to stay very still, so the passing guards outside of the tunnel wouldn’t hear her, but she could always hear them way before they got close enough to be alerted by her movement. 

Thus she easily made it from the dungeons - which stood inside the mountain, far beneath the castle itself, up to the main entrance. 

From there, the plan depended on how well her siblings distraction in the city worked. 

She had hoped that the riots in the city would draw out some of the entry guards. And while it had been highly unlikely, it would’ve allowed her to use the first floor exit of the tunnel and let herself blend into the crowd. 

Since that sadly hadn’t worked, she had to continue further up into the castle to take the exit on top of the mountain. 

To get to the upper levels, she had to start climbing up a narrow chute. That’s how all the following floors were connected.

The air inside the narrow tunnel was damp and chilly, beads of condensation clinging to the rough stone walls. 

Clarke pressed herself against the cold surface, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened intently for any sign of further approaching guards. 

She could hear the faint echo of footsteps reverberating through the tunnel, growing louder with each passing moment.

Clarke glanced over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat as she caught sight of the flickering torchlight. 

She had been warned that some of Nias royal guards would patrol the inner tunnels on the upper floors, but had thought she’d have a bit more time before encountering them. She needed to move quickly if she was going to escape their grasp.

Gritting her teeth with determination, Clarke pushed herself away from the wall and resumed her climb upward. 

The stones were rough beneath her fingers, the edges biting into her skin as she pulled herself higher and higher. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, driving her forward despite the burning ache in her muscles.

Just as she reached the mouth of the tunnel, her heart sank as she heard the unmistakable sound of voices echoing from above. 

A group of guards was walking on the upper floor, just as those below her slowly reached the entry points to the upward chute. 

Panic started to claw at her mind, but she forced herself to stay focused. There had to be another way out.

Remembering the map Ontari had drawn out for her, Clarke knew the tunnel system had numerous hidden exits every few meters. 

She quickly scanned the dark passage, spotting a narrow offshoot to her left. Without hesitation, she squeezed into the smaller tunnel, crawling on hands and knees. The rough stone scraped against her elbows and knees, but she kept moving, driven by the urgency of her situation.

The tunnel sloped upward and twisted sharply, leading Clarke to a small wooden door. She pressed her ear against it, listening for any signs of guards. 

Hearing nothing, she slowly pushed the door open and emerged into a narrow courtyard nestled within the castle's outer wall. The night air was cool against her flushed skin.

The courtyard was empty, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. Glancing around frantically, she searched for a way to escape the castle.

Before she could formulate a plan, the sound of shouts filled the air, and she knew that she had been discovered. 

She cursed her current inability to call on her powers, as she began to scale the crumbling walls of the castle. 

Her fingers found purchase in the rough stone as she climbed higher and higher.

With a cry of alarm, the guard below unleashed a volley of arrows in her direction, the deadly shafts whistling through the air as they sought their target.

Ducking and weaving, while trying not to fall to her death, Clarke narrowly avoided the deadly rain of arrows, her heart pounding in her chest as she continued to climb. 

The stones were slick with moisture, and she could feel her grip slipping as she struggled to maintain her hold.

Despite (Or rather because of) the danger, Clarke pressed on, as she finally reached the summit of the mountain. 

The old ruins Roan had told her about stretched out before her, their crumbling walls offering little in the way of shelter as she sought refuge from her pursuers.

Before she could catch her breath, the sound of footsteps echoed behind her, and she knew that the guards had followed her to the top. 

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned to face her attackers, her hands tightening around the hilt of her swords as she prepared to defend herself.

(Not that she was too hopeful. Her entire body was aching, and - compared to her normal abilities - she was slow and weak).

The first guard lunged at her with his sword, his blade flashing in the moonlight as Clarke barely parried his attack, lacking her practiced ease. As she fought, she could feel the injuries from her previous fight slowing her movements, her muscles protesting with each swing of her sword.

Clarke could feel her strength waning with each passing moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought to stay on her feet.

It was pure luck that she landed a fatal blow on the last of the three guards after what felt like hours. She turned to run, but as she did, she found more guards coming from the old ruins. With no way to turn, she ran towards the cliffside of the mountain.

Desperation clawed at her chest as she turned to face her attackers, her sword raised in defiance as she prepared to make her final stand. 

But even as she braced herself for the inevitable, she couldn't help but feel a sense of bitter irony at the thought of being cut down just as she was on the cusp of freedom.

(So much for escaping after being absolved from the pits. Not being discovered that quickly her ass).

The guards attacked and despite her best efforts, their powerful strikes tore through the blondes defenses. With a sinking feeling in her heart, she stumbled backwards, her back coming up against the edge of the cliff. 

She had nowhere left to run.

With a swift and merciless strike, a guard's sword found its mark, the blade piercing through Clarke's side with a sickening crunch. 

Agony flared through her body as she stumbled further backwards, her eyes wide with shock as she felt the warm rush of blood seeping from her wound.

The world spun around her. Clarke refused to give in to despair, her hands shaking as she struggled to maintain her grip on her sword, but her sight was narrowing through the black edges of her fading consciousness. 

Before she could take another step, the ground gave way beneath her, and Clarke found herself tumbling backwards over the edge of the cliff. 

Time seemed to slow as she plummeted through the air, the roar of the river below growing louder with each passing moment.

And then, with a bone-jarring impact, Clarke hit the water with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. 

Pain exploded through her body as she was dragged beneath the surface, the churning currents pulling her down into the darkness below.

Nia, who had come up with the guards in pursuit of Clarke, stood at the cliff side where the blonde had just plummeted down, eyes searching for the girl. 

In the darkness, she could only make out the churning waters, any sign of the blonde vanished down the river. 

„Gather scouts and find her“, Nias voice was harsh. 

„Ai kwin, she couldn’t have survived“. Nia knew that, everything in her told her that the blonde had perished to the fall, but she needed certainty. The worst thing that could happen was for Wanheda to somehow survive and make it to Polis alive. 

With a growl, Nia lunched at the guard, her knife drawing a small line of blood against his neck. „You question me“ „No, ai kwin“, the guard tried not to stumble over his words. „I’ll get scouts and we will patrol the river, ai kwin“. Nia nodded. „Take at least ten. If you don’t find her body within the next day, I will send out more troops to find her. She will not make it out of Azgeda alive.“

As for Clarke, she felt as though the current of the river was chipping away her skin. 

She was bleeding from several places, and her side cried in agony where the sword had gone through her body. 

She tried to stay above the river line, gasping for breath as she tore down the river, but her weapons were a heavy weight on her body, pulling her down and her water soaked clothes were doing her no favors.

As Clarke flowed down the turbulent river, she could feel a part of her screaming at her to try harder, but Clarke was so cold and was it really worth it?

As her body got pulled under water again, Clarke didn’t fight it. 

And as her breath was taken by water in her lungs and black spots started clouding her vision, Clarke welcomed it.

Chapter Text

As the riots erupted, Roan, Ontari, and Asa were quick to depart from Absol, determined to avoid any pursuit once their absence was discovered. They mounted their steeds and rode towards Skaikru. 

Their journey mostly spend in silence as they pondered Clarke's fate. The unknown of whether the blonde had escaped the chaos tormented them, fueling their frustration at being unable to aid her. They couldn't even take comfort in the absence of news about her death, as they rode far quicker than any messenger could spread the news.

"It should only be another day's ride," Roan announced six days later at their campsite. Despite their haste, they had yet to catch up with Skaikru. Which, while frustrating, was to be expected. The guards accompanying them had brought horses, giving the group a faster pace. 

Ontari nodded, her gaze fixed on their path further south in worry. Had they taken the customary route, they would likely be crossing into Trikru territory by now. However, with Nia's scouts in the area, they chose to take a detour through the border of the Glowing Forest clan. It would add at least two days to their journey out of Azgeda. Two days where anything could happen, supplied a traitorous part of her mind. 

Ontari volunteered to take the first watch as they settled in for the night, their minds consumed with thoughts of Skaikru. They may not be able to be with Clarke, but they would do everything in their power to protect her people.

Had they not known to look for the large group of Skaikru and Azgeda, they might’ve missed them entirely, which was incredibly reassuring to think about. The group rode off-road, weaving through thick trees and bushes. The warriors at the front meticulously cleared a path, while those at the rear diligently concealed their tracks.

The caravan moved in an almost eerie silence, the only sounds being the occasional neigh of a horse and the soft thud of hooves against the forest floor. Every rider alert and watchful for any sign of danger.

As the three caught up with the group, they were immediately met with terse suspicion from Clarke's people. Faces turned, eyes narrowing as the newcomers approached. 

They slowed their horses, allowing the warriors at the front to vouch for them. "These are the people we mentioned," one of the Azgeda warriors said, his voice low but carrying an authoritative weight. "They arranged your escape."

Roan, raised a hand in a gesture of peace. "We mean no harm. We're here to assist."

Skaikru seemed to automatically flock around a tall man, who rode close to the front. (Roan wondered if that was the man Clarke had described when talking about her teacher. He seemed to fit the description. His name was- Pike or something?)

Maybe-Pike’s eyes flicked over to the warrior who had spoken, then back to Roan. After a tense moment, he gave a curt nod, causing the other Skaikru to relax. 

Once settled, all returned to their positions, and the caravan began to move again, the silence even more pronounced than before. 

„Heihefa Roan, general Ontari, Asandra“, the lead of the party greeted them with a nod of her head, still seated on her horse. „It is good to see you well“. 

Roan returned the nod in kind „Likewise, Bea“. His eyes scanned the group. Eleven Azgedan guards and 17 Skaikru sat on top of the 18 horses the group had. Most Skaikru were sharing a horse, adults sitting with children to fairly distribute the weight on the animals.

As the party continued their path south, Roan rode beside Bea, asking her to fill him in on the Skaikru. 

„We had some issues in the beginning, distrustful members of Skaikru wouldn’t listen or follow our orders“, she explained, „But once they understood that we weren’t harming them and - judging by the changing landscape - leading them out of Azgeda, they became a lot less trouble“, the hesitancy was to be expected, Roan guessed. Clarke had even gone so far to warn them that Skaikru might be outwardly hostile. 

They had fallen into the world thinking they were superior, born to inherit the earth. She had told them how stuck up the Skaikru who had landed in Trikru territory were, judging the grounders harshly and feeling superior. 'Savages' was a word Clarke warned them would most definitely be on Skaikrus mind. 

(The thought send a pang through Roans heart. Clarke had looked so defeated at her peoples actions, yet unwilling to give up on them. Keryon he missed his little sister). 

„Are there any that might become a problem later on?“, he asked after riding in silence for a while. Bea sighed, „There is one, Charles Pike. He is the leader of these Skaikru and very…“, she hesitated, trying to look for a way to put it „Xenophobic?“, Roan offered the word. 

His companion sighed again. „Yeah, alright. In the beginning he would barely eat what we offered, made at least one Skaikru keep watch with us because and I quote ‚who knows what these savages will do‘. He got a lot less aggressive after the first two days out here, but I think that’s because we’re keeping them warm and fed. Once we make it to safety, well, I don’t want to be around him should he ever get his hands on a weapon“. 

(So his assumption had been right. Charles Pike must be Clarkes teacher in the subject earth skills. How a man who hadn’t ever been to earth was able to teach that subject he had no idea.)

„So keep our weapons away from the Pike man and be kind and helpful for the rest of the way“. Bea scowled, „He should be much more grateful. We haven’t done anything, we’re risking our life to help them escape from Nia“. Roan couldn’t disagree with that. 

„Maybe, but there’s nothing we can do. I will not leave him behind, beside the fact that I don’t think Skaikru would continue without him. And we can’t punish him in any way, he’d take that as evidence that his idiotic opinions are right“. And he had promised Clarke that no harm would come to Skaikru. If he couldn’t be with her he’d at least try his goddamn hardest to keep them safe.

That night at camp, the three new arrivals decided to socialize with the Skaikru. It had become very apparent that the two clans tended to be separated from each other and - heeding Clarkes wishes for her people to at least get the chance to get to know grounders before judging them - they decided to bridge the ride between them. 

„I’m a healer“, Asa explained to the three people around her. Two kids had told her they liked her braids and the conversation had stirred from there. Pretty soon a woman - her name was Helen - had joined them. 

Originally she had been scared what the grounder would teach (or do to) the kids, but as she joined in, Asa had been telling anecdotes about mischief she had gotten up to as a kid - Sneaking through the city while playing warrior with her friends, riding horses where she wasn’t supposed to go - and had quickly gotten involved in the conversation herself. 

Nearby Ontari was in a heated discussion with the other three kids and two adults. „No way he’d beat me in a fight!“ Ontari exclaimed proudly. „We grew up together, you know? Roan would always run away. He wanted to be a hunter, not a warrior“. 

The kids giggled „Why did he become a warrior then?“ A quick flash of pain crossed Ontaris features, noticed by the adults, who gave her a sad smile. 

They knew what it meant to do something because it is the only choice, a lot of the poorer people on the arc had to choose a job based on that principle - and they figured that this must be (if a vastly different context and reason) a similar situation. 

„Well“, Ontari put the smile back on her face, „He was supposed to become the leader of Azgeda one day, and to be a leader you need to know how to be a warrior. His mother wanted him to fit his rank and also-“, Ontari hesitated, figuring out how she can explain it without scaring the children „well, she wanted people to be scared of her son. The strongest and most ruthless of all“,

The child next to her cocked her head, „I thought Azgeda was evil, why is he here?“, the same innocence confusion was mirrored as tense fear on other faces in their little circle. 

„Because he didn’t agree with his mother. The queen, as you have probably gotten to see over the past months“, a wry smile crossed her face for a fleeting moment, „is a cruel person. Roan and I we got to feel a lot of that, as she kept us very close. And it’s what taught us how we didn’t want to be. The queen leads through cruelty and fear, but Roan wants to be a just and kind king. In aiding you and Wanheda in your escape, we betrayed the queen, because we think, hope, that Wanheda can be the key for beating Nia and change Azgeda for the better“. 

Sebastian, one of the Skaikru adults listening, furrowed his brows. „So our escape is just for power?“ Ontari laughed beside herself, „Keryon, no. It’s for several reasons. I mean to be fair a big part is the power you give Nia. She was about to use your imprisonment to gain Wanheda’s loyalty and that would’ve become very dangerous very quickly. But beyond that, no. Nobody deserves imprisonment in Azgeda, especially not under Nias trusted guards.“ her gaze flicked across the few bruises she can see littering the others bones, faded but still not gone. 

She was getting through to them, she could see it in the softening gazes and relaxing shoulders. „So, if we’re such good leverage against Wanheda“, the spirits name sounded foreign coming from Sebastians lips „Who is he?“ 

„She’s a friend“, Ontari says. „She also fell from the sky, one of the first 100 to come down, and was taken by Nia roughly 8 months ago“, the others seemed vaguely ill at the thought of another one of their people being taken. 

„Yeah but who is she?“ “You’d know her as Clarke. Clarke Griffin?“ The blondes name drew an immediate reaction. Clarke had told Ontari that basically everyone on the Arc knew her due to her parents - and helping out in the med bay - so the reaction wasn’t really a surprise. „Clarke?“ Sebastian made sure he heard right, „Blonde hair, blue eyes, wouldn’t injure a bug Clarke?“ Ontari cringed at the last part of the description but agreed. „That’s the one, yes“. 

„So she’s so special that she wasn’t brought to us?“, Ontari sighed. She didn't like to tell Skaikru about Clarke without her being present, but the blonde had said it’d be the easiest way to make them at least a bit less suspicious. 

„She’s pretty special, yeah. I’m going to assume you don’t know a lot about what was going on with the other Skaikru?“, they shook their heads, „Okay, well than this’ll be much harder to explain. When the 100 first fell, they were supposed to find food and water at Mt Weather“, she started, subsequently giving a (very short and basic) idea of what had been going on. 

„The commander just left?“, Lisa, the girl in front of her, shouted in outrage. 

This drew some gazes from the surrounding people.

Ontari simply gave a tight nod. „Skaikru wasn’t part of the kongeda - that is the coalition - yet“ to be honest hearing that Skaikru had become the 13th clan had been a huge shock for Ontari, „and her duty was to her people first. But Clarke“, this part was going to be the hardest to explain, „Clarke was left at the mountain, having to figure out a way to safe the people inside. When she got inside, she tried to make a deal with their leader. But he wouldn’t go for it, so driven to walk the ground. He was planning to kill all Skaikru and then use their missiles to bomb our cities, taking the world for themselves. Thousands were going to die“, 

eight horrified faces stared at her, more having joined through the course of her explanation. Ontari choked up, and Roan took over in her stead. „Cage - that was their leader - had sent guards to kill Clarke. The rest of Skaikru was either locked away or getting drilled into. Cage had Abby Griffin, her mother,“ the add on was useless, „put on a table for drilling. Clarke warned Cage to stop and let them go. That this could end peacefully with them leaving alive, or with all of the mountain dead. 

Without any backup Clarkes only choice was to let the mountain win - and thus let thousands die - or fight the mountain and come out alive. Since one person against a hundred guards with guns and hostages wasn’t in any way an actual fight, she threatened to turn off the filtration systems and flood the mountain with outside air“, 

several Skaikru looked like they were bout to wretch. „Well,“ Roans smile didn’t reach his eyes, „You can guess how the rest went. After Clarke saved us all from the mountain, she was known as Wanheda, the commander of death. It is a wildly spread belief“, Roan continued, ignoring the Skaikrus horror, „that killing someone gives you their power. Nias original plan had been to execute Clarke and take her power to overthrow the Commander. But she decided to keep Clarke alive instead, aiming for her to swear loyalty to Nia. As Wanheda, her word carries a lot of weight, and if Wanheda called to arms against the commander, people would gladly follow“ 

„But Clarke didn’t follow Nia? Even after what that commander did?“ „No. She once told me that while she hated the situation the commander put her in, in that moment, with the information the commander had, it was the best thing for her people. She cannot begrudge that. If there’s one thing she can be sure off it’s that the commander will do what’s best for her people and since Skaikru is now part of them, she will not have to choose between you and hers again.“

That night, the Skaikru who had listened barely slept.

It was several days later that they finally made it into Trikru territory. Some Skaikru members - particularly the children and those adults who had been talking to Roan, Ontari and Asa the first night - had warmed up to their Azgedan counterparts. 

Slowly, they began to ride alongside each other, sharing stories and learning about one another's lives. Despite the lack of trust between them, conversations were friendly and connections were starting to form.

The rest of the Skaikru however, was a whole other story. As Bea announced that they had entered Trikru territory, Pike - who had been avoiding the grounders the best he could - was the first to speak up. 

„We’ll be back in proper civilization soon then“. It took all of Beas self control not to roll her eyes. „We would be, but like we explained before, we’ll hide out in an underground cave for a while. With Nia looking for you, there will still be too many scouts close to Arkadia to safely enter. Plus we’ll need to go to the capital first. You’re needed to prove that Nia went against the kongeda, as you agreed to do“. 

Pike grumbled, clearly wanting to say more. „How long will we be hiding then? I don’t think the scouts to your capital will just get less“, his superiority complex was showing and keryon did Bea want to punch him. 

Noting her borderline anger at his attitude, Ontari answered. „A month at most, we’ll be scouting ahead every few days. Nia will not waste her scouts on us outside of Azgeda for long. I imagine she’ll have more important things to focus on.“ 

„Also“, Roan added, „we shouldn’t go to Polis without Clarke. She said she’ll meet us at the cave within a month and if - and only if - she isn’t with us within the month we should leave for Polis“. Half the Skaikru was relieved to know that Clarke would be with them. 

They hadn’t known the girl very well, had even had prejudices painting her as a spoiled princess, but after what the grounders had told them about Clarke, she had inadvertently earned their respect. That did not count for Pikes group however.

„Great, she can stand trial for her crimes then“, Pike grumbled. Ontari spun around to face him, the fury etched onto her face is - if at a lesser extend for most - copied 24 times over. „And which“, Ontaris voice was scarily calm in the face of her wrath „crimes are you talking about exactly?“ Pike wore a smug smirk on his face „From what you said she murdered several hundred people. The punishment for that is - as defined in the exodus charter - death. Guess she turned too savage“, a shout could be heard before blood gushed out of Pikes face.

To everyones surprise - the culprits included by the look on her face - it was Helen who had punched the man. „You don’t deserve to say a thing about what the girl went through, Charles“, the woman hissed. „She committed war crimes!“, Pikes defense didn’t stand as Asa jumped in.

„War crimes? You mean the war crime where she saved all Skaikru children - and by default - all of Skaikru? Or the one where she didn’t have a choice between the genocide of one clan versus them wiping out all 13 clans? Or the one where she killed in self defense? Which one do you mean, Charles kom Skaikru“.

The man gaped at her wordlessly, „there is always a different choice, she just didn’t-„. „You better shut up now, Charles“, Sebastian interrupted this time. „Your ignorant high morals aren’t going to work, not with the decision the girl has been forced into. So shut your mouth if you don’t have anything nice to say. These people saved us and kept us safe, they’re making sure the person responsible for our imprisonment will face consequences. So just shut up.“

The rest of the ride was silent once again.

„You haven’t seen her?“ Roan asked when Ontari entered the cave again, just returning from the latest scouting mission. The month was nearly up and no sign of Clarke anywhere. 

Skaikru - once Pike and his group had gotten several verbal smack downs - had offered to wait a while longer, but the Azgedans were hesitant to do so. 

Waiting would only give Nia more time and if Clarke hadn’t made it to the cave yet… honestly Roan and Ontari refused to think of the pictures their minds conjured. 

„No“, he raven haired warrior replied, „but there are no signs of other Azgedan scouts either. Either Nia doesn’t think us worth it, or she is preoccupied“. Asa, who had been sitting next to Roan at the front of the cave, squeezed his hand „If she’s preoccupied looking for Klarke that means our girl is still alive. She’s tough, I’m sure that she must be hiding out elsewhere. Maybe there were too many scouts in our direction. Don’t give up on her yet“. The siblings shared a heavy look. 

They knew Clarke was tough, it’s just that something felt so incredibly off.  

Chapter Text

As Clarke slowly drifted back to consciousness, the world around her seemed hazy and disjointed. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and she could feel the cool touch of damp earth beneath her fingertips. Blinking against the bright sunlight filtering through the trees, she struggled to orient herself, her mind still foggy from the ordeal she had just endured.

"Strikon, you need to wake up!" Wanhedas voice barely registered, before black clouded her mind again.

„-scouts all around, keeping her is dangerous“
„-our duty to protect-„
Clarke was freezing.

„You need some food, goufa; drink up“ Warm thick liquid poured into Clarkes mouth, before her senses went back into nothingness

„-Needs another change of bandages, it’s getting suspicious-“

„-Told them west“, it was so much warmer, „it won’t be long before they search the houses“ 

„-won’t find this cave, son.“

„-prophecy says-„ Clarke had a splitting headache “shush now, she’s awake. You are alright, dear“. Cool water filled Clarkes mouth, „there you go, now rest some more“ The voice faded again.

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open, the dim light of a cave filtering into her bleary vision. She was aware of a surprising warmth enveloping her, a stark contrast to the freezing cold she remembered before blacking out. Her body felt strangely numb.

She tried to sit up, but her muscles protested weakly. Instead, she settled for letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. A figure moved nearby, busy with some kind of task. As Clarke's eyes focused, she recognized the form as an older woman bustling around the small cave.

The woman turned when she heard a noise from the bunk, noticing Clarke's awakening. "Ah, you're awake!" she exclaimed, a gentle smile spreading across her weathered face. She came over to Clarke and knelt beside her, checking her pulse and examining her eyes. "How are you feeling, dear?" Clarke tried to speak, but her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Where am I?"

The woman patted her hand reassuringly. "You're safe, my dear. I found you at the edge of the river, half frozen and bleeding. My son and I brought you here, to our little cave." "Your son?" Clarke asked, her voice hoarse, alarm bells in her head going off with suspicion. "Where is he?“, the woman reached for a glass beside the bed, offering it to Clarke to drink. "Out hunting," she replied with a nod, when Clarke swallowed the cool liquid. "He'll be so happy to know you're finally awake.“,

Clarke's eyes narrowed. Why had she been brought here? Why was the woman helping her? Why wasn’t she already back with Nia? “Finally awake? How long have I been here?“ She asked instead. The woman sighed softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern. "Two weeks. You've been in and out of consciousness. We've been caring for you, keeping you warm and treating your wounds."

Clarke's mind raced. Two weeks. She was still in enemy territory, vulnerable and dependent on the kindness of strangers. She couldn't afford to trust anyone, yet here she was, alive because of these people. 'What are you playing at?', Clarke wanted to ask. Instead: “What’s your name?"

"Call me Elara," the woman said, her smile never wavering. "And my son's name is Finnian. You're safe with us, Wanheda." Clarkes suspicion dialed up at the name and she shot up, ignoring the sudden dizziness. „Why are you calling me that?“ „That’s your title, is it not?“, the woman frowned at her, „At least that’s what the spirits told me“. 

Now, it would’ve been hypocritical of Clarke to dismiss the spirits, but she had a really hard time comprehending what was going on. She blamed it on how weightless she felt. „Spirits?“, the woman frowned again, „Spirits. You would know about them.“ She did know about them, that wasn’t the point, but she hadn’t heard of anyone who wasn’t chosen by Fleimheda or Wanheda to communicate with them. Wanheda had mentioned that more existed, often guiding those deeply connected to the spirit realm, but it was said to be so rare that they hadn’t spend much time talking about it at all.

„I can feel them on her, strikon“, Wanheda told her, „So should you for that matter. She’s… connected. She’s telling the truth“.

Clarke's suspicion didn't completely fade, but she felt a flicker of gratitude. "Well, thank you, Elara." Elara nodded, gently placing a reassuring hand on Clarke's arm. "Rest more, my dear. You've been through a lot, and you'll need your strength to fully recover." „Can you- would you explain what’s going on first?“, she requested, hating that she didn’t quite understand. The older woman smiled kindly. „I will explain all in due time, goufa. First, you shall recover“.

Clarke lay back hesitantly, her mind still whirling with questions and doubts, but for the moment, she allowed herself to relax, finding herself trusting Elara's oddly soothing presence.

When Clarke woke up again, she was feeling much better. Her body ached less, and her mind felt clearer. She blinked a few times. The old woman wasn't there anymore, instead a man sat next to her bed. He looked to be around 25 years old, and she figured that he must be Finnian, the old woman son. 

Clarke's gaze flicked around the cave, taking in her surroundings in a way she hadn’t managed to before. The cave was small but well-organized, with various herbs and supplies neatly arranged. She gave the man a wary once over, unsure what to make of him. (She hated not having a choice but to trust these strangers, but she still felt so heavy, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get 5 meters if she tried to run).

„Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living“, Wanheda’s voice echoed in her mind, „You scared the hell out of me when I couldn’t communicate with you anymore. Are you alright?“. Clarke groaned silently, drawing the mans attention to her. „Yeah, I’m feeling better“, she reassured the spirit, before turning her attention to - who she still assumed to be - Finnian.

The man mustered her, and she couldn’t decipher wether his gaze held relief or apprehension. Maybe a bit of both. „It’s good to see you awake“, he greeted her with a small smile. So not apprehension then? She hated not being able to tell.

„It’s good to be awake. How long have I been out?" Clarke asked, her voice still raspy. "Only a few hours since you woke up earlier," he replied, watching her attentively. So the woman - Elara? - had informed him of her waking up. Which reminded her- "Where's Elara?" "She's outside making more medicine. The fumes don't mix well with the cave. She'll be back soon."

Clarke sighed in relief.  "Mochof," she relaxed slightly against the furs of the bed.  It didn’t stop her eyes from darting to the door, nor did it stop her from noting that she didn’t have any weapons on her, nor was she really able to really feel her body. If he attacked, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to defend herself. It made her uneasy.

„Relax, strikon“, Wanheda soothed her, though Clarke could feel the slight trepidation in the spirits words, „If they had wanted us dead or back with Nia, we would be. For now, they’ve done nothing but safe us“. Clarke agreed with the spirit, though she still tried to search for any weapons inside the cave.

If the man had noticed how she spaced out, he didn’t mention it. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Clarke thought about lying - I’m doing great, thank you for healing me, I’ll be on my way now - but a shove from Wanheda made her relent.

„Much better than before“, she admitted, “Except for some soreness, I’m barely in pain.“, Wanheda gave her a mental shove as she said that, so Clarke sighed. „Well, that and a- I don’t know, burning sensation in my abdomen“, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t felt that until Wanheda pointed it out. But it kind of felt as though a block of ice was woven into her veins where the sword had pierced her. “And I do feel a little light-headed.“

„I’d imagine you do“, the man admitted, „We have barely been able to get any food into your body the past weeks, as you spend most of it unconscious. Added with the trauma your body is still healing from, it hardly comes as a surprise“.

Clarke itched to ask the man a dozen questions, but before she could, Elara entered the cave. Her face lit up when she saw Clarke awake and talking to Finnian. She was holding a pot, which she placed on a small table to the side of the cave. „It’s good to see my patient up again“, she smiled gently at Clarke. Once she had reached her bed side, she put a hand on Clarkes forehead, frowning slightly. „Well, mostly up. Your fever still hasn’t gone down completely I’m afraid“.

Clarke watched dumbfounded, when Elara went back to the pot she’d put down before. The confusion quickly turned into disgust when she watched the woman scoop some thick brownish-looking liquid into a cup and mixed it with other ingredients Clarke couldn't identify. „Drink this" Elara said warmly as she handed the cup to Clarke. "This will help with pain and inflammation."

Clarke looked at the substance thoroughly disgusted. She really didn't want to drink that. „Is this safe?“ she asked Wanheda internally. As much as she knew about medicine, she still had very limited knowledge on the topic of herbs. It’d be ridiculously easy to poison her. (What the older woman would achieve with that she didn’t know. But she hoped it was poison just so she wouldn't have to drink that.) „It’s okay,“ Wanheda reassured her. Damn it.

Clarke took the cup and drank hesitantly, nearly spitting it back out due to the foul taste. „Ugh“, she groaned, barely managing to swallow the disgusting substance. The woman looked at her apologetically. „I know, it’s nasty medicine, but it works wonders," the man promised. Clarke would have to take his word for it. More than the medicine, she mostly found herself confused in how bad of a state she was in in the first place. After two weeks, she should be up and running again. Frankly it should’ve taken barely a week for all of her wounds to have vanished. It was… concerning.

Wanheda answered her before that line of thinking could drive her insane. „After everything that happened, did you expect to just walk away?“. Clarke thought about it. If she was completely human, she would’ve expected the concussion from the pauna alone to leave her unable to do much of anything for at least a month, not counting the injuries she sustained after. But she wasn’t human.

(She tried not to think about how this meant she barely understood her bodies limits anymore. She was a healer, understanding how the body worked was what she had learned since she was a child. Not knowing hers took such a huge part of who she was)

„You’ll be quick to learn where your limits lie, strikon“, Wanheda promised, „You just haven’t had to get used to it yet.“. Clarke pursed her lips. „I’ve had bad injuries before though. Frankly, some fights gave left me with nearly life-threatening ones“, Wanheda hummed in agreement, „but none of those came with the vast amount of injuries you had, nor with the exhaustion.“, they explained, „All the injuries and the overuse of power just built up and your body gave in. Add to that the poison from the knife you have been stabbed with when escaping, nearly drowning and bleeding to death, well. Even with our superior healing your body couldn’t catch up“. 

She hadn’t considered that. In fact, she was kind of confused with Wanheda saying they overused their powers, since she couldn’t recall that. But that’s something she could ask about later, instead she focused on the other two again, when she finished the cup. She handed it back to Elara with a slight smile. „Well, thank you for healing me". The older woman patted her hand. „Of course, dear. We did what anyone should’ve done“.

—————

Clarke stayed with Elara and Finnian for another three weeks. While the looming threat of Nia weighed on her mind, these were some of the best weeks she could recall since – well, basically ever. 

Elara had barely allowed her out of bed during the first week – much to the amusement of Finnian and Wanheda – insisting that Clarke’s body needed all the rest it could get. The two weeks after, she spent rebuilding the strength that three weeks of inactivity and her injuries had taken from her. At times, she didn’t want to leave them.
If she ignored how worried her Azgedan friends must be, she wasn’t too stressed about leaving. Well, part of her was worried she’d get Elara and Finnian in trouble with her presence, but they kept insisting that Clarke stay. The more days passed without danger, the more Clarke let herself relax and heal. 

She had nearly managed to push the closeness to Absol and Nia out of her mind when her luck finally ran out. She and Finnian were outside the cave, preparing medicine, when they spotted some of Nia’s warriors climbing up the hill toward the cave. 

„Jok“, Clarke cursed, grabbing Finnian and ducking into the cave. “Elara!” Clarke called urgently, her voice tight with anxiety. Elara looked up from her work, her expression quickly shifting to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” The elder woman asked, standing up. “There’s a gonakru coming up the hill,” Clarkes heart was pounding against her chest.

Elara’s face tightened. “It’s unlikely they know you’re here. They’re probably just scouting the area.” She paused, then added firmly, “Regardless, you need to hide and run. We don’t have much time.” Clarke shook her head. “I can’t leave you two. If something happens to you…”

Wanheda’s voice was a soft whisper in her mind. “She’s right, though. We need to go, Klarke. If anything it’ll be our presence that endangers Finnian and Elara.” „We can fight“, she hissed back. „And risk drawing attention to them? This way, there’s no reason for a fight to break out“

Clarke’s eyes filled with tears. “Once this is over, I’ll come back. I’ll make sure you’re both alright.” She relented.

“We’ll be waiting for you.” Finnian, who had since gone to collect Clarkes things, handed her a sword and small bag, his expression tense. “Stay safe,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Trust yourself, Klarke. And trust us to stay safe. Don’t stray from your path.” Clarke hugged them both tightly, then stepped back, taking her things from Finnian. “Thank you. For everything.” Elara smiled sadly. “Go now, Klarke. And may the spirits guide you safely.”

With one last, lingering look at the cave and the two people who had become so dear to her, Clarke turned and left in the opposite direction of where the warriors were coming from. She moved quickly, her heart heavy with the fear and sadness of leaving them behind.

Clarke moved swiftly, descending the steep hill with haste. Her clothes snagged on jagged rocks and sharp branches, tearing and cutting into her skin, but she pressed on, driven by the urgent need to put distance between herself and the approaching gona. She stuck close to the mountainside before trekking towards the river, hoping to avoid detection as she hurried away from Absol.

She walked for several hours, her pace quick. The river’s path provided some cover and a clear route to follow. Clarke was keen on trekking through the night, leaving Absol far far behind her. But ss evening approached, her stomach growled with hunger and her limbs ached with exhaustion. The relative peace of mind she had found in the past weeks was all but shattered, and yet again, she found her thoughts trailing off into unwanted territory. Clarke was eerily reminded of her first day away from Arcadia. She felt concern rolling off of the spirit in waves, but she pushed them away. (She didn't deserve the help). She quickly shook the thought off, instead focusing on searching for food and a cave to spend the night. 

Spotting a shallow area of the river, she used her sword to spear a fish, before she trekked into the high grassland surrounding the river in search of a place to sleep.

“Look to the left, Klarke. There’s a small opening behind those bushes.” She followed Wanheda’s directions, soon finding a narrow cave entrance obscured by foliage. She pushed through the branches and peered inside, relieved to find a small, dry space. She quickly gathered some wood and built a fire, the warmth a welcome comfort against the chill of the evening air.

The fish grilling over the flames several minutes later, made her mouth water. Keryon she was so hungry. 

„Do you think they are alright?“, Clarke asked the spirit while eating. Wanheda sent soothing waves in return. „There was no reason for them to get hurt, strikon. Don’t worry about matters you cannot change. You did a good thing leaving“. Clarke huffed „Wasn’t gonna make the right choice without you there though, was I?“ The spirit sighed. “You are doing a great job, strikon, you’re just still missing experience. It’s not something learned in just over a year. It'll become much easier once we merge, with gaining our experience as your own,” Wanheda’s voice murmured. “Now rest while you can. You’ll need your strength.”

The girl nodded, silently agreeing with the spirit. She finished the fish, savoring the simple meal, and leaned back against the cave wall. Her thoughts drifted to Elara and Finnian, hoping they would remain safe. Wanheda was right, she couldn’t afford to dwell on it too long. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and she needed to be ready. As the fire crackled softly and the night settled in around her, Clarke allowed herself to close her eyes, letting the warmth and the rhythmic sounds of the forest lull her into a light, cautious sleep.

She woke with a start to the sound of footsteps and voices. Morning light trickled through the cave entrance, casting long shadows on the walls. The fire from the previous night had long since burned out, leaving only cold ashes. The voices grew closer, and Clarke instinctively retreated to the very back of the cave, searching for cover in the shadows of some stones. She pulled the shadows tighter around herself, forcing her breath to even out despite the rising panic in her chest.

Two figures appeared at the entrance. Both carrying swords, though neither looked like they particularly needed them to kill someone. Clarke’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched them approach, praying they wouldn’t find her and force her to kill them. Any trace they wouldn’t have on her was a good one.

"Check the fire," a gruff voice commanded. One of the men - probably younger or at least less experienced as he took orders from the other one - knelt down and touched the cold ashes. "It’s been out for hours. Whoever was here is long gone." Clarke held her breath as their eyes scanned the cave. She pressed herself tighter against the stones, praying the shadows would be enough to keep her hidden.

The younger man walked around the cave, his gaze sweeping dangerously close to where Clarke was hiding. "Doesn't seem to return either," he said. "We should reconvene with the rest. Maybe one of them found Wanheda." Clarke’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. (Stupid, really. It had been rather obvious who they were looking for.) Yet, she could feel the blood drain from her face. How many scouts had Nia send out for her?

The older man seemed doubtful. „After so long I don’t see why we’re even scouting these parts anymore“. Still, he too, scanned the cave for any presence of her. She pulled the shadows even tighter around herself, willing herself into utmost silence. „She has to be somewhere, Monteza. She wouldn’t have made it past the gonakrus at the border“ „That is if she hasn’t somehow managed to make it to the border before us.“ „Let’s hope she didn’t or we have to answer to Kwin Nia. Now let’s move out. I can’t find anything either.“

Clarke waited, every muscle tensed, as the two men left the cave. She counted the seconds, straining to hear their footsteps fade away. Only when she was sure they were gone did she finally let go of the shadows, her breath escaping in a shuddering sigh. She stayed crouched for another few more minutes, her mind racing. How close were the others? How many were sent to the border? The encounter had been much too close for comfort. And so soon after they had searched Ellara and Finnians cave too.

"I can feel you think, Wanheda," Clarke murmured, after a while of sitting in silence. The spirit's response was gentle but resolute. "I think it's time for us to fully merge, strikon."

The warriors breathe caught in her throat. „Why now? Can't we wait a bit longer? I’m not ready yet" Clarke pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. Wanheda had brought up the topic several times in the past, yet Clarke could never get herself to agree. "You can't leave."

„You are ready though, Klarke, you have been for a while now“, the spirit promised, but the blonde vehemently shook her head. „You can’t go, I don’t want to be alone again“, she whimpered. She hadn’t had to be alone for even a second since she’d left Arcadia. The amount of nightmares and panic attacks Wanheda had pulled her out of were immesurable, she didn’t know how to do this without the spirit.

The spirit sighed. „Do you still not understand, do you? You will never be alone. You have Ontari and Roan and once you make it back you’ll have all of your family to back you up. And I’m not gone, strikon, our souls are simply ready to merge completely. We will be one like we were always supposed to be“. 

Clarke trembled in fear. „I don’t care. I don't need that, Wanheda. What I need is you here with me and I don't want to - I can't to change. What if they won’t like me because I’m so different after this?“ Wanheda wished she could hold her reincarnation.  „You will not change into a whole different person, Klarke. Your soul is still yours, as it always has been. You will still have been born on the arc nearly 19 years ago, you will still have loved and lost and gotten your heart broken. Now you will simply be more experienced, know of the worlds I was only able to tell you about. And I will still exist, there to guide you through your dreams and meditations. I’m not gone, I am you, Klarke“.

The girl hated it. She knew it would happen eventually, she understood it had to, but she wanted to cling to the comfort of Wanhedas wisdom, her gentle words coaxing her through the terrors haunting her at night, her insistent reassurance that Clarke was not a monster. She didn’t want to loose that. 

„This is the point where you turn outside for support, strikon. But we need to become one. You are incredibly skilled, but several gonakru at the border? You will not make it out if you cannot look back on my experience without me as an intermediate. Without the final burst of strength and power this will give you. People need you to stay alive, so do what you must to achieve that, strikon“. Clarke wanted to sob. Her spirit was tired, aching at the thought of being all alone until she could find her way to Trikru, until she could find her family again. 

And yet, she had to wonder, would she ever see them again if she didn’t fill her full potential?

„You are ready, strikon“. She wasn’t, she didn’t feel like it. But her mind showed her the faces of those she loved, and she couldn’t possibly afford to deny Wanhedas request again. Her people needed her alive. 

„Thank you, Wanheda. For everything“, the girl mumbled. „You make it sound like I'll forever be gone. This is not goodbye, strikon. This is a completely new hello“. Wanheda slowly faded to the back of Clarkes consciousness.

A moment later, memories flooded through the blonde. Lives she’d lived but never known, battles she’d never known to have fought, lovers she’d never known to mourn. And as the onslaught of pictures died down, Clarke felt… whole.

Chapter Text

The Azgedan trio did, in fact, not wait for another two weeks. They had promised Clarke to protect her people first. While the worry gnawing at Ontari, Roan and Asa wouldn’t let them leave without waiting at least a while longer, their promise came first. 

That didn’t do anything to alleviate their doubts though. What if Clarke was just running a bit late? What if she needed their help in Azgeda?

Still, they left to continue their journey, praying that Clarke would be alright.

„I don’t know her very well“, Helen had said at some point, „But what I do know is hat the girl is incredibly smart. I’m sure she will be okay“. 

As they left the cave behind, guilt swirled in the minds of not only Clarkes friends, but also the Azgedan warriors and reasonable Skaikru. Should they have sent someone to search for Clarke? No, if Clarke didn’t want to be found she wouldn’t be and with the amount of scouts Nia had likely send for the girl there was a very low chance of not getting themselves - and probably Clarke too - into serious trouble.

As they were riding, Roan took note of the vast difference he could see between the first day to now and smiled. Clarke would be proud of them. 

What used to be two completely different groups now seemed like one for the most part. Skaikru (though still very stiff and uncomfortable on their horses) riding right next to Azgedans, chattering away happily as they rode towards Polis. The past month in the caves had done wonders for the group, deepening the acquaintances that had formed into tender friendships. 

As his gaze flew over the party, his eyes landed on Pike and his crew. Out of the 17 Skaikru, those four were still incredibly troublesome. Continuously talking about how Clarke had to stand trial for her crimes, or how grounders were evil. 

More than once they had told the Azgedan warriors to speak English and not the savage language. If not for Clarke, Roan would’ve left them behind before they even made it into Trikru. Luckily, he barely had to say anything to them. The rest of Skaikru was quick to put those four in line.

„You seem to be worried, prince Roan“, Sebastian clumsily steered his own horse towards him. „Anything you’d like to share?“ Roan liked the man. He was incredibly open-minded, which was a rare gift among Skaikru as Clarke had once told him. „I’m mostly thinking about Polis“, which was not per se a lie, he had been thinking about the capital. Just more in a need to get there to find Clarke I’m freaking out where is my sister kind of way. The other man, obviously noting that Roan didn't seem to be inclined to talk about what was worrying him, lit up

„That’s the capital we’re heading to, sha?“, Roan smiled at the use of his native tongue. „Sha. It is not far from here. About a days ride I expect. We should be reaching the main entry route in a few hours I expect. From there on it’ll seem much more crowded than here“.

That much was true. For now they had been avoiding all trading routes or villages on the way. Except for a few passing hunters - who hadn’t recognized them for the Azgedan warriors half of them were, since they all changed out of their Azgedan colored clothes and kept their heads slightly angled to hide their facial scars - they had yet to encounter anyone. „Tell me about it“, Sebastian pulled him out of his thoughts, „This amazing capital of yours“. Roan smiled sadly, an old memory coming up. „Well,“ he started to explain. 

„Polis, is it really so amazing?“ Clarke had asked one night after training. „Well“, Roan began, thinking of the city he had grown to adore the few times he had been there.

He began talking about Polis tower, 101 stories high in the middle of the city. Of the marketplace filled with traders, of the artists street, full of painters and woodworkers. He told of the training grounds, the festivals, and most of all, he talked about the all-encompassing joy that seamed to be weaved through the very fiber of the city. Joy he had always missed in Azgeda.

„That sounds beautiful“, Sebastian pulled him out of his thoughts. „It is. You’ll see for yourself“.

Just before they entered the main road, they came to a halt. „Alright everyone“, Roan addressed the group, „I know we have talked about this before, but I want to make sure absolutely everyone knows exactly how our visit in Polis is going to go.“ He ignored the four mocking eyerolls from the back. „I’ll ask for the commander to be notified once we’re at the gate. We’ll guide the horses to the stables and from there, we split up. Ontari, Helen, Sebastian and me will request audience with the commander, while the rest of you will find accommodations. I doubt we will be staying here for more than a day or two before the commander helps you get back to your people“. 

As they neared the cities walls, the chatter that had been filling the space between the group started dying down. The Skaikru were staring at the walls in awe and a small burst of pride shot through Roans heart. Ontari, who had been riding further back in the caravan, joined Roan at the front. „You ready?“ She whispered. „Keryon no. If the commander cares about Klarke even half as much as I thunk she does this is going to be a shit show“. He had learned the term - shit show - from Clarke and it brought him great joy to use it. Ontari nodded in agreement. It was gonna be horrible.

„Halt!“, they heard the tower guards voice, „What is your business in Polis“. Roan rode a bit forward . „I need audience with the commander“, Roan saw the slight flash of fear on the guards face as he recognized who was infant of him, „I bring news from Azgeda. The people behind me“, he gestures at the group, „are with me.“ „For what reason would we allow a group of 30 Azgedan warriors into the city“, Roan had expected this, but the reminder of what everyone thought of Azgeda still stung. „Because we are a part of the kongeda. We bring no harm. Tell the commander we need an audience because we found Farm station survivors“. The guard looked as though he was about to argue, but had to concede to Roans request. „Sha, Haihefa Roan. Please bring your horses to the stables, we will inform the commander. You know the way“.

Roan nodded his head in thanks, gesturing the rest to follow behind him. 

The atmosphere inside of Polis changed the second the citizens took note of the Azgedan warriors, sitting proudly on their horses. The happy chatters and children playing on the street were gone. Instead, people turned their heads or ducked back inside their houses to escape the perceived danger. Roans heart weighed heavy in his chest. He’d have a lot of work to do once his mother was dethroned.

Once at the stables, the four who’d go see the commander quickly dismounted their horses, leaving the rest of the group to ensure the horses would be unsaddled and cared for. „This commander“, Helen seemed incredibly nervous, „you are sure she’ll aid us?“. The hesitancy was warranted, he supposed.

„Sha. Heda is fair. She cares about her people, which you are now a part of.“ Helen cocked her head. „I mean I guess, it’s just we don’t bring Wanheda and you said Clarke would be needed to convince the council of our words“. „The ambassadors, yes“, Ontari answered in his stead, „But the commander is reasonable. We don’t have a reason to lie to her, she’ll listen to what we have to say“.

They had made it to the tower at this point. If it weren’t for their anxiety in the situation, Helen and Sebastian would marvel over the tower that stood tall even after it survived the bombs. „Alright, now or never I guess“. It was a mercy that their group had shrunk to only four people, otherwise they wouldn’t have made it through the tower with so little stares. As it was, only a few people - those who recognized Roan as prince of Azgeda - shrunk back and avoided their way. Some seemed curious as to what two obviously not Azgedan citizens were doing with the prince, but that was about it. It didn’t take long for the four of them to enter the elevator that would lead them to the conference rooms on the 85th floor.

„Heda will receive you in the room at the end of the hall“, the guard stationed at the elevator informed them, before the doors closed. The tension in the small cage was suffocating. „I hate these things“ Ontari mumbled as they rode up. 

The group took a minute to soothe their nerves and collect themselves once they reached to upper floor. „Let’s do this then“

Lexa had been with most of the usual group, when Roan and Ontari arrived in Polis, as had become usual in the past months, especially after Lexa had gotten the box with Clarkes hair. In the beginning, it had been awkward and after they thought Clarke had died, a piece of the happiness that had still lived within all of them died with it. Lexa had taken it especially hard, barely leaving her room for the first two days until Anya took it upon herself to haul the brunette out of her chambers. They had gone on a hunting trip for several days. Changing the scenery, Anya had said. Afterwards, Lexa had started doing better. Though it was mostly through properly bonding with the other Skaikru members and sharing stories that anchored Lexa. 

When the box had arrived, Abby had wanted to leash out at Lexa. Tell her it’s her fault that Clarke was gone, but Abby hadn’t seen anyone look as broken as Lexa did in that moment. „You really did love my daughter, didn’t you?“ Abby had asked instead. If Lexas shaking shoulders hadn’t been answer enough, it would’ve been not getting shoved away at the hug Abby enveloped the girl in. „I’m so sorry, Abby“ „It’s only the fault of whoever did this, Lexa“. They had been anchoring each other in their love for the blonde.

Lexa looked around the table. Raven ad Anya were in a heated discussion about the pros and cons of exploding arrows (Lexa didn’t even want to know), soon joined by Lincoln and Octavia butting in. Clarke would’ve loved to see how close the group had become.

As she pondered in her thoughts, the door of the dining hall flew open and a stressed looking messenger barged in. „Moba, Heda, but your presence is requested“, taking note of the present Skaikru, the messenger switched to gonasleng - though at this point the Skaikru spoke reasonable good Trig and understood most if not all conversations.

„Prince Roan of Azgeda has arrived with a group of several gona. He says they came with news you might be interested in hearing, as well as bring survivors of farm station“. The name of the ark station drew out various noises of surprise from the present Skaikru. As for Lexa, her heart had stopped the second she had heard the guard utter Roans name. The last time he had been in Polis had been when he delivered Costias head. To have him here so soon after the package with Clarkes hair arrived…

„Tell him to meet me in the council hall“, she ordered. With a bow, the messenger excused himself to return to his duties. „I want to be there, Lexa. If there are farm station survivors you’ll need one of us with you“. „And you will, Raven. So will the rest of you, actually. It will be good if the farm station people see Skaikru standing with me.“

Thus, they made their way down to the 85th floor, anxiously waiting for the prince of Azgeda to arrive.

The four new arrivals mustered the other seven for a short while when they entered.

„Heda“, Roan greeted Lexa, bowing his head to the commander, the rest of the group quickly following his lead. Lexa was seated on a slightly elevated seat, the rest of her group in a half circle around her.

„Heihefa Roan kom Azgeda“, Lexa greeted the man, „I’ve been told you come with important matters“. The prince nodded, stepping slightly to the side to clear the view of Helen and Sebastian.

„Heda“, Helen greeted, before turning to Octavia and Raven, switching back into English as she did. „It is good to see that other Skaikru survived too. For a while we were worried we were the only ones“. A thousand questions burned at the tip of Ravens tongue. How had they survived, why had it taken so long for them to get to Polis. She held her questions for the time being. „Likewise“, she said instead, a small smile gracing her lips. Lexa observed the exchange for a second.

„Tell me of the news you bring, Prince Roan“. The man nodded. „The first is obvious, Commander. A part of the ark - farm station - landed in Azgeda lands. Queen Nia“, his grimace at the queens name didn’t go unnoticed, „had those Skaikru captured even before they joined the kongeda. 17 Skaikru survived, though I think it best for them to tell their story themselves. I only found out about it roughly two and a half months ago myself.“, Roan gave the two Skaikru accompanying him an encouraging look.

„The landing was pretty bad“, Sebastian began to explain, „we lost more than half of our people to the crash alone. But it got really bad after. The radios were fried, so we had no chance to call any of you, and when we looked outside everything was barren. We didn’t know it at that time, but we had landed pretty far north in Azgeda lands, just a few days ride away from their capital“.

He explained how they had had trouble caring for the injured, getting food and water. How several days after the crash a group of warriors came, not to aid, but to capture those Skaikru that survived, executing any injured members. Whenever Sebastian would choke up, Helen would do her best to continue their story, talking about the time spend in captivity and pain, until one day they were transferred to a house several hours away from where they had originally been.

„Our treatment bettered after that“, Helen said, looking into the horrified faces of the people in front of her. „We weren’t suddenly treated amazingly, but we had more food, only got beaten when a guard would severely leash out at perceived disrespect. We didn’t understand why, but no-one was going to argue. It was another three months, before the guard changed.“

With this, the woman turned to Roan and Ontari. „I send some trusted guards to the house when I heard about the captured Skaikru“, Roan explained. „It took a while to get the entire guard changed without too much suspicion from Queen Nia, but after around 2 months they only consisted of those who are loyal to me. They were tasked with treating the Skaikrus injuries and upping their rations, so that an escape would be possible.“

„We didn’t trust the change at first“, Sebastian took over again, „but after around 2 weeks we came to accept that something had definitely changed. 2 weeks after that, 2 months ago now, the guards came to us with different clothes and horses. They had been told to aid our escape to Trikru lands. No-one really knew what to think, but anything seemed better than having to stay imprisoned, even if the circumstances had gotten better over the past months“, Sebastian send a small smile to the two Azgedan citizens responsible for their escape

„We started heading west first, as they took us through the glowing forest territory before entering Trikru“, he still stumbled a bit over the clan names, but otherwise the rehearsed explanation went well, „Roan, Ontari and Asa, the person who had come with them, joined us about 2 weeks after we started our journey. It took us another week to get to Trikru lands from there, where we hid out for a while, hoping to pass the time where the Ice queen would send scouts to look for us. And waiting for our… ally to arrive“.

He hesitated at the last word, not wanting to reveal Clarkes presence (or rather not-presence) before Roan and Ontari could explain anything. „Something seemed to have delayed their arrival, since they never arrived at the cave where we hid out. We waited for an entire month, the deadline to when they were meant to join us at latest, before we decided to head here without them“. The seven in front of them had been listening to the explanation in silence.

„While I am glad for your escape“, Lexas eyes drifted over the four, lingering on Roan and Ontari, „Why help them escape?“ Roan grimaced. This was the part he really didn’t want to explain. „Because“, Ontari sighed, „Wanheda refused to leave Azgeda if we didn’t take her people with us“.

A beat of silence, then another one, before utter chaos broke out. „You saw Clarke?“ „Wanheda was in Azgeda?“ „Where is my she?“ Were shouted across the room. Only Lexa stayed put, her face contorted in anguish and worry, her heart beating so hard she thought it would break out of her chest at any given moment.

„And where exactly is Wanheda now?“ Roans face twisted in a mixture of guilt and worry. „We aren’t exactly sure. Clarke was supposed to meet up with us at the cave, but she never got there. We haven’t seen her since we left absol two months ago“. The slight silver of hope in the room was quick to diminish. After more than a year they had been so close to finding out where Clarke was, just for her to be gone again.

„Tell me anything we need to know about Wanheda“. Ontari and Roan shared a glance. „We met her in Azgeda a bit more than a year ago“, Ontari tells them, „Originally Nia had planned a public execution to take Wanhedas power for herself, but I guess she was aware that too many people are in doubt of the notion that a spirit passes into the person who kills their last vessel, as it doesn’t happen like that with Fleimheda either“, she looked into the ashen-faced expressions in front of her.

„Instead, she wanted Wanheda to swear fealty to her. As you can guess, Clarke wasn’t a huge fan of swearing an oath to Nia“, Raven snorted besides herself, imagining how pissed Clarke must’ve been. „So Nia resolved herself to earning Clarkes loyalty“, Roan smirked slightly at the tense faces „She didn’t actually gain it, of course. Clarke can be rather… stubborn“, he threw in.

Ontaris hands were trembling as pictures of Clarkes beaten body and violent screams after another night terror claimed her mind. Pictures of shattered bones and dreams that she had ben forced into causing. „Nia figured it wouldn’t take long for Clarke to join her“, for anyone in the room, the fondness in the siblings voice when talking about Clarke was obvious. „After all, she knew that Heda had left her at the mountain. Clarke had little reason for loyalty to the kongeda“.

Lexa flinched. She had been doing that a lot lately when the blonde was concerned. But she couldn’t help but realize how right Nias assumption was. That it was exactly what she had thought before. Why would Clarke stay loyal to Lexa? Of course Clarke was aware that Nia was a cruel queen, but who wouldn’t put those morals aside at the promise of vengeance? So why hadn’t Clarke sworn fealty to Nia?

„How did Nia try to convince Clarke?“, Lexas heart was racing. Had the queen hurt Clarke? She scoffed, knowing Nia that much was obvious. But how badly? Roan and Ontari exchanged a careful look. They had promised Clarke not to give any details on what happened in Azgeda, wishing for heda to not find out about it. „That’ll be Wanhedas decision to disclose, heda“. The truth was left unsaid, but clearly written in the straightened shoulders and haunted gazes of the Azgedan siblings.

At this point Lexa could barely reign her fury at Nia in anymore, hands clenched tight enough to draw blood. 

„For several months we tried to figure out a plan on how to get to Polis without raising Nias attention. When I found out about the farm station survivors, Clarke decided that she’d do anything to protect her people from Nia, not wanting them to come to any more harm because she escaped.“ He was pacing now, hands clenched behind his back. „The plan itself was rather simple, Skaikru would escape a week before Clarkes escape. That evening, we would cause a distraction for the wall guards, so that Clarke would have an easier time sneaking out“, he kept the explanation purposefully short. „We took our horses to join the Skaikru right after the distraction had started. Clarke was supposed to escape through the tunnels and then over the mountain on her own, but something must’ve happened“.

Lexa growled in anger „And why did you think it was in any idea to leave Clarke alone in Azgeda lands“ „Because“, Ontari came to defend their actions, „Clarke is Wanheda. She is stronger than any of us, a better fighter than anyone I have ever seen. Thanks to Wanheda she is faster than any of us and able to hide in the shadows in a way we never could. She had a much better chance escaping on her own than with us slowing her down.“

Lexa hated that she had to concede to the point. As a vessel, she knew that having others with her, people she cared about and wanted to protect, would only slow her down in any attempted escape.

„We wanted to send scouts back to Azgeda“, Roan explained, „but we couldn’t be sure that Clarke wasn’t just hiding out elsewhere because there were too many of Nias scouts to look for her and we didn’t want to endanger Clarke even more than she already was.“ Lexa nodded, sensing the logic in that argument. „That’s not all you came here for though, is it?“

„No, heda. We came to ask for your help in freeing Azgeda from Queen Nia“, Roan bowed his head, internally praying that Lexa would agree. „As much as I want Nia gone from the throne“ - preferably facing a violent death by her own hands - „I cannot start a war without proper cause, nor on personal feelings“. Roan nodded, „We thought so, heda. But we didn’t come here without giving you a good reason.“

As the discussion went on, Lexa listened intently, her expression grave. She undeniably agreed with the need to dethrone Nia, would've done so without Roan and Ontaris pleads, but would the evidence the new arrivals presented be enough to sway the ambassadors? Nia still commanded the loyalty (fear?) of so many clans, making any move against her a dangerous gamble if she couldn't be certain of her allies.

„If we were to declare a war against Nia, we must gather much more evidence than we currently havea," Lexa declared, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. "The surviving Skaikru will serve as witnesses, along with Prince Roan and Ontari. Their testimony will be crucial in bringing Nia to justice, but we all know that she can talk herself out of anything. Without Wanhedas testimony, I’m not sure if we’ll manage to sway all opinions in our favor“

Roan and Ontari exchanged knowing glances „Sha, heda. We’ll see what we can do. Though it’d be best for us to wait for Clarke to arrive“ if she’s alive left unsaid. Lexa couldn't help but spiral into self-doubt once more, questioning her past decisions, particularly those involving Clarke.

The situation wouldn’t be remotely as bad if she had just listened to her heart for once. Breathe. „How long can we give her?“ Lexa forced herself back into reality, pondering over the question for a while.

„Three months at most. Otherwise we’d have to wait out another winter, and from the accounts on how Nia treats her people, many more will die if we wait too long“. Yes, time was not a luxury they could afford to squander indefinitely. But those two months, she could - had to - give Clarke. After, they would proceed without her, unwilling to risk Nias continued scheming in the shadows.

Chapter Text

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Clarke emerged from the confines of the cave, her muscles protesting with every movement. Her stomach throbbed with a dull ache from hunger. 

Clarke moved with a cautious grace, her senses on high alert as she navigated the dense foliage that surrounded her. The high grass covered her from lurking eyes, just like it hid any possible predators from her. „Should we rather hunt here or fish in the river?“, she asked Wanheda. Her heart constricted slightly as she didn’t get a reply. Of course, their souls were one now. She wouldn’t get an answer anymore. 

„River it is“, she mumbled to herself. She’d have to follow it for a while either way, as it should lead her at least half way to Trikru borders before it would take a sharp turn to the glowing Forest area.

Clarke gripped her sword tighter as she made her way through the high grass towards the river.

Clarke had been walking along the riverside for several days, sticking to covered areas, weaving through the shadows like a ghost, careful to avoid detection by any unwanted eyes, when she first felt it. A strong, nearly painful tug in her gut, snapping her out of whatever daydream she had fallen into during her walk. 

„What the…“ she mumbled, feet coming to a halt as sudden nausea overcame her. Going through the new memories she had gotten - which was surprisingly easy to get used to - Clarke realized that the feeling - dread mixed with despair and an overwhelming urge to protect - was what  it felt like when innocent people were close to death.

As Clarke gripped her sword tighter, her mind raced in apprehension. The tug in her gut was like a siren's call, pulling her towards a destination unknown yet unmistakably urgent. 

For a second she thought of ignoring the feeling, not wanting to risk any attention from Nia or her scouts, but as the nauseating fear from the people - she could basically smell it now - got worse, any thoughts of not helping quickly left her mind. She's Wanheda, protecting people is what she did.

With a grim resolve, she set off, the river's gentle murmur guiding her steps as she navigated the dense undergrowth that lined its banks.

The sensation grew stronger with each passing moment, a nauseating mix of dread and despair that clawed at her insides. Clarke's heart pounded in her chest as she pushed herself to move faster, her instincts screaming at her to heed the call of those in need.

As she crossed the river, the feeling intensified, turning into a nearly tangible presence. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, the distant echo of screams cutting through the silence of the forest. Clarke's pulse quickened as she approached the source of the chaos, her senses on high alert as she prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Emerging from the shadows, she saw it— a village, engulfed in flames, its people fleeing in terror as a group of raiders terrorized the peaceful villagers within. 

Clarke's blood ran cold as she took in the scene before her, the sight of innocent lives being torn apart by violence and greed fueling her rage. Wrapping the shadows around her, Clarke sneaked towards the village, trying to get a full picture of what was occurring. She slipped through the shadows like a wraith, her senses honed to a razor's edge as she assessed the situation before her. 

All around her, she could see people running, maniacal laughter of the raiders following them. Clarke's heart clenched as she saw a group of children huddled together, tears streaming down their faces as they faced down their assailants with trembling hands. 

As the raider raised his weapon to strike, Clarke's fury boiled over, her instincts screaming at her to protect.

Without hesitation, Clarke sprang into action, her movements fluid as she moved towards the children, stopping the axe in it’s decent before leaping forward to embed her sword in the mans heart. Turning quickly, she ushered the terrorized children to hide, before she flung herself into the chaos around her.

The raiders were taken aback by her sudden appearance, their surprise giving way to fear as Clarke unleashed her wrath upon them. She moved with a grace and ferocity that belied her exhaustion, her blows landing with devastating force as she cut through their ranks, ruthlessly taking their lives. 

Her thoughts were clouded in a haze, no thought other than the utter need to safe these people made it through. Duck, jump, cut, stab, roll away. One after another the raiders fell to Wanhedas blade.

The villagers, emboldened by Clarke, rallied to her side, their cries of defiance mingling with the clash of steel as they fought to reclaim their home. Stones flew through the air, most finding their mark, as the raiders found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer determination of the previously flightless villagers. Clarke herself was a deadly whirlwind of blades in the middle of the onslaught, her eyes glowing purple in Wanhedas promise for justice.

As the last of the raiders fell, she turned her attention to the villagers, her gaze sweeping over the devastation that surrounded them. Injured and dead littered the streets, their blood staining the earth as the flames consumed their homes.

The villagers stared at the girl in shock. Covered in sprays of blood, with a sword coated in red and eyes glowing in a deep royal purple stood Wanheda.

Clarke approached the surviving people around her, her voice steady despite the turmoil that churned within her. "Where is your village chief and your healers?" she asked, her tone surprisingly compassionate as she sought to offer what aid she could.

An elderly woman stepped forward, her eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Our chief and healers were the first they attacked," she explained, her voice trembling with emotion. "But I'm Lyra, the village elder, if there's anything we can do to thank you for your help."

Clarke shook her head, a gentle smile playing at her lips as she reassured the woman. "I don't need thanks," she said softly, her gaze sweeping over the faces of the villagers gathered before her. „I help anyone in need. For now, we should take care of the injured and dead so you can rebuild.“ The elder nodded her head in reverence. „Sha, Wanheda, mochof“. 

Clarke was about to dismiss the thanks again, but thought better of it. Instead, she placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. „Can you get the injured to the far side of the village? And scour any medication you can find, along with everyone who has any medical knowledge“, the woman nodded, stumbling slightly as she goes to give the commands. 

As she did, Clarke tried to meet the eyes of the rest of the assembled people. Barely anyone stood without injuries, some seeming close to passing out, only holding themselves up by sheer will. All had their heads bowed in reverence to the spirit. This wouldn’t do.

Stepping forward, Clarke cleared her throat, her voice ringing out strong and clear in the hushed silence that had fallen over the village. "People of this village," she called, her gaze sweeping over the faces of those gathered before her. "I know that you are frightened and grieving, but I am here to offer you my help and protection."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd as Clarke continued, her words infused with a quiet strength that resonated with each person present. "Horrible things have happened here, but you are not alone," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of her conviction. "As long as innocent people are in danger, you will always have me to stand by your side."

Pausing for a moment to let her words sink in, Clarke took a deep breath before continuing. "I understand that there will be mourning, and feelings of hate and despair," she acknowledged, her tone somber yet determined. "But now is not the time for vengeance. Now is the time to come together, to care for the injured and honor the dead."

With a solemn nod, Clarke motioned towards the fallen. "Let us build pyres for the departed, and tend to the wounded with care and compassion," she urged, her voice unwavering. "For in their memory, we must strive to be better, to help those in need and build a future worth living for."

As her words hung in the air, Clarke turned to one of the injured villagers, extending a hand to help them rise. With a gentle smile, she guided them towards the far side of the village, where makeshift medical stations were being erected with frenzied urgency.

At the newly formed med bay, Clarke was introduced to two young villagers, a girl and a boy, who had been taught the basics of healing by the village's former healers. Their faces were tight in fear as they looked to Clarke for guidance.

"What do you two do best?" Clarke asked them, trying to make herself seem as gentle as possible, even with all the blood still sticking to her body.

The young girl spoke up first, her voice trembling slightly with nervousness. "We can stitch wounds and brace bones," she said, her gaze fixed on Clarke with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Clarke nodded in approval, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Good," she replied. "Then you two will take those cases, and I will attend to the more severe injuries. Together, we will do everything in our power to heal the wounded and ease their suffering."

With that, Clarke set to work, her hands steady as she tended to the wounded and comforted the grieving. She worked tirelessly through the night, her exhaustion forgotten at the suffering that surrounded her.

As the night wore on, Clarke's weariness deepened, each passing hour weighing heavily on her shoulders. Despite her exhaustion, she refused to yield to the demands of her tired body, driven by a relentless determination to save as many lives as she could.

With the help of the two young helpers, Clarke worked tirelessly through the night, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tended to the wounded. She called upon every ounce of her medical knowledge, thanking every spirit she could think of for having spent so much time in the med bay when she was younger.

She was just bracing a young woman arm - the severe cases having been taken care of - when an unconscious man was carried towards her, the people carrying shouting for her attention. 

As she rushed over, signaling for the girl that had been helping her to take over, she quickly saw the problem. The man lay on his back with a knife blade still embedded in his abdomen. Clarke knew that removing it would be too dangerous of a procedure, but she also knew that it was necessary if she was to save his life.

„Goddamnit“, she hissed. „I need more fayowada, it’s on the table over there“, she told one of the men who had been carrying the other, pointing at a table in the middle of the injured „And I need a sharp heated knife from the fire pit at the entrance“, she told another one. Both scrambled to get the things as Clarke observed the injury until the two men returned. 

Once they did Clarke steeled herself, her hands trembling slightly as she prepared to operate. With painstaking care, she made an incision along the man's abdomen, her breath catching in her throat as she exposed the blade lodged within his flesh.

It felt like an eternity of gently prodding the blade, before Clarke finally succeeded in removing it, the sound of metal scraping against flesh echoing through the makeshift medical area. As the man continued bleeding, she gently covered the injury with her hands, drawing upon her strength, she channeled healing energy into the wounded, her touch imbued with a warmth and light that seemed to banish pain and suffering.  

As she felt the mans skin slowly stitch itself together, her own abdomen burst in pain of the opening wound. It hadn’t been the first injury she took on that night, making sure to get the severe cases she wouldn’t be able to fully heal and take those injuries on herself. 

As she felt herself getting slightly dizzy, she stopped. The previously gaping wound now looked like a deep cut, still in need of stitches, but not remotely life threatening anymore. 

The onlookers stared at her in awe, even those that had seen her do this before. Ignoring them, she quickly took a needle to stitch the mans injury, ignoring the flaring pain in her own body.

The rest of the night continued long and arduous, but as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the darkness, Clarke found herself filled with relief. 

The wounded had been tended to, the grieving comforted, and not a single life had been lost under her care. She allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction before setting out to ensure that the village was prepared for the day ahead.

As she made her way through the village, Clarke was greeted with a mixture of gratitude and familiarity from the few villagers who were awake. Their reverence for her had softened into a genuine sense of appreciation, and Clarke couldn't help but return their smiles as she passed by.

Spotting a man carrying wood for the pyres, Clarke approached him, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she sought out the village elder. The man directed her to the market square, where the pyres stood tall against the backdrop of burnt houses.

Setting down her load of wood, Clarke made her way to the elder, who greeted her with a warm smile. "Thank you for all you did last night, Wanheda," the elder said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

Clarke shook her head, a gentle smile playing at her lips. "I told you, thanks isn't necessary," she replied softly, her gaze sweeping over the charred remnants of the village. "But I'm here to help in any way I can."

The elder nodded in understanding before inviting Clarke to stay for the lighting of the pyres the following evening. Clarke hesitated for a moment, her body craving rest, but ultimately agreed out of a sense of duty.

The elder led Clarke to a house further towards the edge of the village, unlocking the door and ushering her inside. "I had someone fetch water from the river for you," the elder explained, gesturing towards a basin filled with warm water. "And I've laid out some clothes for you as well."

Grateful for the offer, made her way to the basin after then woman left, taking her time to scrub away the blood and grime of the previous night's events, before quickly slipping into the nightgown that had been provided.

Once clean and refreshed, Clarke found another set of clothes laid out on the bed, neatly folded and waiting for her. She set them aside for the next day before climbing into bed, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Clarke awoke to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the curtains, a soft warmth enveloping her as she lay nestled in the embrace of the plush bed. For a moment, she allowed herself to linger in the comfort, as she savored the simple pleasure of restful sleep that she had last experienced while staying with Elara and Finnian.

But soon, the sounds of bustling activity from outside the window pulled Clarke back to reality. With a resigned sigh, she reluctantly untangled herself from the soft sheets, her body protesting against the movement after the previous night's exertions (She might’ve overdone it with the amount of injuries she took on herself, some pain still lingering after the injuries themselves were already gone from her body, but she couldn’t make herself regret it).

Rising from the bed, Clarke stretched her limbs, the stiffness of her body gradually easing as she moved. She padded across the room to the basin of water - now spotting new, clean water, as she happily noticed - splashing the cool liquid onto her face in an effort to wash away the remnants of sleep.

Turning her attention to the clothes laid out for her, Clarke examined them. Though they were similar in style to her previous attire, the rich hues of dark maroon and black lent a subtle sense of renewal to her appearance. She found herself incredibly thankful, as they reminded her much less of the coldness she connected with Azgeda. She quickly dressed herself in the clean garments, the fabric soft against her skin as she fastened the familiar weight of her sword around her waist.

As Clarke made her way through the village, she couldn't help but notice the shift in atmosphere from the previous day. Gone was the tense fear that had gripped the villagers, replaced instead by cautious hope. Faces that had been drawn with worry now bore the traces of resilience, the tightness of grief hadn’t softened as much as turned into defiance.

With a smile, Clarke returned the waves and greetings of the villagers she passed. Arriving at the marketplace where the pyres stood, Clarke was greeted by the elder. 

„Sonop, Wanheda“, the woman greeted, bowing her head in respect. "Just Klarke is fine," she reassured the elder, noting the widening of her eyes in response. „Mochof, Klarke“, Lyra tested the foreign name, eyes full of wonder at the blonde before her. „You’re… not what I expected“, Clarke raised an eyebrow at the woman. „I hope that’s a good thing?“. Lyra was quick to nod. 

When they had heard of Wanheda rising again, they had expected a ruthless and cruel warrior, someone who thrives in death and violence. It was those stories that brought terror of the spirit to everyone. 

Knowing what people generally thought of her, Clarke smiled wryly, though she chose not to comment on it. Neither did the elder, gesturing for the spirit to follow her to a house near the market. 

A large crowd was assembled in the building, seated around several tables, sharing breakfast from an assembly found on the tables. As people took note of the two new arrivals, the chattering decreased, a sudden nervousness filling the air. 

A group of people - warriors she had treated the previous night - stood up, making space for the two to sit. Clarke waved them off „Stay seated, please. I don’t mean to interrupt your breakfast“. 

After the initial arrival, people started chatting again, as Clarke enjoyed a quick breakfast, talking to the people at her table. They used to be warriors in the Azgedan army, she learned, before Nia took over as queen 15 years ago (that did make her feel rather young for a moment, before she remembered that - as a spirit - she was several eons old). 

It wasn’t long before she and Lyra left the hall again, ready to take on the day. „How long will you be staying?“, Lyra asked the girl, just as they were leaving the hall. Clarke thought about it for a while "I wanted to check up on the people in the medical area, but not much longer. I don't want to attract more attention to this village by anyone finding out you're hosting Wanheda", the elder nodded in understanding "Can I incite you to stay at least until the pyres have been burnt? You have helped us so much in only a day, the least we can do is make sure you get rest before you continue on your way" Clarke, who had been planning to stay for the burning of the pyres anyway, was quick to agree.

With a few parting words, Clarke bid the elder farewell and made her way towards the medical area. 

Along the path, she encountered a group of children, their eyes wide with wonder as they gazed upon her. One brave soul, a small girl, approached Clarke with a mixture of awe and curiosity, her voice filled with reverence as she dared to ask, "Are you really Wanheda?"

Clarke's smile softened as she nodded in affirmation, sensing the earnestness of the child's admiration. The children erupted into excited chatter, their youthful enthusiasm infectious as they expressed their dreams of one day emulating her strength and courage. 

„I will get really strong and repay you for all you’ve done for us and protect others just like you do!“, the girl promised. Clarke knelt down to meet the girl's gaze. "The secret to being strong," Clarke said, her voice a quiet reassurance, "is not in seeking repayment for your deeds. True strength lies in doing what is right, regardless of reward." 

The girl listened intently, her eyes alight as Clarke imparted her wisdom. "And if protecting others is your goal," Clarke added with a warm smile, "then I have no doubt that you will one day become the strongest warrior of them all." The girl beamed with pride at Clarke's words, her heart filled with newfound determination. „I promise I will“, smiling at the girl, Clarke rose to her feet again. „I have no doubt you will, strikon. Now off you go, I’m sure you have lots of training to do“.

With a final expression of gratitude, the girl bounded off, leaving Clarke to continue her journey to the medical area. Doing her best to ignore the lingering looks of awe from the villagers who had witnessed their exchange, Clarke remained focused on her task, concentrating on checking up on those who had to stay in the medical area for the night.

The sun already began its descent, casting a golden hue over the village, by the time Clarke emerged from the medical area. She had spent hours tending to the wounded, offering what solace she could to those in pain. 

Now, as she made her way through the gathering dusk, she was joined by Leon, one of the warriors she had spoken with earlier. "Thank you for joining me, Leon," Clarke said, her voice soft with gratitude. "It's my honor, Wanheda," The man replied, falling into step beside her. "I wanted to pay my respects to those who have fallen.“ 

As they walked, Clarke turned to Leon, curiosity sparking in her eyes. „If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to live in the village? You mentioned serving in the Azgedan Army. I was of the impression retired gona lived closer to Absol.“ Leon nodded, his expression solemn. "Aye, I was a warrior under the previous king. And you’re quite right, nowadays they do. But when Nia seized power, she sought only the strongest and most loyal warriors for her army. Many of us who had served faithfully for years were sent to smaller villages like this one.“ 

Clarke listened intently, understanding dawning in her eyes. „Do you wish to rejoin the army?“ A bittersweet smile tugged at Leon's lips. „Not under our current queen, no. Being here, it gave me a chance to reunite with my family. I hadn't seen them since before I joined the army. But being sent here gave them back to me. For that, I am forever grateful."

Leon's words hung in the air as they approached the marketplace, where the village had already gathered by the pyres. As Clarke and Leon joined the assembly, they were soon joined by Lyra. „Klarke, will you join me in the burning?“, the older woman requested. Clarke gave a short nod, bidding Leon goodbye as she followed the elder towards the pyres.

Lyra stepped forward, her presence commanding attention amidst the somber atmosphere. With a heavy heart, she addressed the grieving community.

"Tonight, we come together to honor and remember those we have lost.“, Lyra began, her voice steady but tinged with sadness, „Our hearts are heavy with the weight of their absence, yet we find solace in the memories they have left behind."

She paused, casting her gaze over the assembled crowd, her eyes meeting those of each grieving soul. "We have lost children who were taken from us too soon, their laughter and innocence now silenced by the cruelty of fate. We have lost parents who guided us with wisdom and love, their presence now but a cherished memory in our hearts.“ Lyra's words echoed through the night, each syllable a poignant reminder of the pain that gripped them.

"And though their physical forms may no longer walk among us, their spirits will live on in the hearts of those who loved them," Lyra continued, her voice filled with quiet determination. "May they find peace in the journey to their next lives, guided by the light of our love and remembrance.“, she turned to Clarke, hope shining in her eyes, „Guided by the spirits to cross over safely“. Clarke nodded in acknowledgment, giving a silent promise to ensure the souls safe passing. Lyra replies with a gentle smile, before turning towards the side of the pyres. There, she lit two torches, handing one to Clarke.

As the flames of the pyres were lit, casting a warm glow over the gathering, Clarke bowed her head in silent prayer, her words a whispered plea for solace and healing for all who mourned. „Tu gomplei ste udon“, she whispered, her wishes copied a dozen times over by the assembled villagers.

The following day, Clarke found herself in front of the majority of the village again. She had spend the early hours caring for the wounded, making sure that they’d be taken care off even after she departed. At the front stood Lyra, eyeing Clarke in wonderment.

"Klarke," Lyra began, her voice filled with sincerity, "while you may not seek thanks, we wish to aid you on your journey. The village has gathered some things to aid you on your path."

With a gesture, Lyra beckoned forward two children, not giving Clarke any time to protest. A young boy stepped forward first, offering a leather-backpack to Clarke.

"This backpack contains a new water-skin, a change of clothes, and rations for your travels," Lyra explained, her eyes reflecting the gratitude of the entire village. "And this," she continued, revealing a medallion, "is a token of our gratitude. Should Wanheda ever call for our help, know that the village will answer."

Moved by their generosity, Clarke accepted the backpack, her hands trembling slightly as she strapped it on. She exchanged a nod of gratitude with the boy before turning her attention to the young girl - she recognized her as the girl she had spoken to the previous day - who approached next, holding a large wrapped bundle.

Unwrapping the bundle, Clarke's eyes widened in awe at the sight of the beautiful bow and quiver filled with arrows nestled within. Lyra explained that she had noticed Clarke's need for a bow and arrows, and hoped that these would serve her well on her journey.

Touched by their thoughtfulness, Clarkes voice trembled with emotion. "I will carry this bow with honor," she vowed, her gaze meeting Lyra’s, before shifting to the young girl who gave it to her. Looking up to Lyra for permission, the girl stepped further towards Clarke. „The backpack has a strap for the bow and the quiver, so you can carry them without any hindrance“, the girl explained, gesturing that she could help Clarke strap it on. 

The blonde gently kneeled down, turning so that the child could reach the backpack. With quick finders, she secured bow and quiver to the backpack, before stepping away again. „Mochof, strikon“ The beamed up at Clarke, her eyes shining with admiration. Clarke returned the smile, before turning towards the rest of the village. „Mochof yo geda“.

With a final exchange of farewells and well wishes, Clarke bid goodbye to the assembled villagers, a deep sense of gratitude filling her heart as she turned to continue her journey.

After Clarke left the village, stories began to spread. Of how Wanheda saved those in need. Of her ruthless protection, her kindness and her healing, her patience and love to those she protects. It would take weeks for those stories to reach Polis.

Chapter Text

As Clarke walked, the days stretched into a blur of sunrises and sunsets, each step carrying her farther from Absol and Nia. The landscape shifted around her, from rolling hills to increasingly dense forests, and Clarke pressed on.

Often, she’d find herself get lost in her memories; New experiences of battles fought and lives saved in several villages mingled with thoughts of her friends, her people, and what she lost along the way. 

(She did try to not get distracted, never sure which dangers lurked around the next corner, but after spending so many days walking through the wilderness by herself, there was very little that prevented her mind from wondering off).

As Clarke trekked the forest one of those days, she caught sight of movement ahead. With practiced ease she slipped into the shadows of the trees surrounding her, avoiding detection from the group of scouts that crossed the path she had taken just minutes earlier.

At first, she considered slipping away unnoticed, like she had all previous times. But when she watched them pass by, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off. All previous groups of scouts she had come across consisted of eight people at most. This was a group of 15 and if what she could make out from their silent conversation was true, they were heading to an encampment where ‚the rest‘ was waiting for them.

Thus, sticking to the thick foliage around her, Clarke decided to follow the group.

It didn’t take long to reach the encampment. Still shrouded in shadows, Clarke sneaked as close as possible, breath catching in her throat at the size. At least 25 people mingled in the encampment, seemingly unperturbed by their noise. Why would there be such a big group? They’d never manage to sneak up on me. She wondered.

When steps approached her, she shrunk back into the cover of the trees, straining her ears to make out the conversation. 

“—Skaikru scum," one of the scouts spat, his voice tinged with contempt. "He might have information on her.“

Clarkes jaw tightened in fear. Had they found the farm station survivors? There was no way, this wasn’t the path they were supposed to take. And she would see at least some signs of them around camp. Discarding the idea, her mind jumped to different options. Had they found some of them wandering off too far? Taken one from Arcadia? She couldn’t tell.

Regardless of who (and how) they had gotten ahold of one of her people, she had to get him out.

With that decision, Clarke made her way to a nearby tree, careful to avoid detection, and climbed it for a better vantage point of the camp.

She perched herself on a branch, hidden from the scouts inside the camp, and watched patiently. She just had to figure out where that Skaikru person was being held.

As Clarke watched, her heart sank at the sight of Murphy and the unfamiliar girl being pulled out of a large tent and tied to a post in the middle of the encampment. 

(A part of her found amusement in the situation because of course Murphy would get himself into trouble once again. Wasn’t he supposed to look for some city with Jaha?). Regardless, Murphy had been one of the original 100, and despite their rocky history, that made him one of her people. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state stirred a mix of emotions within her.

Carefully, Clarke observed the situation, noting the number of guards and their patrol patterns. She needed to devise a plan to rescue Murphy and the girl without alerting the guards or putting them in further danger.

After patiently observing for what felt like hours, Clarke finally spotted an opportunity. Under the cover of darkness, when the guards were least alert, she stealthily made her way closer to the encampment, using the terrain to her advantage to avoid detection.

As she neared the captives, Clarke's heart raced with anticipation. She knew she had to act quickly. She swiftly incapacitated the guards nearest to Murphy and the girl. The two tried to spin around at the noise of slumping bodies, but were tied up too heavily to move properly.

Appearing in front of the two once the guards had been neutralized, she smirked at Murphy. „Didn’t think to see you again so soon, lost your way?“

The younger man looked at her, eyes wide as plates as he searched for words he didn’t have. 

He recognized that person. But at the same time —

"What the fuck happened to you, princess?" he blurted out.

"Oh, wow, thanks for the nice greeting. No 'Hi, Clarke, how have you been?'" she retorted, working on untying them from the pole. The girl next to Murphy had yet to say something, eyeing Clarke in contempt, but since she was with Murphy, Clarke figured she was probably not a danger to her (she hoped. Honestly with Murphy she was never quite sure where she stood). 

"Are you able to stand?" she asked, checking them over for any major injuries as quickly as she could. "Yeah, we good. Let’s run, please," Murphy urged.

Clarke had very little to complain about in that regard, leading them away from the encampment.

The trio moved cautiously through the dense forest, the undergrowth brushing against their legs as they made their way away from the camp toward Trikru territory.

"Can't believe I'm doing this again," Murphy muttered, kicking a stone out of his path.

Clarke glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. "What, escaping from grounders who captured you or just generally being a pain in my ass?“ Murphy snorted. "Both, I guess."

Emori, who had been quietly observing their exchange, finally spoke up. "So, you two know each other well, huh?“ 

Clarke rolled her eyes. "You could say that. Murphy here has a knack for getting into trouble."

Murphy shot her a sidelong glance. "And you're just a magnet for it, zombie."

„Zombie?“ Clarke huffed, „I think I liked it better when you called me princess, cockroach“. Murphy smirked „Yeah, but you certainly nailed the whole dead-esque look now, blondie“.

Clarke glowered at him. "How did you end up here anyway?"

Murphy's expression darkened a bit, and he let out a sigh. "It's a long story. You know how you told me to join Jahas group to make sure he couldn’t fuck up too badly? Well, we were looking for the City of Light. Jaha was convinced it was some kind of paradise. Turns out, it was just a bunch of bunkers and windmills in the middle of a godforsaken desert."

Clarke's eyes narrowed. "The City of Light... so it was only nonsense that he kept going on about.“ 

Murphy nodded. "Yeah. Most of the people who went with us died in the desert. And when we finally got there, it was nothing but bunkers. Jaha went absolutely crazy trying to find the 'paradise' he promised. I got stuck in one of those bunkers."

Clarke's gaze softened slightly. "How long were you stuck?"

„Sixty-ish days," Murphy said, his voice grim. "I was guessing door lock combinations every day until I got it right."

Clarkes eyes widened. "That's... horrific."

„You didn’t seem to have a much better time either.“, Murphy shrugged. „Besides, you get used to it. Anyway, when I finally got out, Jaha was dead. And honestly," he looked at Clarke, "I'm not sorry about it."

Clarke gave a small, humorless laugh. 

(She couldn’t get herself to feel too bad about it either. Maybe that’s why hearing about it left a bitter aftertaste. He had basically been her uncle once.)

Murphy continued, "I didn't want to stick around, so I decided to look for some village or something that might get me shelter and food. That's when I ran into Emori."

Emori looked up when he mentioned her. "I was on my way to Sangedakru. He looked like he needed help."

"More like I needed a break," Murphy corrected, though there was a hint of affection in his tone. "She let me tag along, and we ran into Azgedan scouts. The rest is history.“

Clarke had the feeling that that was very much not the entire story, but she wasn’t going to pry. Instead, she smiled at Emori. "Thanks for looking out for him.“ "He's not so bad when you get to know him.“ "Hey, I'm right here.“ Murphy smirked. Clarke smirked back. "Don't worry, we're well aware."

Before Murphy could reply, Clarke heard distant voices cutting through the stillness of the forest. Immediately, her entire posture went rigid, causing her companions to slow down. „What-„ Clarke shushed him, her eyes darting around for a place to hide. „Scouts“, she whispered, pulling the couple from the path they were on. The three quickly ducked into the underbrush, hearts pounding.

"Stay here. I'm going to see what's going on.“ Clarke whispered, fixing them with a strict glare.

She scaled a nearby tree, the rough bark providing ample handholds. Perched high among the branches, she peered through the leaves and saw a large group of Azgedan scouts moving purposefully southward, towards the Trikru borders. Her heart raced; this was bad.

Clarke descended quickly and silently, landing softly on the forest floor. She moved to Murphy and Emori, her face etched with concern. „I’m going to follow them. Stay hidden while I check it out," she instructed.

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped away, her form blending seamlessly with the shadows. Clarke tailed the scouts, careful to remain unnoticed. They eventually met up with another group of scouts, and Clarke positioned herself within earshot, straining to hear their conversation.

"Kwin Nia told us she has sent out a gonakru to cover the entire border. Where is the rest?“ A rough voice hissed.

Another voice replied, sounding frustrated. „They’ve already reached the border. They’ve steadily been making their way north, we are to meet up with them two days south of here.“

Clarke’s mind raced as she silently made her way back to Murphy and Emori. She found them right where she had left them, huddled together under the thick cover of the underbrush.

„We need to split up“, Clarke urged, “Nia has sent out a huge group to cover the entire border. They're looking for me, and they're getting closer."

"Great. Just what we needed.“ Murphy groaned. „You two should find a village and wait them out. They’re looking for me, not you“.

Murphy nodded in agreement, though his girlfriend shook her head vehemently. „No, I’m not welcome in villages, especially around here. There is no way I’ll be taken in. And Murphy is too obviously Skaikru, the second the gona see him, we’ll be captured again“, she hissed, „better if we stick together and circumvent them“.

Clarkes heart sank. „I don’t think there’s a way to circumvent them. If I’m alone I have a chance to make it out by hiding from them, but if we stay together we’ll definitely be found“, she hissed.

She had already missed the rendevue with Roan and Ontari by about a month and she wasn’t planning on letting them wait for her much longer.

„We won’t get out without you“, Emori replied ferociously, „we’ve been captured for information on you once, we won’t be so lucky for it to not happen again.“

„It won’t get better if they find all three of us instead of just you two. Except…“ Clarke narrowed her eyes, „you can lure them away if they get too close“, Emori added, „if you’re really Wanheda you should be able to outrun them and lead them away from us if the worst happened“. 

„We can't keep going south though," she stated matter-of-factly. „Not when Nia's warriors have the border locked down and are heading our way. And there's no way we'll make far enough west or east to remain undetected before we’re found. And I’m not heading back north, that’s definite suicide.“ 

There was a moment of tense silence as Murphy and Emori absorbed Clarke's words. Clarke could see the fear and frustration etched on their faces, mirrored by her own inner turmoil. "What are we supposed to do then?" Murphy finally spoke, his voice laced with desperation.

Clarke hesitated, knowing that what she was about to suggest was far from ideal. "We need to find somewhere to hide out and make a new plan," she replied. "Roan mentioned a few people where we can seek help. Some of them live not too far from here.“ 

Clarke cautiously entered the village. She kept to the shadows, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger. Her coat was wrapped around her form, hood pulled deep into her face.

Normally, she’d try to slender through the village and fall into the crowd, but her features were much too distinctive for that. 

She navigated the narrow streets carefully, her steps light and purposeful as she made her way toward the weapons merchant shop where Roan had instructed her to find his friend.

Xenia was the daughter of a former castle guard, and had grown up in Absol. Her father had been killed when Nia had taken over, for speaking out against the way she treated her people. Xenia had had to flee, and had been supporting Roan and Ontari in rallying and preparing against the queen. 

If she was still in the Village, she’d be working in the smith, Roan had said, so that’s where she was headed.

When she spotted the shop, Clarke ducked into an alley nearby, waiting patiently for Xenia to emerge. It didn’t take too long until the villager stepped out into the open. 

Clarke moved swiftly, slipping out of the shadows to grab her and pull her into the secluded alleyway.

Xenia's eyes widened in surprise, butting her head against Clarkes in an effort to get away. Her hand was already on the sword on there hip, but Clarke twisted Xenias arm back and pushed her against the wall.

„I’m not here to hurt you“, she hissed silently, looking around wildly to check no-one had seen the pair.  

"Who are you? What do you want?" Xenia demanded, her voice tight with suspicion.

„A friend. Not here, there are too many ears“, Clarke replied quietly, loosening her grip on the other woman, trying to convey that she meant no harm.

„Why should I trust you“, the woman hissed, which, ouch but fair.

„Because if I wanted you dead or otherwise hurt, I would’ve done so already“, the blonde argued, quietly, fervently.

Xenia struggled a bit, before sighing when she realized she wasn’t going to escape Clarkes grip. „We’re okay inside the shop“, she finally growled.

„Alright, perfect“, Clarke let go, though she kept her body slightly behind and angled to jump into action, should the other woman decide to run for it.

She didn’t, thankfully.

She lead Clarke through a narrow hallway, down a flight of stairs, past a room filled to the brim with weapons and then through what seemed to be the actual smith, before ending up in a small backroom. 

It seemed comfortable enough. A small kitchen, a table and a few chairs inside. It was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp Xenia had lit up.

Once in the room, the smith apparently empty and the door shut tightly behind her, Clarke allowed herself to relax.

„Sorry about the surprise earlier. I didn’t want to draw any attention to me an wasn’t sure if you would be alone in here“, she apologized with a grimace.

Xenia mustered her cautiously. „You’re good. Not many can surprise and overwhelm me. Now, who are you?“

Clarke shrugged off her hood and coat.

Xenias eyes widened almost comically, before she fell into a shallow bow. „Wanheda, it is an honor to meet you. Apologize my actions and words, I didn’t recognize you“.

Clarke waved her hand. „It’s alright, I took you by surprise. And I imagine being attacked in the dark will put one on edge, especially one in a position like yours“.

Xenia nodded, though her eyes seemed to narrow. She was wondering what Clarke knew.

„What are you doing here? Last we heard, you were much further north-east“.

„How do you know where I was?“, Xenia raised an eyebrow, seemingly having recollected herself after the shock of seeing Clarke. „News travel fast, especially when Wanheda is saving Azgedan villages against raiders“.

The blonde grimaced, „Of course. Right, I’d hoped the news would’ve stayed in the village“.

„I think it took barely a day before the first people heard“, the woman explained, „Now, why are you here and what do you want?“

„I imagine you are aware that queen Nia would like to see me dead at her feet?“

„I’m unsure about the death part. I’d reckon she wants your loyalty much more“, Xenia frowned, „the question is how you found out. Until your appearance in that village, you’ve been presumed dead“.

Clarke nodded, her brows knitted tight. „I’ve had a little run-in with the queen“, she explained vaguely, „it cost her some of her soldiers. She’s been sending her scouts for me since then“,

„If you came to me for help, I’ll need more than that. You might be a powerful spirit, but I’m not stupid enough to take your words on rumors and half-truths“.

The blonde nodded hesitantly, gesturing for Xenia to sit.

„I’ve been in Azgeda for over a year now“, she explained, „I spend most of that time with Roan and Ontari, who helped me escape and I’ve been trying to get to Polis since. Like I said, Nia’s been sending gona after me“.

Xenia frowned at her „I imagine Roan told you about me then?“

„He did“, Clarke agreed, „he said if I need any aid, you’d be one of the people who could give it“.

„He’s right. What do you know?“

Clarke sighed. Roan had warned her of the other woman’s distrust. „I know you’ve been trying to collect evidence to warrant a trial against Nia, or rally up enough force for a revolution. You’re pretty large group at this point, but nothing compared to Nias forces. You need help from Polis if you want to succeed. Otherwise, your only option is a revolution that’d turn into a blood-bath.

I’m trying to reach Polis to make sure Nia is dethroned without spilling so much blood“.

Xenia nodded sharply. „He informed you well, then. We’ve been hoping for someone more influential in our corner, and Roan has been hinting at it. What do you need my help for?“

„I need to hide out. The southern border is shut and I have two companions with me. We won’t make it past that border together. I’m unsure if I’d make it out alone“, she grimaced,

„I need somewhere safe to stay for a while. My companions and me. The gona are traveling north, searching the villages, but you’ve stayed undetected through various searches, so you must have a hide out“.

Xenia stared into her eyes for a good few seconds, before she relented. „I do“

„So you’ll help?“

„Sha. I’ll be letting you shelter here. I’ll need to prepare first, though. Get your companions and return after dawn tomorrow and you’ll find shelter with me“.

Clarke slumped in relief, filled with gratitude. „Mochof, Xenia“.

„You’re our only hope of getting rid of Nia with as little death as possible. So it’s my duty to help, Wanheda“.

Chapter Text

Clarke left, slipping out of the alley and retracing her steps to where Murphy and Emori were waiting. „We’re camping out here tonight“, she told them, „and tomorrow we’ll be getting some help“.

„You’re sure you trust this person?“, Emori leaned against a tree, the flames of their fire casting dangerous shadows on her face.

„I trust that she wants Nia gone, and I’m an ally she won’t want to loose. We’ll be safe for a bit“.

Though, even saying that, Clarke couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was stirring. She just couldn’t figure out what, so pushing the thought aside, she curled up to sleep as Murphy stood guard.

With Murphy and Emori in tow, Clarke led them back to Xenia, careful to, once again, avoid any unwanted attention. Xenia greeted them warily and led them to a small house on the outskirts of the village.

„You’ll be sharing with several people“, she warned the trio, „I’ve warned them of your arrival, but don’t expect a cheerful welcome“.

The blonde nodded, „That’s alright, as long as we got somewhere to hide for a while“.

They entered the house, Xenia leading them through a few rooms and down the stairs. It looked like a normal, albeit very narrow, floor.

Clarke’s eyes widened in awe, when - after some prodding - a trapdoor opened on the floor.

Xenia climbed in first, quickly followed by the rest. The door shut behind them.

„That was an electric door“, Murphy breathed, „how did you manage that down here?“

Xenia smirked, though they couldn’t see it, as they were walking behind her through yet another narrow chute. „We didn’t have to do anything. My family found it nearly 5 years ago and it had still been working“, she explained.

Clarke guessed it must be functioning on some basic mechanics through a lever, or maybe there it was actually electric and got it’s power from the river. Either way, if it worked she didn’t really care too much as to why right now.

As they kept walking, chatter started filling the air. „Okay, the main room is through that door“, Xenia told them, before pushing it open.

It gave away, showing a living-room sized place. Lamps flickered on the walls, chairs and tables were placed inside. 

As they entered, six people looked up, with varying expressions of hope and distrust.

„Everyone, these are the visitors I’ve told you about. They’re with us and staying for a bit“, she informed the people inside.

„You’re Wanheda“, a middle-aged woman stood up, mustering Clarke from head to toe.

She was wearing rather casual clothes, pants and a black top. A few knifes were strapped on her waist.

„Sha“, Clarke said, „it’s nice to meet you“.

„If what Xenia said is true it certainly is“, she replied.

„Alright, we can do introductions later. How about I show you the space real quick?“, Xenia interrupted and lead them away.

There were three bedrooms, a small kitchen, and another narrow floor which Xenia said led to the bathroom. A stairway down would lead to a pretty large free area. It probably used to be the main living space, but now they used it to train.

„You can stay as long as you need to, if you follow the rules“, Xenia told them firmly. „You only go out if you absolutely have to. If you do, you inform at least 3 people of your absence. If you lead someone here, we’re dead, so make sure you aren’t noticed.

I live above, along with my mother and husband. We’ll be bringing food down once a week, but your rations will be sparse. We can only take so much food without it becoming suspicious.

I’ll come at least once a week with updates, I’ll try to find out what I can about the border and Nia. Meanwhile, don’t start fights. You’re all hiding. Clear?“

„Crystal“, Clarke nodded, “and thank you. We might just owe you our lives.“ 

„Hold up your end, and we’re even“, Xenia replied, her tone controlled "And stay safe.“

It was barely a week later when Xenia ventured down once more, bringing the promised rations with her. During that time, Clarke, Emori, and Murphy had settled in surprisingly well. Clarke kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. The other occupants—twelve in total—hadn’t greeted them warmly by any means, but they had been kind enough, more so as the week had gone by.

They were sitting in the main room when Xenia entered, playing cards with two other occupants—Decrane and Hectal. Clarke glanced up as the door creaked open, her hand pausing mid-air with a card between her fingers. Xenia's presence was a comforting sight in the tension-filled bunker.

"Xenia," Clarke greeted, setting her cards down. "Good to see you."

Xenia smiled faintly, the lines of worry etched on her face visible even in the dim bunker light. "I've brought the rations," she announced, lifting a heavy sack over her shoulder and setting it down on the table. Decrane and Hectal immediately stood, grabbing the sack and carrying it towards the kitchen.

"Mochof," Emori said, her voice had an edge to it, yet it was still sincere. Murphy nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Xenia’s face.

Xenia took a seat, her expression turning grave. "I've gathered some information as promised," she began, her voice low. Clarke leaned forward, her heart thudding in her chest. The gnawing anxiety she had managed to suppress for days came rushing back.

„The gonakru is very violent, as expected“ Xenia continued, switching to English for Murphys sake. „There are talks of them allying with raiders. They burn down houses if they suspect the inhabitants are hiding something.“

Clarke's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white. The guilt she had been carrying swelled into a painful lump in her throat. „In all the villages?“ she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Xenia's gaze remained hard, though her sympathy seeped through. „Sha. The more southern villages have been erecting small shrines for you, Clarke. They're praying Wanheda visits them and saves them from their hunger and the attacks, like she saved the other one.“

Clarke's chest tightened, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over her. „How many have heard about what I did?“ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. „Is it going to endanger that village even more?“

Xenia sighed, running a hand through her hair. „By now, most of the southern half of Azgeda should be aware of it. The news has definitely reached Absol. I'm unsure if it has left Azgeda yet.“

Clarke's mind raced. The thought of innocent people being hurt because of her made her stomach churn, a fiery rage that made her want to rush out and confront the gonakru herself, however stupid that would be. Her eyes glowed faintly with a purple hue, Wanheda's power stirring within her. „They’re doing this because of me,“ she hissed, her voice shaking with fury. „And I’m just sit here while people are suffering.“ 

Murphy placed a hand on her arm, his grip firm. „Clarke, going out there will only make things worse,“ he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. „You know that.“

Xenia nodded in agreement. „He's right, Klarke. If you go out there, you'll be putting yourself and everyone else at greater risk. The gonakru is relentless. They will kill you and everyone around you if they find you.“

Clarke took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside her. She knew they were right, but it didn't make the situation any easier to bear. The purple glow in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by a haunted look of helplessness. „I just can't stand the thought of people suffering because of me,“ she said, barely keeping her voice from breaking.

„You help them by staying alive“, Xenia argued firmly, „you’ll help them by getting Polis to dethrone Nia so that we can thrive. So you need to stay alive above anything“.

Clarke nodded, though the guilt and anger still churned within her. She knew they had to be smart about this, but it didn't make the waiting any less excruciating. What was all of her power worth if she couldn’t safe the people dying mere kilometers away from where she was hiding out?

Clarke's resolve hardened. She would have to find a way to protect the innocent and stop the gonakru. But for now, she had to bide her time and prepare.

„We’re stationing people close to any village the gonakru is yet to encounter“, Xenia stood in front of the assembled group, all 15 occupants of the bunker having assembled in the training area. Another two weeks had passed since Xenia had given a first report on the situation outside, and it had gotten much worse since then.  So much so, that entire villages had packed up and fled further north, hoping that the more protected villages would shelter them from the horrors the gonakru brought with them.

Clarke was fidgeting where she stood, eager to aid, not quite knowing if her and Tinols plan would meet any kind of positive reinforcement.

„Beyond that, they should make it here within a day or two at most. The villagers have prepared the best they can, but there’s only so much we can do against a group of gonakru and raiders working together. Especially with no aid from south“

Clarke clenched her fists. Earlier, Xenia had taken her aside to warn her to remain hidden, except from the report, Clarke didn’t see how she could do that. The deaths, according to Xenia, were in the low hundred at this point, and Wanhedas power was brimming within Clarke, begging to be unleashed on them.

„I say we let Wanheda fight“, Tinol commented. He was one of the few people who was pressing for Clarke to join the fight, whereas the rest was hesitant to let their biggest asset for political cloud face any kind of danger.

„Think about it“, he sighed when he was met with reluctant stared, „Wanheda needn’t show herself. But we’ve all seen her train, she can easily take down a mass of raiders. Think of how many more people would survive with her aid“.

Xenia shook her head resolutely, „Think of how many more people will die if she doesn’t make it to Polis alive?“

„Except how long will that take?“, Clarke spoke up then, immediately drawing in everyones attention. It had been irking her for the past weeks, how she was training in relative safety while the world seemed to burn around her. „It takes what, nearly a month to get to Polis from here by foot? At least 2 weeks if we can get horses from somewhere. And that is only after the gonakru has made it far enough north that we can leave without encountering them. How many more people would die in that time?“

„I bet enough for there to not be a major difference between a revolution and a trial“, Tinol ended the thought for her.

„If you help now, what have you hidden for, Klarke?“, Hectal argued, „if you come out of hiding now, you could’ve done so in the beginning already“.

Clarke tried not to let the words affect her. They weren’t meant to be scathing, probably. He honestly seemed to be worried about the outcome of the idea.

„Sha, Hectal. In a way. Except now we have intel, more people, and most of all a plan“, Clarke held his gaze intently. „I’m not agreeing“, Xenia frowned at her, „But what is your plan?“

„We all want to protect the villages from attacks by the gonakru, while keeping my presence hidden and avoiding large-scale conflict, right? Thus the focus will be on scouting, ambushes, and shadow operations to weaken the gonakru and raiders before me, Murphy and Emori escapes to Polis.“

It took all but an hour to outline the plan far enough to gain begrudging support for it. And, while the hesitation frustreted Clarke endlessly, she certainly understood where it came from. After all, the danger of this breaking out into a large-scale conflict was certainly present, as was the possibility of her death. But she had heard of too many people dying to simply continue staying back.

„They will easily catch on that Wanheda is involved“, Xenia argued for the dozenth time, „and once they do, all their attention will be focused on the areas where you appear“. Mikhael shook his head. „I don’t think so, Xenia. Of course they will suspect Wanhedas involvement, but it is unlikely they’ll now which areas to focus on if the plan works“.

A big if, as Emori had noted already, since anything could go wrong. If the intel wasn’t accurate, or if someone was seen, or even if Nia decided to sent more people, they might fail. Clarke wasn’t awfully concerned though. Well, not as much as other people certainly were.

„Alright“, Xenia finally grumbled in agreement, „but the second your plan derails, you’ll be on your way to Polis or back into hiding“. Clarke nodded, while smiling in grim satisfaction. It would work. And Nia would learn why she was called the Commander of Death.

Clarke was tightly wrapped in shadows, perched up on a tree, overlooking a gona camp. She had spent the last day in the area, scouting from above, while the rest of her smaller group was spread around in a broader circle. The camp held 20 people. Certainly not impossible to take out in an ambush, but there were too many camps nearby for her to comfortably attack.

Clarke's eyes scanned the camp, noting the positions of guards, the layout of tents, and the routes the soldiers took during their patrols. 

"Too many," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "We'd be overwhelmed if the nearby camps heard the commotion."

A rustle of leaves below signaled the approach of Xenia, who climbed up the tree silently. "What do you think?" she asked once she settled next to Clarke.

The blondes brow furrowed. "There's a patrol every hour. If we hit them, we'd need to be in and out within minutes. But the risk of reinforcements arriving is too high."

Xenia nodded, her expression serious. "We need to take them out without making a sound then. This camp is too close to Nexhal for comfort“.

"Exactly." Clarke adjusted her position, feeling the rough bark against her back. Nexhal was the last village before the gonakru would pass toward their hideout. But beyond that, it also inhabited most of their healers and a good amount of children. "We should focus on gathering more intel tonight. Find out their routines, see if there's a way to isolate a smaller group."

Xenia’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. "And if we can't?"

„Then we move to Phase 2“, Clarke replied, her tone firm. Internally, she couldn’t help but curse. Even with her new found memories, she ached to have Wanheda whisper reassurances and plans into her mind. Except she truly was Wanheda now, something she still couldn’t quite comprehend.

Below them, Emori signaled from the ground, her hand a shadowy blur in the fading light. „She spotted something,“ Xenia said.

Clarke nodded and descended the tree with practiced ease, landing softly next to Emori. „What did you see?“ 

Emori pointed towards a cluster of trees at the edge of the camp. „There's a supply tent. If we can set it on fire, it might cause enough distraction for us to slip in and take out their leaders quietly.“

Clarke considered the plan, her mind racing. „It's risky. But if we time it right, it could work.“

„Tinol and I can handle the fire,“ Emori offered. „We'll need a clear escape route.“

Clarke's gaze shifted to the surrounding forest. She was uneasy with letting her friends put themselves in danger. „We’ll set up a trail leading them away from here. Use the terrain to our advantage.“, she decided. 

As they discussed the details, the air around them seemed to pulse with a shared determination. They couldn't afford mistakes.

"Alright," Clarke said finally. "We move tonight. Spread out and stay low. We strike fast and disappear before they know what hit them.“ „As was your plan“, Xenia agreed, „let us hope it works“. Clarke's eyes flickered fiercely. She knew the risks, but she also knew the stakes.

With one last glance at the gona camp, Clarke melted back into the darkness, her mind focused on the task ahead. Tonight, they would strike. Tonight, they would send a message.

Nightfall came swiftly, draping the forest in a blanket of darkness. Clarke moved silently through the trees, her footsteps barely disturbing the fallen leaves. She could hear the distant murmurs of the camp, the occasional clink of metal as soldiers adjusted their armor.

From her vantage point in the trees, Clarke watched as Emori and Tinol crept towards the supply tent. Her heart pounded in her chest. They needed this to go perfectly.

A flicker of light caught her eye. Emori had set the fire. Within moments, flames began to lick the edges of the tent, growing rapidly in the dry air. Shouts erupted from the camp as soldiers rushed to contain the blaze.

Clarke nocked an arrow, her eyes locking onto the tent where two of the leaders were emerging, their faces illuminated by the firelight. Both were armored, leaving little area for her to actually aim. Not that it’d be much of a problem. She exhaled slowly, calming her racing heart. One shot. One chance.

Her first arrow flew true, striking the first leader square in the throat. He crumpled to the ground without a sound. She swiftly nocked another arrow, releasing it just as the second leader turned towards the fire. He fell beside his comrade, eyes wide in shock.

Below, Xenia moved through the chaos, ensuring that the guards were kept busy with the fire and confusion. 

To her frustration, Clarke couldn’t quite make out the other three. Two, she thought she saw shouting orders, but they were standing in an odd angle to her. One seemed to have stayed in the tent, letting the other two deal with the ruckus. Except she’d have to leave her tent at some point.

An alarmed shout was ushered when a gona saw two of his leaders dead. Clarke knocked an arrow into the side of his chest within a second, silencing the man.

Regretfully, or maybe thankfully, that seemed to have alerted the other gona of the fallen. One of the two leaders who’d been outside, previously too hidden from her, turned towards his comrades.

Clarke's quickly knocked arrow easily found its mark at the same time as Xenia had crept up to the fourth one and slit her throat from behind, before quickly vanishing back into the forest. 

The last leader charged out of the tent, she too, immediately falling to Clarkes arrow. With their leaders down, the camp was in disarray.

Gona, unsure of what to do, scrambled to put out the fire, while looking around wildly to find the archer who’d cost them their comrades. Clarke took advantage of the chaos. Now that the most important members of the group couldn’t flee, the rest was fair game. She knocked more arrows, noting her friends do the same from where they were perched and before long, there was not a single gona left standing inside the camp.

Clarke slipped down from her perch to join her team. They retreated into the forest, leaving the camp in silence. As they moved deeper into the woods, they were joined by Murphy and Xenia, who had emptied what they could salvage from the supply tent once the gona had been taken out. 

Clarke allowed herself a brief moment of relief. The plan had gone off without a hitch, much to her surprise.

"We actually did it," Emori said, a note of disbelief in her voice.

Clarke nodded, her eyes still scanning their surroundings. "We did. But I’m afraid they'll be on high alert now."

Emori grinned, the firelight from the distant camp flickering in her eyes. "Let them be. We'll be ready.“ 

Clarke certainly hoped they would be, though her mind was already on the next target.

Clarke crouched low in the underbrush, her heart pounding in her chest as she surveyed the village ahead. It was nestled in a small valley, surrounded by thick grass that provided perfect cover for their ambush. She signaled to her group, which included Murphy, Hectal, Emori, and twelve other fighters.

Over the past weeks, their original group of 16 had grown. Word of what they were doing had spread, and more and more people from southern villages had wanted to join. According to Xenia, it was the biggest rush of support they had ever gotten.

If it wasn’t paired with so much death, Clarke would’ve found great satisfaction in the fact that Nia was basically causing her own demise. Except it was. Paired with death, that was. And where Clarke had had nightmares before, now she’d see villages burn and children suffer and friends die and she couldn’t stop it, because she wasn’t always fast enough.

She had tried so many times to use more of the powers she knew existed. Calling on ghosts and skeleton armies, taking all hope from the attacking gona. But however much she tried, she could never affect more than a few people and it frustrated her to no end.

Clarke took a deep breath and tried to ignore the almost painful tug in her gut, the one telling her that innocent people were about to die. She looked at her comrades and prayed it wouldn’t be one of them.

The village ahead was eerily quiet, the air seemed heavy with the scent of impending violence. It was something Clarke had come to learn. That the way books described the scent and feeling before a battle was scarily accurate at times.

They had scouted the attacking gonakru for the past 2 days. Initially, they had meant to take them all out before they could even reach the village, but they’d stayed too close together, had erected too many shields and guards for them to successfully attack. Waiting to ambush in the village had seemed like the best option, as it had given them time to get to know the territory and evacuate the villagers before the fight.

Clarke’s group was tasked with ambushing the attackers from behind, while Dacran, Tinol, Xenia, and the others fortified the village’s defenses. Leon, Mikhael, and another resistance member - Clarke had never actually met her, but Xenia had vouched - were ensuring the villagers were safely hidden away, far from the battle that was about to erupt.

“Remember, hit them hard and fast,” Clarke whispered, her eyes sharp and focused. “We can’t let them regroup.”

Murphy nodded, his face set in determination. “We’ve got this, Clarke.” Emori gave a grim smile, adjusting her grip on her bow. “Let’s give them hell.”

Clarke took a deep breath, calming her racing thoughts. She had to stay focused. She had to protect these people. As the first signs of the approaching gonakru emerged from the trees, she signaled to her group. They moved silently into position, their movements fluid and practiced after weeks of working together.

The gonakru were methodical, moving through the grass with the confidence of those who believed they were invincible. Stupid, Clarke thought, to think oneself above harm. She watched as they entered the village, their leader barking orders. Her eyes narrowed. They wouldn’t be so confident for long.

With a silent nod to her group, Clarke nocked an arrow and took aim. The first arrow flew, striking one of the gona through the back of his throat. Her companions had notched and fired further arrows before the first person had even realized what was happening, taking out the entire back-row of the kru.

Chaos erupted as the attackers realized they were under assault. Clarke’s team stayed hidden within the foliage, their arrows finding their marks one after the other, before a wall of shields was erected.

From her vantage point, Clarke saw Dacran and his team spring into action, engaging the gonakru head-on. She itched to join the fight. 

They fought fiercely, their movements coordinated and brutal. The village defenses held strong, and while the gonakru were relentless, their by now inferior numbers to the 25 people awaiting them inside would be their downfall.

Clarke’s eyes flickered to an assembly of hills a bit further out, where the villagers had been lead away to just hours before. She couldn’t afford to think about them now. She had to trust the group would get the people to safety.

„There they are“, Hectal pointed towards a marching group south of them, the reinforcements they had been warned off. From the armor, Clarke was pretty sure they were Delfikru. The fact didn’t sit right with her, but she pushed it aside for the time being. She had much more worrying things to consider - namely, that they were sixteen people against what seemed to be 50 at least.

„I did say I wanted to go out fighting“, the man next to her mumbled. Clarke wished she had remembered his name. „No-one has gone out yet“, she replied firmly, gesturing for the group to spread. 

„Stay in pairs and ducked behind the foliage. As soon as they see you, change your cover and don’t take any unnecessary risks“, she commanded before the others dispersed, leaving her with Hectal by her side. He knocked his arrow at the same time she did. „Do make sure I pass on safely will you?“, he grinned and let the arrow fly.

As the battle raged on, Clarke moved quicker than any non could keep an eye on, her arrows flying before anyone knew where she had gone. It caused enough of a distraction for her comrades to fire theirs without being uncovered. 

Being unable to spot their attackers had left the gonakru in an disarray and Clarke relished in it. Especially when their shields were erected and they landed arrows in between the cracks.

Sadly, the disarray didn’t hold. All too quick they had reformed tightly, shooting their own arrows above the wall of shields. And, while mostly shooting blindly, they covered more than enough space to potentially hit one of them.

“Cover me,” Clarke hissed to Murphy, who nodded and provided suppressive fire with his crossbow.

Clarke moved swiftly, her focus narrowing on the leader. He was barely visible to her, standing inside the circle. She came into a sprint, drawing back her bow, her eyes locking onto her target. Before anyone could even notice her advancing form, she had jumped up, releasing her arrow above the shields, striking the leader through his eye. He fell, his orders dying on his lips. But Clarke had no time to celebrate. She turned, drawing her swords as the now charging gonakru closed in. 

She could basically hear Murphys malcontent, something among the lines of so much for not taking unnecessary risks.

They clashed in a flurry of motion, Clarke’s movements deadly. She really didn’t want to thank Nia, but the pit had certainly helped.

She ducked under a wild swing, her knife finding the soft flesh under the attacker’s arm. He howled in pain, but Clarke didn’t relent. She drove the knife home, the gona falling at her feet.

“Clarke, behind you!” Murphy’s shout pierced the chaos.

Clarke spun, just in time to see another attacker bearing down on her. Before she could react, a blade slashed across her arm, pain flaring bright and hot. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. With a fierce cry, she countered, her knife finding the attacker’s throat.

The battle raged on, but the tide was turning. With their leader down and Xenia’s group joining the attack once their foes had been decimated, the gonakru were losing their momentum. One by one, they fell, until the remaining attackers fled into the foliage, quickly picked off by Declan’s rooftop archers.

“Is everyone alright?” Clarke called out, her voice strong despite the pain in her arm. Though the injury had already faded into an uncomfortable cut, so that certainly helped with keeping her voice steady.

Murphy jogged over, a grin on his face despite the blood splattered across it. “We’re good. You?”

Clarke nodded. “I’ll live. Let’s check on the rest.”

Not everyone was alright. With the battle as it had been, that was barely a surprise, but it still hit Clarke harder than she liked to admit. Out of 41 people, 34 had survived, twelve of them with major injuries.

Clarke stood amidst the aftermath, feeling utterly spent. The victory felt hollow now, tainted by the lives lost and the suffering of those who had fought so bravely. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. These people had trusted her, fought under her command, and she had failed to keep them all safe.

She moved through the chaos, her eyes scanning the wounded. Blood stained the ground, mingling with the dirt and the sweat of battle. The sounds of pained groans and hurried conversations filled the air.

Clarke knelt beside the first of the severely injured, a young woman named Isla. She had a deep gash across her abdomen, and her breathing was shallow. Clarke placed her hands over the wound, focusing her energy. At least she could heal them, make sure they didn’t lose anyone else.

The familiar warmth of her powers flowed through her hands, knitting flesh and muscle back together while hers was being painfully ripped apart. Isla’s breathing steadied, and the tension in her face eased. Clarke let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, grit her teeth and moved on.

As she moved through the injured fighters, her thoughts churned. She hated that she couldn’t keep everyone safe. Hated that despite her best efforts, people still got hurt, still died. Hated that this attack, fighting back, had been her idea to begin with. And though she tried to remind herself that it wasn’t possible to protect everyone, that these people had fought voluntarily, knowing the risks, it sounded like a hollow excuse to her.

“Clarke, over here,” Murphy called, his voice tight with worry.

The blonde hurried over, finding Murphy beside Hectal, who was clutching his leg, a jagged piece of metal embedded in it. She swallowed hard, pushing down the surge of fear. She couldn’t afford to lose Hectal. He had grown into a close friend, someone she couldn’t lose.

“I’ve got you,” Clarke said softly, placing her hands over the metal. „I’ll have to pull this out first“, she warned gently, not even waiting for a nod before she tugged on the dagger. Much to his credit, Hectal simply grit his teeth.

Finally placing her hands over the injury, the healing energy surged again, closing the wound and easing Hectal’s pain.

While she worked, she could hear the general tumult around her. People were cleaning up after the fight, gathering the bodies of the fallen gona, and tending to the less severe injuries. She was glad for it, concentrating on these injuries, that was. It meant she wouldn’t yet have to face those who had died. After all, she’d have to do so soon enough, when she’d make sure their should could pass on safely.

Clarke moved from one injured person to the next, her powers draining her with each use and the strain on her body becoming continuously more painful. She healed Tinol, who had taken a blow to the head, and Decrane, who had a broken arm. Each time, she poured her energy into them, desperate to save as many as she could.

Her hands shook with exhaustion and her body trembled in pain by the time she stumbled towards the last of the severely injured, a man named Gareth. He had a punctured lung and was struggling to breathe. Clarke placed her hands on his chest, her vision blurring with fatigue.

“Stay with me, Gareth,” she whispered, forcing the healing energy to flow. The wound closed, and Gareth’s breathing eased. Clarke sagged back, barely able to keep herself upright.

She was in so much pain, could taste the copper of her now punctured lungs and wished her body would heal even faster than it did. Murphy helped keep her upright. „You shouldn’t be putting such a strain on you“, he mumbled concerned. She groaned in return, unable to come up with a proper reply.

She really needed to rest, to recharge her powers, and heal properly, but the guilt and anger wouldn’t let her.

“You did what you could, Clarke,” Emori said gently, kneeling beside her. “We all knew the risks.”

Clarke nodded, though it did little to ease the gnawing guilt. “I just wish we could have done more.”

“We all do,” Murphy added, his hand on her shoulder. “But we saved a lot of lives today. That matters.”

Clarke took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. See, she knew it was true. With the village harboring many outcasts, it would’ve been burned to the ground along with every single villager inside. It didn’t quite quell her guilt though.

She looked around at the survivors, at the determined faces of those who had fought and bled for their freedom. They were counting on her, and she wouldn’t let them down. Clarke stood, drawing strength from their resolve.

“We need to move,” she said, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “There’s still a lot of work to do.”

The chamber in Polis was dimly lit, the flickering light of torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. Lexa sat at the head of the table, her expression as inscrutable as ever, but the tension in the room was obvious. Anya stood to her right, her arms crossed, while Titus paced near the doorway, his face a mask of concern.

A spy had just arrived, his journey evident in the grime and exhaustion on his face. He bowed deeply before speaking.

“Heda,” the spy began, “we’ve received word of a resistance forming in Azgeda, fighting against the queens gona. There are whispers of Wanheda is leading it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lexa’s heart pounded in her chest, her carefully maintained composure threatening to shatter. Clarke was alive. Relief washed over her, mingled with a fear so intense it was almost paralyzing. What would cause Clarke to join a resistance there? Keryon, why would she become one of their leaders? If Clarke was leading it, then she was in unimaginable danger.

She cleared her throat, trying to stay level headed besides the emotional rollercoaster the news were putting her through. „Are you sure it is truly a resistance against Kwin Nia and not simply raids as they have seen the last few years“

The scout nodded hastily. „Sha, heda“, he said, explaining how there had been coordinated attacks against gona at the border and how groups of people had taken to defend villages from attacks.

Anya’s expression softened slightly, a glimmer of relief in her eyes, saying what Lexa was too afraid to utter out loud, lest it gave her hope. “Klarke’s alive,” she murmured, mostly to herself, the tightness in her shoulders easing just a bit. 

“Ignoring the murmurs of Wanheda“, Titus sneered disdainfully, „a resistance in Azgeda is rather perilous.”

Lexa wouldn’t admit that the uprising was not her most notable concern in that moment. Because if it wasn’t, she’d prove Titus right and that simply wouldn’t happen. “How reliable is this information?” she asked, her voice steady.

The spy nodded. “Very reliable, Heda. The sources are trustworthy. There have been numerous reports from different villages, all saying the same thing. A large group of people is fighting back against Nia’s forces and they have a fighter in there midsts, better than anyone else. Hey say it is Wanheda commanding them. Apparently, the rumors of Wanheda have been going around even before, of her defending villages under attack without any aid.”

Lexa twirled her knife around, gathering her thoughts. Clarke had always been a leader, giving of hope and strength. As Wanheda, it wasn’t farfetched that she would come to lead such a group.

But Azgeda was a treacherous territory, and Nia would stop at nothing to crush any opposition. The thought of Clarke facing such dangers alone was almost unbearable.

Titus cleared his throat, drawing Lexa’s attention. His face remained impassive, but there was a subtle tension in his posture. “Heda, a resistance in Azgeda could destabilize the region further. We need to consider the ramifications for Polis and the coalition.”

Lexa nodded, though her mind was elsewhere. “You’re right, Titus. We need to be strategic about our response.” She turned back to the spy. “What else have you heard?”

The spy hesitated, glancing briefly at Titus before continuing. “There are reports that the resistance is gaining support from southern villages. They’re erecting shrines to Wanheda, praying for her protection.”

Lexa’s breath caught in her throat. Didn’t know wether to laugh or cry. Clarke had always inspired loyalty and devotion, but this... this was something more. Though she probably shouldn’t be surprised that t people saw her as a savior, not when she was fighting in their midsts. And it was certainly a testament to how much Clarke must’ve grown in those past years. 

(She tried to ignore the fact that this also painted an even larger target on her back. Or that Lexa should’ve been by her side for that growth).

Anya stepped forward, her expression serious. “We need to support them, Heda. However much power Wanheda possesses, she certainly can’t do this alone. No resistance force would be big enough against Kwin Nias forces. If we send aid—”

“No,” Titus interjected, his voice firm. “If we openly support this resistance, it could be seen as an act of war. We need to be cautious.”

Lexa’s mind raced. She knew Titus had a point, but the thought of leaving Clarke to fend for herself was unbearable. She needed to protect her, to bring her back safely. But how? Would Clarke even want to be brought back?

„Heda, I implore you to think of your people. Aiding such a resistance will put you into an even worse situation. You might yet start a war you cannot win, not when so many clans are willing to aid Azgeda“.

“I understand the risks, Titus,” Lexa said, her voice calm in a way her brain couldn’t bShe wanted to say that they can’t ignore it. That Clarke was too important and that they needed to find a way to support the resistance without openly declaring war. Except that it would be a decision of her heart, one that could certainly cost her peoples lives.

„If the need to interfere arises, we shall do so. We shall discuss it in the next council“, she decided, hating herself for that decision just a little bit more.

Titus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. “As you wish, Heda.”

Once everyone had left the chamber at Lexas dismissal, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. Clarke was alive. The relief was almost overwhelming. Except, Clarke was also out there, fighting against insurmountable odds, and Lexa couldn’t be by her side. Couldn’t even freely act to protect her, to bring her back safely. 

And it hurt beyond words, because Clarke was more than just Wanheda; she was Lexa’s heart, and losing her again was not an option.

Hectals senses were on high alert as he scouted the forest ahead for any sign of the gonakru. The last ambush had gone off without a hitch, and now they were in the process of retreating to avoid detection. The air was thick with tension, each rustle of leaves and snap of twigs putting him on edge. They had managed to create a formidable network of communication and support over the past weeks, but Nia’s forces were relentless.

As he reached a small clearing, Hectal paused, listening intently. It was then that he heard it—the faint sound of footsteps, too deliberate to be mere animals. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, ready to defend himself.

Three figures emerged from the underbrush, moving with the stealth and precision of trained scouts. Hectal’s grip tightened on his weapon, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. He needed to assess the situation first.

The leader of the group, a tall man with sharp features and a scar running down his cheek, raised a hand in a gesture of peace. “We mean you no harm,” he said in a low, calm voice. “We’re here from Polis.”

Hectal’s eyes narrowed. “From Polis? Prove it.”

The man exchanged a look with his companions, a woman holding dual wields and a burly man who looked like he could snap a tree in half. “We can’t,” the leader admitted. “Heda can’t risk any direct connection being revealed. But we were sent to find you and offer assistance.”

Hectal’s instincts screamed at him to be cautious. “How do I know you’re not spies for Kwin Nia?”

The woman stepped forward, her eyes earnest. “If we were, you’d already be dead. We’re risking our lives to find you. If we can meet with your leader, we can explain everything.”

Hectal considered their words carefully. The ‚you’d already be dead‘ excuse really wasn’t working it they needed intel. And it could certainly be a trap. But if they truly were from Polis, rejecting their help could be a costly mistake. “You’ll speak with someone higher,” he finally said, thinking of Xenia. Should it be a trap, she was the safer option to Wanheda. “But you’ll be blindfolded until we get there. And if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

The leader nodded, accepting the terms. “Agreed.”

With swift movements, Hectal blindfolded the three strangers and led them through a series of winding paths designed to confuse and disorient. The journey took longer than necessary, but Hectal wasn’t taking any chances. When they finally reached the cave - a hideout they’d been using not too far from the bunker, but safer to work from - he signaled for the guards to let them in.

A pretty large group of people was already inside, but with a look from Hectal, Xenia made sure the room was cleared safe for her and Clarke. Hectal frowned at the blond and shook his head, gesturing for her to leave too. It caused her to frown at him, but looking at the three blindfolded gona behind him, she relented and left them alone.

Xenias expression cautious. “Who are they?” she asked, her eyes flicking to Hectal. 

“They claim to be from Polis,” Hectal replied as he undid the blindfolds. “They wanted to speak with you.”

The leader stepped forward, his gaze steady. “I am Leoric, and these are my companions, Mara and Jaxon. We’ve been sent by the commander to find Wanheda and offer our support.”

Xenia’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Wanheda, but she quickly masked her reaction. “You won’t find Wanheda here,” she said evenly. “She’s been missing for a long time.”

Leoric didn’t miss a beat. “We know she’s been seen leading the resistance. Heda wants to ensure her safety and aid in your fight against Nia.”

Hectal crossed his arms, his skepticism evident. “Why would heda help us now? And even if that were true, how do we know we can trust you?”

Leoric met his gaze unflinchingly. “You don’t. Not yet. But heda believes that Wanheda is crucial in stopping Nia. We have valuable information and resources that can help you.”

Xenia studied them for a moment, weighing her options. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. We’ll hear what you have to say. But know this—if you betray us, you won’t live to regret it.”

Leoric inclined his head in agreement. “Understood.”

As the group moved to a more secure area to discuss further, Hectal couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The stakes were higher than ever, and trust was a rare commodity. He just hoped that this gamble would pay off, and not lead them all to ruin.

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls from the flickering candles. Titus sat behind a wooden desk. Across from him stood an informant, shifting uneasily on his feet.

He was clearly uneasy in the presence of Titus. "I've come with important information for heda," he said, their voice low and urgent. „may I speak with her please"

Titus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. „I’m fleimkeepa and your heda is busy. Any information going to her will be taken through me. So go on.“

The man gulped „Moba, fleimkeepa. Of course.“ The man nodded quickly, not wanting to get on the Fleimkeepas bad side. He’d heard stories of those who did, and apparently they’d never made it out alive. "The resistance against Kwin Nia is hiding in a series of bunkers scattered throughout southern Azgeda," the informant explained. "Their main hideout is well concealed, but I've managed to gather some details. There are about fifty people in total, including some key figures who are leading the efforts."

Titus nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "And what of their plans? What are they intending to do next?"

The informant shook their head. "I haven't been privy to their plans. They're very cautious about who they trust. But from what I've seen, they're focused on guerrilla tactics—ambushes, sabotage, anything to weaken Nia's forces without engaging in open battle."

Titus's fingers drummed lightly on the desk, a habit he had when deep in thought. "And Wanheda? Is she among them?"

The informant hesitated for a moment before answering. "Sha, Wanheda is with them. She's taken a leading role in their efforts. The people believe in her—they think she can turn the tide against Kwin Nia."

Titus's eyes darkened slightly at this revelation, but he quickly masked his reaction. "This information is invaluable," he said, his tone carefully measured. „Heda will know. You've done well."

The informant bowed their head slightly, relief evident in their posture. "I only want to help. Wanheda is our best shot at ending Kwin Nias tyranny.“

Titus stood, signaling that the meeting was over. "Your loyalty is noted. Return to your duties and continue to gather what information you can. Heda will be informed."

As the informant left, Titus remained standing, his mind racing. He knew exactly what he needed to do with this information, and it wasn't informing the commander. He had a more immediate, more dangerous course of action in mind.

Once alone, Titus moved quickly, retrieving a hidden communication device. While he despised the maunon, Nias alliance with them had certainly come with perks, such as a rare few long-range communication devices. He activated it and began to speak in low, hurried tones, once Nia had replied to his initial greeting.

„Ai Kwin, I have crucial information for you," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "The resistance's main hideout has been located, along with their numbers and the presence of Wanheda. They are vulnerable“, he explained, giving her all the vital information. 

It took a second for the queen to reply, and when Nia's cold, calculating voice finally came through, he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Good work, Fleimkeepa. Ensure that no one else learns of this. We will crush this rebellion before it gains any more strength."

Titus nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "As you command, ai kwin."

With that, he deactivated the device and concealed it once more. He had played his part perfectly, and now the wheels were in motion. The resistance had no idea what was coming for them, and Wanheda's defiance would soon be extinguished.

The clang of metal and the shouts of warriors filled the air, a cacophony of chaos that reverberated through the forest. Clarke fought at the heart of the melee, her sword a blur of motion as she parried and struck, her every movement deadly. 

The gonakru had come at night, unexpected and in overwhelming numbers, three hundred strong, and their assault was relentless. How they had found the hideout was a mystery, but there was no time to ponder such things now.

Clarke’s desperation grew with each passing second, her mind racing for a way to turn the tide. They were outnumbered, and despite the ferocity of her attacks, it was clear they couldn’t hold out much longer. Her heart pounded in her chest, only her fear and adrenaline fueling her actions. She could see her friends and comrades fighting valiantly, and falling painfully, as the waves of enemies continued endlessly.

She had just cut down another enemy, a spark ignited within her. Not as much an idea, as a desperate hope that had failed her so many times before. 

She reached deep within herself, calling on a power she had never managed to touch before. „Come on“, she groaned, trying to concentrate on her flowing energy while simultaneously fighting off the attacks. 

Finally, she felt it, as though something was ripping into her soul. The ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble as she channeled her will, a dark energy swirling around her. She couldn’t keep the grin off of her face.

“Rise,” she whispered, her voice carrying a command that echoed through the battlefield.

To her astonishment, the fallen began to stir. The dead warriors, both friend and foe, rose from the ground, their eyes glowing with an eerie purple light. They moved with a singular purpose, turning their weapons on the living enemies, fighting with a strength and ferocity that was terrifying to behold.

The sight was both awe-inspiring and horrifying and Clarke did her best to ignore the terrified stares thrown her way by her friends. She couldn’t concentrate on it anyway, as she felt the strain of the power coursing through her, every muscle in her body protesting the unnatural exertion. She swayed on her feet, but she couldn’t stop now. The dead fought on, pushing back the gonakru, but she knew it wouldn’t last.

“Klarke!” Xenia’s voice cut through the din, urgent and filled with worry. She fought her way to Clarke’s side, her face pale with fear. “We need to get you out of here! We can’t hold them off, not even with... this.” She gestured to the risen dead, her expression grim.

“I can’t leave you!” Clarke shouted back, her voice hoarse. “We need to hold the line!”

“Klarke, listen to me!” Xenia grabbed her arm, forcing Clarke to look at her. “You can’t die here. If you fall, it’s over. We need you alive. We’ll buy you time, but you have to go now!”

Clarke’s heart ached. She wanted to stay, to fight beside her friends, but Xenia’s words pierced through her. She nodded, tears burning in her eyes. “Promise me you’ll run too, as soon as we’re clear.”

Xenia nodded, her grip tightening. “I promise. Now go!”

With a final, wrenching look at the battlefield, Clarke turned and ran, grabbing Emori and Murphy along the way. They fought their way through the chaos, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what they were leaving behind. Clarke’s body felt leaden, each step a struggle as she pushed herself to move faster, her power ebbing with every moment. She didn’t see, but behind her, the previously fighting corpses were beginning to fall one after the other as her strength wavered.

They barely made it out of the fray unnoticed, slipping into the shadows of the forest. The sounds of battle faded behind them as they ran, replaced by overwhelming guilt. None of them dared to look back, too afraid of what they might see.

Chapter Text

„You need to calm down, princess“, Murphy told the blonde about the thousands time within the last five hours they had been riding. „Getting wrinkles now isn’t gonna do you any good, your commander might think you got old“. 

The blonde scowled at her friend. „Shut up or I’ll knock you from your horse, cockroach. Let’s see how attractive Emori finds you then“. 

The girl in question laughed. „Please Clarke, I saw him in much worse states than knocked on his butt, I doubt there’s a lot you can do about it“. 

Murphy smiled „Exactly, zombie dearest. So kindly don’t threaten me. And do breathing exercises or something, because I can hear your thoughts from here“. 

Clarkes scowl deepened, and Murphys expression softened a bit. Steering his horse away from where he was riding next to Emori to be closer to Clarke, he eyed her in concern. „Do you want to talk about it?“, His concern made Clarke frown tiredly. 

She didn’t. She very much, truly, desperately didn’t even want to think about it. Except that’d be stupid and the chances of Murphy actually letting this go were next to none. 

„I’m not sure I’m ready to see them again, John“, she admitted in defeat. „I left them all and then I go missing for over a year and I come bak as this completely different person. I don’t… I’m scared of what they’ll think“. 

„They’ll think“, her friend said gently, „that they are fucking lucky to have you back. They’ll be thrilled to see you, princess. We’ve been over this“. Clarke sighed again, keeping her gaze directed on the rough ground beneath them.

„But that’s not what really concerns you, is it?“ Clarke hated how John had started being able to read her (cherished how well they had started to know each other), which was certainly no surprise considering their proximity over the past months. 

„I don’t know what to do once I see heda“, she grimaced. The commander was, for all intends and purposes, a topic she tried to avoid at any cost. 

When she had first brought her up, Murphy had joked that she should just take the girl up into a room and fuck her brains out because that was very obviously what she wanted to do. He had found himself with a knife between his legs, barely missing his crotch. 

„Whatever feels right, princess“, John told her instead, „You have every right to be hurt, to not want to talk to her and to give yourself time to heal. Heda can’t expect you to just jump into her arms and forgive her“. 

„But I did, John. I think so anyway. It just… it hurts“. He turned to his girlfriend, looking for help. 

„You may have forgiven what she did as a leader, Clarke, but that doesn’t mean you have to give Lexa the same forgiveness you gave heda. You get to put yourself first, and if waiting with Lexa is what you need, than she will have to wait.“ 

It sounded much simpler than it actually felt. (Because she didn’t know what she felt. Because she thought she was alright, but with each day closer to Polis, she’d grown more anxious, thought more about Lexa, felt the anger she thought she’d overcome resurface.

At the same time, she’d think about finally hugging her again, seeing her alive and breathing, seeing her smile and hear her laugh. Her need to be with Lexa was truly pathetic).

They rode for a little while longer, before stopping by a small lake about 3 hours away from Polis. 

„Are you sure you don’t want to find some traders before going to Heda, zombie? You look a bit… well“, 

Clarke could imagine what he wanted to say. Between her busted lip and still healing facial injuries - they made two weirdly symmetrical lines to her previous scar, starting just after her nose, she thought it was funny, Murphy and Emori not so much - her bruised knuckles and ruined clothes, she looked like hell. She was dressed in the attire she had been wearing when—

(People screaming, dying, her friends dying, running)

Either way, it was full of cuts and blood that hadn’t washed out properly. With her pallid complexion, she truly did look slightly like the zombie Murphy liked to describe her as. 

„I don’t want anyone to see me before I speak with the ambassadors, John. The surprise will hopefully help“. As would having Roan and Ontari there, and kreyon she prayed they had made it safely. 

„Besides“, Emori nudged her boyfriend, „You can’t say she doesn’t look totally fucking badass“. And yeah, alright, that too. (A vicious part of her was looking forward to the reaction of the Azgeda ambassador).

Their break didn’t continue too much longer, as they simply refilled their waterskins and ate some leftover meat, before they remounted their horses to make the rest of the way to Polis. 

About an hour before they reached city, just slightly off the main trading route, they took a narrower path that led to the far west of the wall surrounding Polis. 

From Wanhedas - her - memories, she knew that there was a hidden entrance, leading right into the tower of Polis. While a huge security issue should someone find out about it - and Clarke did plan to inform Lexa of its existence - it served a helpful cause now.

„Good luck in there, zombie“, John hugged her tightly after they had bound the horses to some trees. They had decided that Murphy and Emory would enter the city the normal way, putting their horses into the stables and relaxing a bit while Clarke dealt with everything else. 

(Not without a lot of arguing from Murphy, but when she promised him that she would meet up with them at the foot of the tower the next day, his protests had gotten less). 

Clarke sank into her friends embrace, soaking up any ounce of comfort she could to soothe her racing mind. It was ridiculous, she hadn’t even been this anxious about their attacks against Nia. 

„You sure you don’t want us in there with you?“ Emori mumbled. „No“, pulling herself out of Johns embrace, Clarke stood straight, „I need to do this part on my own. I know where to find you guys after though“. 

As Clarke entered the quiet underpass beneath Polis, Murphy and Emori gently clasped their hands together. Clarke would be fine.

Her steps were loud in the otherwise completely silent tunnel. 

Breathe in and out, she told herself, just keep breathing and you’ll be fine. For the entire way, she could swear her muscles kept tensing up more and more and she was surprised she didn’t hear them snap. 

It took her nearly an hour of walking to reach the entrance into the tower, where she took a minute to calm her nerves. 

Once she’d leave the tunnel, her being alive wouldn’t be a simple rumor anymore. Outside that door stood every person she had been so scared of seeing again for the past two years. Ow or never, then.

With a deep breath, she opened the door, and found… a cupboard. A broom had fallen from where the door - which she could now see was disguised as a shelf - had knocked it over. 

Well that was anticlimactic. In her memories, the door led right into the entrance hall. Though this did explain why no-one seemed to be aware of the entrance anymore. 

Shaking her head, Clarke stepped towards the second door. She could hear people chattering outside now, shadows moving underneath the door every time somebody passed close by. Anxiety clenched in her chest. This was gonna be fine. 

She wanted to run.

Stepping out of the room, it took barely a minute for the first person to notice her. To be fair, her appearance did not give much of a chance to misinterpret who she was. 

She straightened her shoulders, as she walked through the parting crowd. Whispers of Wanheda echoed around the now suddenly silent floor, and she could feel nearly everyone staring at her. 

Reaching the elevator, she stepped inside, throwing the guard outside a look. 

„I need to go to the ambassadors hall“, she ordered him. 

Not daring to question what Wanheda - who most had assumed to be dead or at the very least hidden - wanted in the currently ongoing meeting, the man nodded and closed the elevator behind the woman, to let her up. 

The second she was inside and alone, Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. That was the initial part over. Now, she only had to face the actually taxing part.

The elevator dinged when it reached the 85th floor and Clarke schooled her features before stepping outside. 

The floor was empty safe for the guards stationed at the entrance of the ambassadors meeting room. She strolled over confidently, feeling their shocked gazes on her. 

„Let me in“, she commanded, trying to give her voice as much authority as she could muster. 

„Why would we let a stranger into the ambassadors meeting“, one of the guards replied, though she could see his slightly trembling hand. 

„Because I have information for the council“, She growled, letting her eyes glow in an eery purple, „Do you truly want to deny me entrance“, 

the man shook his head quickly, motioning for he other two to let her through and open the doors. This was it. 

She steeled her nerves as the doors opened.

Lexa liked being the commander. 

Working for her people, making sure the world they lived in was one where they could thrive, it made every part of her body strum in satisfaction when she saw her people happy. But keryon she despised the ambassadors meetings sometimes. 

She shared a quick look with Octavia, as the Azgeda and Sankru ambassadors argued about unfair trading deals. 

Anya, Indra, Roan and Ontari stood behind her, working as her guard while they were all in Polis. Titus stood by her side, the advisor sending dirty looks towards Raven every once in a while, who had been invited to the meeting to explain the functions of several tek-related trading options. Lexa was about to interfere with the ambassadors bickering, when the doors opened with a crash. 

„Who interrupts…“, before she could finish the sentence - silently glad for the interruption - her words got stuck in her throat. There, pale, covered in bruises and wearing tattered and bloody clothes, she stood. 

Lexa had never seen anyone more beautiful. 

„I do, heda“, Clarkes voice carried a power that it hadn’t before and Lexa felt heat coil in her belly. Dear… keryon.

„You do not have the authority to—“, 

Clarke cut Titus off with a scathing look. The rest of the ambassadors look at the blonde with gaping mouths, the Azgedan ambassador looking like he was having a stroke. 

Clarkes friends didn’t fare much better. Behind Lexa, Ontari and Roan could barely contain their joy at seeing their sister alive, trying really hard not to tackle her into a long overdue hug. 

Raven and Octavia had tears brimming in their eyes at seeing their best friend alive. 

Clarke ignored all of it, simply holding Lexas gaze with a collected mask on her face. And oh, if that didn’t hurt more than anything else.

„I bring news of Kwin Nias treachery not only against her own people, but as the kongeda as a whole“, the room fell deadly silent at Clarkes proclamation. „As such I come to call to raise arms against the nation leader of Azgeda, Heda“. 

The Azgeda ambassador jumped out of his chair in rage. „Nobody dares to call my queen a natrona!“, he shouted, building himself up in front of Clarke.

„It is a good thing I am not a nobody then, isn’t it, ambassador?“, Clarke drawled, her expression almost bored as her gaze fixed on the seething man.

And Lexa should stop this, she knew it. It was part of her duties to ensure order and respect, especially among members and visitors in ambassador meetings. But she couldn’t utter a word, because neither her mind nor her body seemed to be cooperating.

The sight of Clarke, so changed, so fierce and yet so achingly familiar, left Lexa paralyzed. She had imagined this moment countless times—Clarke’s anger, her hurt, her relief—but nothing had prepared her for this cold, emotionless mask. It felt like a knife to the heart, sharper and more painful than any battlefield wound.

„My queen has not made a singly move against the kongeda or her own. You have baseless claims and gall to come here to call Kwin Nia a Natrona without prove“, while the four guards behind Lexa - and the woman too - had quickly grabbed their weapons as the man got up, Clarke simply stared him down, ignoring Lexa’s questioning stare. 

(And Lexa’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. The guilt she had lived with, the betrayal she had inflicted, all came crashing down on her in a suffocating wave. 

She was terrified that Clarke would hate her forever, yet at the same time seeing her like this, so powerful and unyielding, stirred something deep within her. An undeniable attraction, a fierce desire that made her blood sing, and she was so done for.)

„And you have baseless trust to say such a thing“, Clarke snarled, „I do have evidence though, ambassador kom Azgeda. That’s why I also call for a trial to evaluate Nias crimes and punishment as the council and people find fit“. 

Titus springs out of his seat in rage, his face pallid where his voice was almost hysteric. „You appear here, after two years of keryon knows where, you do not get to make any claims skaigada“. 

Before Lexa could put her advisor in his place, Clarkes scathing words had already cut into him. 

„Oh but you know where I was, Fleimkiepa. So does the Azgedan ambassador over here“, 

the tension could be cut with a knife, as Clarke turned to address the ambassadors, ignoring the two fuming man. 

And Lexa, she was lost. So utterly fucking lost because what did Clarke mean he knew where she was? Did she mean the rumors the spies had relied to them not too long ago?

„For those of you who don’t know me, ai laik Klarke kom Skaikru, Mountain Slayer“, she turns her gaze to the ambassadors of each clan respectively, letting silence cloud the room for a second, „Though you might know me better as Wanheda“, 

Lexa couldn’t wrap her mind around the emotional whiplash she was experiencing. She should definitely be taking control of the situation.

She didn’t.

„I have spend over a year in Azgeda, and on the run from Nias scouts for the last three months. I have spend the year learning about Azgeda, about Nia, about her crimes and intrigues, about how she covers them up, plays all of you against each other. And now I come to bring what my name promises. I am the Commander of Death, and I will bring it to those who have committed atrocities in the name of power“, 

her gaze fixed on Lexa now, her cold blue-purple eyes meeting forest green for the first time in 2 years and her heart raced. „So I call for Nia to face her crimes“. 

The room was silent, as they all gaped at the woman that had been presumed dead. 

„Your call shall be heard and discussed, Wanheda“, Lexa forced herself to say, heart constricting painfully as the blondes face didn’t give away an ounce of emotion. 

„You shall bring your proof forward in two months time, so we can decide if there will be a trial“, 

Clarke nodded, already expecting that answer, „Sha, Heda“. 

Lexa wanted to end the meeting right then, ask Clarke all the questions that had been burning on her tongue since the blonde entered the room. Instead she called the guards outside back in 

„Bring Wanheda to our guest rooms to stay in during her stay“, she ordered them. 

With a small node of her head Clarke excused herself to go with the guards. 

„So, we were discussing your weapons trade…“, Lexa continued the meeting to get her mind off of Clarke.

Clarke was pacing up and down her room, wringing her hands anxiously. 

The guards had brought her to a spacious room on the 98th floor, just one floor below Lexas room. 

The guards had told her that there were clothes in the wardrobe and running water in the bathroom should Clarke want to freshen up (she feels like she should be insulted by that) but she was way too tense to think much about anything other than the people in the meeting several floors below her.

As for the people below, they couldn’t wait for the meeting to finally adjourn. Lexa barely managed to follow the discussions, her head going back to Clarke all the time. 

Truthfully, her appearance had shook Lexa up badly. The fresh injuries on her face looked deep and painful, and her bloody and tattered clothes spoke volumes about how the blondes life had been for the past months. 

After what felt like hours of discussion - though must’ve only been half an hour, Lexa finally amazed to reach a point where she could conclude the meeting. 

„You’re all heard and your needs will be met the best way possible“, she agreed, before sending the ambassadors off. Only Raven, Octavia, her guards, and, sadly, Titus stayed behind. 

"Titus," Lexa said, her voice steady but tinged with weariness. "Why are you still here?"

Titus's face twisted with barely concealed disdain. „To join of course," he replied, his tone dripping with condescension. Though Lexa could swear there was a lingering anxiety in his voice that she didn’t quite know what to do with. She shoved the thought aside for later.

„You can speak with her once she has settled, Fleimkeepa. She seems to have had an exhausting journey behind her and deserves a moment’s peace.“ 

Just leave, she wanted to growl, you’re not welcome around Clarke after the amount of times you’ve either down talked her or told me to kill her.

Titus's expression darkened and for a moment she wondered if he truly didn’t catch onto her fury. "A moment’s peace? For a sky gada? You have grown so soft, Heda. So enamored with this outsider that you forget your duties.“

The accusation hit Lexa like a blow, for he wasn’t entirely wrong, but she stood her ground, her eyes blazing with a controlled fury. 

"Watch your words, Fleimkeepa," she warned, her voice low and dangerous. „Wanheda is no mere outsider. She has proven her worth and loyalty time and again. And she is certainly not an enemy we can afford to make“ 

Titus scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Loyalty? Worth? She abandoned you. She abandoned us for 2 years. And now, you coddle her like a lost child. You are Heda. You cannot afford to be weak."

Lexa’s fists clenched at her sides, her anger barely restrained. A part of her wished what he was saying was true. Whished that Clarke had truly abandoned her and it hadn’t been the other way around, because maybe then the crushing guilt in her chest could be bearable.

„You will not question my strength or my decisions, Fleimkeepa. Wanheda will be treated with the respect she deserves. You will speak with her when I deem it appropriate, and not a moment before.“ 

Titus took a step forward, his voice rising in frustration. "You’ve lost sight of what it means to lead, Lexa. Your infatuation with this sky gada will be your downfall."

There it was again. That odd flicker of a threat crawling up Lexas spine. Her eyes flashed dangerously. „Em pleni, Titus. Do not forget that I am your heda first. Leave now, before you say something you’ll regret.“ 

(Before you say something I’ll make you regret.)

For a moment, Titus seemed ready to argue further, but the steely resolve in Lexa’s gaze gave him pause. He turned on his heel, his parting words laced with venom. "You’ll see the truth soon enough, Heda. Hodnes laid kwelnes. Remember that."

With that, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Lexa took a deep breath, her eyes closing briefly as she composed herself. 

When she opened them again, they were filled with sorrow. „I shall sent someone for the rest“, she said, ready to simply take off without anyone to go and see Clarke at that point.

Apparently she didn’t need to sent anyone though, as just a second later Lincoln, Niylah and Abby burst into the room, followed by two people Lexa didn’t recognize. Apparently they had waited for everyone to vacate the room for quite a while. 

„Murphy?!“, Raven exclaimed in surprise at seeing the younger Skaikru member. He waved at them sheepishly. 

„Where is Clarke?“ Abbys eyes frantically trailed over the people in room, searching for her daughter. 

„I asked my guards to get her situated in one of the guest rooms upstairs, I was going to go see her after calling for you. Which obviously wasn’t necessary?“ 

Lexa voiced the last part as a question to know how they found out about Clarke so quickly. 

„Ahh that might’ve been our fault“, the boy, Raven had called him Murphy, said. „Emori and I got here with Clarke and were bringing our horses to the stables. And when we saw Abby close by, well, I thought she might want to know her daughter is safe, so…“ 

„And also“, Lincoln added, „People were whispering about how Wanheda entered the tower to talk to Heda“. Lexa nodded in understanding. 

„Guys. Clarke. Upstairs.“ Octavia butted in, already standing at the door to leave. 

„Umm are you sure you want her to face everyone all at once?“ Roan tried to interfere, knowing his sister must be completely overwhelmed already. 

Murphy was quick to agree „Yeah, she hasn’t seen you guys in ages, it might be helpful to not throw everything at her at once?“ 

Lexa glowered at the two, her expression copied several times over. „How about you stay back then?“ 

„Ah hell no“, Roan shook his head vigorously. 

„Ah, I think I’ll stay back“, Murphy offered, „Me and Emori saw her just a few hours ago“. Anya, Indra and Lincoln offered to stay behind at first two, knowing they’d get the chance to talk to Clarke later.

„So the rest is joining us then?“, Lexa stated when no-one else offered to stay back. She didn’t even wait for a response once she’d seen the first person nod, finally rushing out of the room to get to Clarke. 

As she made it up the stairway, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Clarke had been so cold and unemotional during the meeting, staring Lexa down with empty eyes that used to hold so much love. 

Were Clarkes feelings for Lexa gone completely? Would she scream at the brunette, blame her for what had happened? What exactly even had happened? Lexa didn’t know and she hated it. 

Once she reached the 98th floor, she had to with a short while for the rest to arrive, but it wasn’t long before the group of fourteen stood in front of Clarkes room. 

With that decided, Lexa carefully knocked on the door. 

„Min yu op“, 

they heard Clarke call from inside. 

At the sound of her voice their hearts gave a small shutter, and Lexa opened the door. 

There Clarke sat, still in the same attire she had worn when she arrived in Polis. Now that she wasn’t completely shocked to see the blonde, Lexa could take a minute to drink her in. 

Clarke's transformation was stark and shocking, even more so than she’d gauged earlier. 

The woman who had once been slim and light-skinned now stood before her as a warrior-muscled figure, with skin and hair matching her title. 

Her hair was shorter (and for a moment Lexas mind trails to blonde locks in a box on her bed) too and the scars on her face stood out strongly against the paleness of her skin. 

She had several weapons strapped to her body, but her clothes seemed ripped from fights and nature alike.

She looked like a living ghost. (Fitting, Lexa would think later. A living ghost now haunting not only her dreams but her every waking hour too).

„My baby“, Abby had tears in her eyes, as she pushed forward to envelop her daughter in a hug. 

Clarke, who hadn’t quite expect the forceful hug, stumbled slightly, before wrapping her arms around her mother. 

„Hei mom“, she croaked, holding the older woman close. Meanwhile her gaze trailed over the rest of the people, resting gently on her friends. 

„Sup?“ She grinned at the group once her mother let go of her. 

„Sup?“ Raven scoffed, „After 2 years you come back and say sup?“ Clarke shrugged helplessly, before finding herself in yet another hug, Octavia and Raven clinging to her like their life depended on it. 

„I’m alright, guys“, the blonde promised, holding her two best friends close. She could feel her shoulders getting wet from Raven and Octavias tears. The rest of the group smiled at the reunion. 

„Good to see you again, strikon“, Ontari smiled. „Likewise snow-white. Couldn’t just leave my family, could I?“ 

The other girl rolled her eyes at the nickname, though she and Roan still came forth to wrap her into a hug once her friends had let go. 

Clarke turned to Lexa and Niylah, who had been silent thus far. „You’re a fucking idiot, Klarke“, the relief was palpable in Niylahs voice. „Yeah, but you love me anyway babes“, Clarke grinned, wrapping her arms around her friend. 

Tears were stinging in her eyes as she finally held Niylah close again. Keryon she had missed her. She felt as though a burden had been lifted from her chest. 

It wasn’t long before they separated again, Clarke smiling slightly at Niylah, before turning her attention to Lexa. 

Everything in her froze at the sight of the girl. 

She wanted to smile at the her, tell her she had missed her, just as she wanted to scream at her, demand an explanation on how she could just leave her to die. 

She hated how seeing the commander again brought up so many feelings she thought she had overcome. Clarke opted to simply school her features into practiced indifference. 

„Heda“, she greeted with a nod of her head. 

And if she had dared just look a little closer, she would’ve seen how the shattered remains of Lexas heart drifted further apart.

Lexa was trying really hard to remain stoic. The rest of the people present shot her sympathetic glances, knowing how much Lexa actually cared for the blonde and just how much this situation must suck for her. 

Lexa stood slightly straighter as Clarke greeted her, clenching her hands behind her back. The ice in the blondes voice couldn’t be missed and it send shivers down Lexas spine. 

„Klarke“, she greeted the woman. „It is good to see you well“. 

And Clarke didn’t mean to grimace, she really didn’t, but seeing Lexa now brought back all the heartbreak and betrayal the older girl had put her through and she just couldn’t help it. The other people in the room watched the two of them tensely. 

„Mochof, heda“, Clarke finally said after a while of silence. „And also for letting me stay in this room. It’s much more comfortable than the caves in the past months“. 

It was as much of an olive branch as she was able to give right now, and Lexa appreciated the gesture beyond measure. 

„Pro, Klarke. I hope you’ll be comfortable“. The blonde gave her a strained nod.  

„Anywayy“, Raven interrupted, sick of the tension in the room, „I, for one, haven’t seen Clarke for ages, so if no-one else has anything important to add, I’ll go spend some quality time with my friends“. 

Clarkes shoulders sagged in relief. „Wouldn’t dare say no, Raven. Also Roan told me about how cool Polis is. Care to give me a tour?“ 

Raven and Octavia nodded excitedly. „Wait, Clarke, you don’t look like you should be walking around at all. Please let me at least check your injuries“, Abby interrupted the three. 

„Mom, I’m fine. Really. Though we should probably also come up with a game plan for Nia“, the blonde agreed. 

„That can wait for a day, Klarke“, Lexa interfered and god the way the brunette pronounced her name did something to Clarke. She didn't let it show. 

(Lexa's eyes still never leaving Clarke's, silently pleading for understanding, for forgiveness, for anything other than the cold indifference she was being met with.)

„You should spend some time with your family. We can talk about … everything else… afterwards“. Clarke barely kept her face straight when Lexa said that. 

(So many screams, so much blood, drowning, burning, screaming—)

„Sha, Heda“, she replied stoically.

Turning to her friends, she smiled „So who wants to give me this super cool tour of Polis“. Ontari wrinkled her nose. „Not before you didn’t take a bath“.

That’s how Clarke found herself resting in the warm water in the bathtub, enjoying the way the water was soaking her skin. 

The others had left to tend to their duties, and she said she’d meet up with her friends once she had freshened up. 

Abby had tried to convince her daughter to come see her in the med bay first, but it had been fruitless effort. 

Clarke sighed as she sunk deeper into the water, muscles relaxing from the heat. It took her about half an hour to scrub all the dirt and grime off of her body, and tend to her injuries. She must’ve washed her hair four or five times before it finally felt clean again.

Getting dressed in a pair of cargo styled pants and sweater she found in the wardrobe, Clarke left to join her friends downstairs after taking the time to strap her weapons back on.

Before she made it down, she saw Anya approach her. „Hei“, the blonde greeted, glad to see the general again. 

„Wanheda“, Anya nodded at her. „Let me walk you down?“, Clarke smiled, gesturing for the general to follow her. They walked the first few floors in silence before Clarke finally spoke up 

„As much as I appreciate your company, I feel like you have something on your mind“, Anya gave her a side glance. 

„I do“, she sighed, „It’s about you and heda“, Unsurprised (Though she couldn’t deny the flutter in her stomach) Clarke gazed at the general. „What about us?“ 

„I saw how close you two became before the mountain and what happened after, I—“  

„You want to make sure my presence won’t be harmful to Leksa?“, she couldn’t think of another reason for the general to come up to her first thing after her return. (Didn’t want to think of another reason).

„Don’t worry about that, you’ve seen that Heda will put her head first. As for her feelings“, barely concealed hurt clouded Clarkes gaze as her eyes fell on the scar on her hand. Anyas gaze softened, recognizing it as the scar that had disappeared before the mountain. 

„I doubt there are any feelings on hedas part you have to be worried about“. Clarke bit back the tears that threatened to pool I her eyes. „Now if you’ll excuse me, my friends are waiting“, she fastened her pace, before turning to Anya again. 

„For what it’s worth, I understand why you had to leave. And it’s good to see you again, Onya“. With a last nod, Clarke left to join her friends, ready to just let herself get distracted for the night.

It was nearly night time when the group found themselves in a tavern close by the tower. „You didn’t seriously let Niylah wake up to an empty bed“, Raven laughed, after Clarke had recounted the story of that turn of events. 

„I didn’t want to make things awkward!“, the blonde defended herself, wiping away tears of laughter „Besides, I came back with breakfast“. 

Niylah hummed, „Yeah, the noise you made scared the hell out of me. I was so sure you had just left“. 

Clarke rolled her eyes. „And loose my friend? Hell no“, Octavia choked. „I thought you two were dating?“, 

Clarke threw her an incredulous stare, that was copied by Niylah. „I never said that“ „We all saw the pictures you drew of Niylah“, Clarke shook her head, „Nah, we’re great friends, the sex was just physical contact and fun“. 

Niylah nodded „Yeah and I’m pretty sure partly to get on hedas nerves“. Clarke coughed awkwardly „I won’t confirm that“. The rest of the table laughed.

Later that night, Clarke found herself walking up the stairs to her room with Ontari and Roan by her side - the rest had opted to either stay out a while longer or take the elevator up. 

„Are you going to tell us what took you so long?“, Roan broke the silence. Clarke had expected the question at some point soon, but had hoped to avoid it a while longer. 

„Just had to hide out for longer than expected, that’s all“. 

Her mind flashed to burnt houses and dying people. She shook herself out of it. 

The Azgedan siblings shared a glance, deciding to give Clarke some more time before grilling her about the escape. 

„So“, Ontari changed the topic, „Heda?“, Clarke really wanted to smash her head against a wall. „There’s nothing to say. Heda helps us take down Nia and we go our separate ways. Easy as that“, her heart didn’t agree. 

The entire day since she had seen the brunette she had been trying to ignore the need to see the other girl, talk to her. She needed the brunette to hold her close, but wasn’t ready to forgive the brunette yet. 

Not that Lexa cared anyway, whispered a traitorous piece of her mind. She told it to shut up. 

„Here we go again. We’ve been over this, Klarke“. „I know, alright? I just. What if I’m right and she doesn’t care? I can’t take that, Tari“, the blonde whispered in a broken tone. 

Roan and Ontari stopped walking, mustering the hunched over blonde. „She was sick with worry, Klarke. For the entire time you were gone she searched for you, and when we told her you had been in Azgeda, I haven’t seen anyone look as devastated as she did in that moment“. 

Ontari nodded in support. The blonde sighed. „Can we not do that right now please?“ 

Even though her siblings had let the topic go, Clarke couldn’t get it out of her head. 

As she wandered the halls, she pondered over the brunette. She didn’t want to get her hopes up that Lexa cared. She didn’t want to care herself. 

Part of her really just wanted to forget the older girl but every time she thought about her, her heart started beating faster and her soul felt lighter. Until reality crashed in and burnt bodies clouded her mind and — 

Clarke stopped in her tracks, as she found herself in front of Anya. The general made a surprised sound at spotting the blonde. „Leksa is in her room if you are going to see her“, 

She pointed towards a door at the far end of the hall, guarded by several gona and Clarke cursed herself for having wandered onto Lexas floor of all places. 

She didn’t want to see Lexa. Except that she really did. 

„I just had to think about the trial, is all. It can wait until the morning“, she thought she saw a flash of disappointment on Anyas face. 

„As you wish“, Clarke nodded tensely, before turning to the stairs that led to her own room. „Yes. We have that meeting tomorrow anyway. Reshop, Onya“, without waiting for a reply, Clarke made her way down to her room. Her thoughts were plagued by Lexa.

The brunette herself found herself pacing around her room, thoughts of Clarke swirling in her head. 

Clarkes smile, her eyes - so different now, yet still hers -, her lips. Then her thoughts took a turn, thinking of the kiss, Clarke begging Lexa to stay, finding out the blonde was alive, Clarkes hair in a box. She thought of the conversation she had had with Anya just minutes before.

„She just needs time, Leksa“, the general had tried to reassure her, „Your scars aren’t back, she still cares“. Lexa had shaken her head sadly. 

„Even if she did“ - she couldn’t, who would after what Lexa did to her - „She’s happy with Niylah now, how could I try to take that from her?“, 

Anya sighed annoyed. Her former second was so incredibly stupid sometimes. „When did either of them say they were together, Leksa“. Lexa snorted in disbelief 

„They don’t have to, Onya. Did you see how happy Klarke was to see Niylah again? Try fooling someone else into thinking those two aren’t together“, 

Anya sighed in annoyance. Why exactly had she ever agreed to take a second? „Right, but they don’t look at each other like they’re in love. I haven’t once heard Niylah call Klarke her niron or hodness. Did you ever consider that it’s just primal desire?“

Lexa had, but hadn’t dared linger on that thought. After all, there was a part that would make Clarke being with Niylah much kinder. It meant she could lie to herself that Clarke wouldn’t be staying away from Lexa for the simple reason Lexa didn’t deserve her anymore.

Chapter Text

Getting out of bed the following morning was pure pain for Clarke. While she had gotten used to rising early, she was still wrung out from the previous day and just wanted to stay cocooned into her blankets. 

A knock on the door stopped her from just turning around to continue sleeping. And the bed had been so comfortable too, she lamented internally.

Grumbling about early mornings and annoying people, she slipped out of bed to open the door.

She had expected one of her friends to ask her to breakfast, or a handmaiden to ask to tend to her. What she didn’t expect was to see Lexa, already donned in her commanders gear, standing unnaturally straight in front of her door.

So much for a relaxing morning

She begrudged herself for a moment, before raising her eyebrow at Lexa, trying very hard to hide the blush that creeped up when she took note of her own disheveled form. 

She hadn’t had had the energy to unbraid her hair the previous night and - instead of putting on a night gown - she had opted to just sleep in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie (she was glad she had had the hindsight to put on some clothes at least).

Drawing herself out of her thoughts, she realized she had been mustering Lexa for a second too long and the commander had yet to say anything.

„Can I help you, heda?“

Clarke asked when it became obvious that Lexa wasn’t going to initiate the conversation. For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of disappointment on Lexas features, but it was gone so quickly that she must’ve imagined it.

„I wanted to —„ Whatever Lexa was going to say, she decided otherwise, a slight shake of her head indicating how she chastised herself.

„I came to talk to you about Azgeda.“ She said instead, quickly moving to explain when Clarkes posture went rigid. 

„We’ll have to meet to figure out how to deal with Nia, especially with the trial being set. I cleared my schedule for this evening, as we have had meetings concerning Nia around that time anyway. The rest has already been made aware. You’ll be joining us?“

Clarke figured the last part was simply voiced as a question to not incur her anger at being ordered to do something. (Lexa used to ask her because she wanted Clarkes input. Now she was asking out of… fear, almost. It felt wrong).

„Sha, I’ll be there. I assume Raven and Octavia know the way? I’ll be meeting with them before“

Another flash of disappointment was quickly concealed by practiced indifference on Lexas face. (The second time couldn’t be a fluke, right? Clarke despised how well she could read Lexas features even after two years. She didn’t want to see the subtle emotions the other girl showed. It made keeping her distance hard.)

„They are aware, yes“

„Alright. Mochof, for letting me know. It’d be advisable to have Murphy and Emori join us too, they were with me the past months“

„You can bring them with you. Or I can have someone inform them if you’d like“

„No, I’ll be seeing them anyway. We’ll be there“

Lexa nodded, but as she turned to leave, her gaze fixed on Clarkes left hand, more specifically a small faded scar that she knew for a fact had been gone when she had kissed it. Clarke followed Lexas gaze. Finding the spot she looked at, her heart clenched in anger, even more when she saw the regret on Lexas face. 

(She wanted to hide her hand. Wanted to scream at Lexa. Wanted to hold her and tell her it’s okay. Wanted to let her feel the same anguish Clarke had felt at the return of her scars. The same anguish she felt every time she had to look at her own body.)

„Is there anything else you need?“

Clarke asked instead. The brunettes mouth opened and them closed again, eyebrows slightly furrowed into a barely noticeable frown.

„No, that’s it. Moba, for disturbing you so early.“

„I was awake anyway“ The slight amusement when Lexa eyed Clarkes attire left the blonde wanting to blush (a painful reminder of mornings before the mountain), but she remained stoic. She was not going to be the one to fix them.

„If that’s all, I’ll see you tonight, heda“. Ignoring Lexas pained expression, Clarke moved to shut the door.

„Sha, I’ll see you tonight. Enjoy your day, Klarke“

Lexa left. Clarke trembled behind the closed door.

„This is amazing!“ Clarke gushed, her hands sticky from the jam-filling of the pastry. „What’s amazing is your ability to eat“, Raven smirked at the blonde. „Well excuse me for never having had a pastry, Raven“, came the huffed reply. 

„Yeah but even Murphy is doing better than you, seriously, where did you learn your manners“, Octavia joined in on the teasing and pointed towards Murphy, who did, in fact, manage to eat the pastry without getting any filling over himself.

„Azgeda?“ Clarke deadpanned. The answer made Raven and Octavia recoil in guilt, but Murphy had to laugh. „But I thought that those cells were all about manners“ „Yes, of course, sorry. Didn’t you know? Nia was big on them. And good food, obviously. I learned impeccable mannerism from her“

„Like wanting to cut other people open?“ „Like knowing how to, cockroach“.

The obviously sarcastic nature of their banter managed to draw smiles from Raven and Octavia. Clarke was glad for it. Both tiptoed around her, treating her as though she might break at the slightest misstep. 

They weren’t entirely wrong, of course. Her siblings and later Murphy and Emori had had to coach her through enough panic attacks to last a life time. But that didn’t mean they should be so… careful.

And they don’t even know details of what happened in Azgeda. 

Hadn’t asked yet either, which came as a surprise to Clarke. But she’d take what she’d get.

„So, did ya’ll have any plans for the day?“

„I got an appointment in a bit, yeah“, Octavia raised an eyebrow at Raven „A date you mean?“. Interested, Clarke leaned forward. „A date? Raven? Well I would never“ Raven huffed. „It’s not — She’s just helping me find some useful cables and stuff in some of the old-world shops, that’s all“.

„Yeah right, that’s all“, Raven nudged Clarke with a smile, „It was also ‚Oh, she just taught me how to use a bow, nothing more‘, or ‚She only took me to lunch because she said I needed a break‘, or ‚I only looked at her because of her technique when fighting‘“

„Okay, yeah Octavia we get it. Shut up“. 

Clarke snickered, taking note of Ravens red face. As far as she was concerned, anyone who could make Raven blush like that must be pretty cool.

„Hmm no, I think you need to continue O., please tell me more“. The brunette warrior burst into laughter at Murphys words, soon followed by the boy, Emori and Clarke. Only Raven didn’t join in, simply turning up her nose, though Clarke could make out the hint of a smile on her face.

„Am I interrupting something?“

Clarke swirled around, the voice catching her off guard. Anya raised an eyebrow at the group. 

„No, No, we’re good, great even. Aren’t we?“ Raven stammered, directing a glare at the group, daring them to say anything else.

„Yeah, great“, Clarke held back the laughter, mischief playing in her eyes.

„Well then“, Anyas gaze met Ravens, „You ready to leave strik sora? I heard Ahdan’s got a new delivery“. The brunette quickly shot up „Yes, amazing, perfect, let’s go“.

Turning to the rest of the group, she waved (not without narrowing her eyes at them once more). „See you tonight“.

As Clarke watched them leave, she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to realize. „So... Raven and Anya. When did that happen?“

„Are you really surprised? They hit it off before the mountain already“, Octavia rolled her eyes. „I just didn’t thunk they’d ever actually get their shit together“

„Oh, they didn’t. When Raven said it’s an appointment she totally meant it. Those two are so stupid it’s unfathomable“ the brunette complained.

„And I have to be the one to suffer for it too!“. She paused a second, looking at Clarke as a smirk found it’s way on her face „Well, not I’ll have someone to share the pain with“. „Pain? Please, sounds more like gossip. And I can always do gossip.“

Octavia snorted, „Yeah, right, you say that now. Just wait till Raven storms into your room at 2am to gush about Anya and how amazing their not-date went in the same sentence in which she complains that the warrior will never like her that way. At this point i’m close to just pushing Ravens face onto one of Anyas scars because there is no way those two aren’t soulmates. But they on’t even try, because it’s ‚too soon‘ or ‚too intimate‘ and goddamn they piss me off sometimes“.

Clarke had a really hard time keeping a straight face at Octavias rant, and by how her friend glowered at her, Octavia saw that.

„Come on, they’ll have to figure it out at some point. And then you can go and say ‚I told you so‘“

„Yeah if you believe in miracles“, the brunette grumbled. „O., I’m a literal spirit. I think I can believe in some miracles“. Octavias face hit the table.

„On that note—„, Clarke smirked, having some mercy to save the girl from the conversation, „if you don’t have anything planned wanna join me for some spars? I haven’t hade a friendly spar in ages. Roan and Ontari said they’d also be there“

As expected, the brunette straightened up immediately, beaming at Clarke. „You’re so on. Murphy, Emori, are you joining too?“

Both shook their heads. „We were going to check out the shops some more. How about we meet you at the front entrance of the tower at dawn? We can go to the meeting together then“, Emori replied.

————

The walk to the training fields took about 30 minutes, as they were basically in the middle of the city. Octavia explained that they were also used as festival grounds, which is why they were so close to the tower.

The area itself was crowded with warriors. Wherever Clarke looked, she could see people sparring, warming up, or simply talking. The atmosphere was so much more relaxed than it had been in the pits training area.

It really shouldn’t have surprised her. Except in a way it did.

It didn’t take very long for people to take note of her, hushed whispers and pointed fingers drawing attention on the blonde. 

Mustering the people, she found a mix of reverence and fear on most faces. That was a part she had learned to hate as Wanheda. She didn’t want people to worship her, or to be afraid of what she could do. She just wanted to be a person.

„Klarke, over here!“, Roans voice pulled her out of her musings. Spotting her siblings, she and Octavia made a beeline for them.

„So, ready to show Polis what Wanheda can do?“ Roan smirked, hugging her in greeting.

„So, ready to show Polis how the Prince of Azgeda gets his ass handed to him?“, Clarke snarked, playfully ducking under his punch to hug Ontari.

Octavia stood to the side, watching the three with a smile. It was nice to see her friend so relaxed. She hadn’t seen her like that since — well, ever if she thought about it.

"I'd definitely like to see what Clarke can do now.“ Octavia called with sparkling eyes, joining the three.

Clarke unsheathed her sword with a confident flourish and a slight bow. "Well, I can show you if you're up for it, O.“ With a grin, Octavia nodded, stepping into the ring alongside Clarke. 

As they entered, they noticed that many of the warriors who had been sparring before had stopped to watch them, intrigued by the impending match. 

Roan and Ontari followed suit, eager to join in the friendly competition.

"What, 1:1, since when do you do those?"  Roan teased, his grin widening as he turned to Octavia. "Trust me, you don't wanna fight this one alone. Care if we join?“

Octavia took a moment to consider. It was hard to believe Clarke would’ve earned that much skill over just 2 years, but she knew better than to underestimate her friend, so she agreed with a nod.

They relied themselves in a circle, the three warriors surrounding Clarke in the center.

„Winner draws first blood?“ Clarke called, receiving smirks of acknowledgement from all three.

The spectators murmured with anticipation as they got into position.

The three circled Clarke, who stood surprisingly still, her demeanor relaxed. 

When Clarke made no move to strike after several moments, Octavia launched a first swift attack, that was easily blocked by Clarke.

As their eyes crossed, Octavia saw the thrill of a good fight in them. „Let’s go then“. 

Octavia was pushed back by Clarke just in time for the blonde to avoid a strike from Roans sword.

What followed was a merciless trading blows, the speed and precision of which left the crowd in awe.

It took several minutes before Octavia found an opening, slashing at Clarkes back while the blonde was occupied with her siblings. But Clarke hadn’t survived the pits through carelessness.

With abnormal speed she sidestepped the blow, grabbing Octavias wrist in the process. Using the brunettes speed, she continued bulling her into the direction of the previous movement, her sword cutting into Octavias rips, before letting go off her, which made Octavia land on the hard ground.

She looked up at Clarke in awe, finding the blonde wink at her before concentrating on her siblings again.

The brunette got up with a grin, moving to the side-lines as she continued to follow the fight. She had to ask Clarke to teach her how to do some of these moves.

With the brunette out, the fight picked up in speed, Roan and Ontari pressing into their attacks.

The audience was enraptured. They had all heard tales about how good of warriors Roan and Ontari were, had even seen it before when they fought in bouts, but Clarke remained composed, her movements fluid as she fended them off.

„Come on Clarke“, Roan grunted after a while, „Quit playing around“

The comment left the surrounding warriors stunned. How was that playing around? The speed and precision of the movements seemed inhuman, the fight looking like a well-practiced dance.

Clarke simply winked at Roan as she ducked under another one of Ontaris attacks.

By then they had moved quite far back, fighting close to where the audience stood.

As Ontari and Roan launched a sudden coordinated attack from opposite sides, Clarke found herself momentarily pushed into a corner. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as she fought to maintain her composure, her chest heaving with exertion.

Unable to duck out from their attacks as the crowd limited her room to move further backwards, Clarke leaped up, propelling herself into the air.

The audience gasped in awe as Clarke flipped through the air, landing behind Ontari, her sword cutting a shallow wound into Ontaris shoulder in a single fluid movement.

The shock on Ontari's face was mirrored by the stunned silence that fell over the spectators, though the amazement quickly turned into cheers as Ontari bowed out of the fight to join Octavia.

„How the hell did she get so good?“ The brunette asked Ontari in amazement. The raven-haired woman smiled proudly. „We trained her well.“

Octavia knew that wasn’t all there was to Clarkes skills, but decided not to push. Clarke would tell her if she was ready to.

Turning her attention back to the fight, Octavias eyes widened in awe. Two years ago, hell even a year ago, she would’ve been jealous at Clarkes skill, but now, seeing her effortlessly trade blows as though she was born for it, she was simply proud. Her friend had come so far from the slender princess that once fell from the sky.

Where Clarke looked winded, Roan looked absolutely dead on his feet. A bead of sweat trailed down his brow, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

As Roan lunged forward again, Clarke deftly evaded his strike, smoothly ducking beneath his blade. In one fluid movement she crouched low, her muscles coiled with tension as she extended her leg in a sweeping arc, aiming for Roan's feet. 

Her foot connected with his ankle with a resounding thud. Roan's balance faltered, his footing destabilized and in the blink of an eye, Roan's form collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. 

Before he could get up, Clarke swirled around, her sword coming to rest against Roan's exposed throat.

Silence.

Then, as if released from a spell, the crowd erupted into cheers.  This was a skill they would expect of their heda, not of a girl that came from the sky, no matter if she was Wanheda, no matter what stories they’d heard.

The cheers felt like ice under Clarkes skin, chipping away at her. She wanted to tell them to stop. She didn’t.

Instead, she helped Roan up and bowed to the crowd with a lazy smile, earning even more applause.

Once she turned though, her smile began to falter, the previous confident facade slipping away.

As Clarke helped Roan to his feet, her smile seemed to radiate with the assurance. But beneath the surface, she seemed to crumble, to flicker.

Roan and Ontari were quick to notice the slight waver, their expressions tinged with concern as they exchanged a knowing glance.

Clarke's breathing had grown slightly labored, her chest tightening. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as haunting echoes resurfaced in her mind.

„Klarke stay with us, not here“, Ontari mumbled, hoping to pull the blonde out of whatever memory she was reliving.

Summoning her resolve, Clarke managed to push through the turmoil that threatened to overwhelm her, turning to her companions with a forced smile.

„Clarke—?“ Octavia approached hesitantly, her previous smile quickly replaced by concern for her friend.

"I need to get out," Clarke rasped, her eyes imploring Octavia for understanding. Sensing her friend's distress, Octavia nodded in silent agreement.

„The armory tends to be empty right about now“, Octavia offered. „Right, you go there, we’ll distract the people a bit“. 

If Clarke had been in any state to properly comprehend her friends words right then, she would’ve been grateful, but all she heard were chants and screams and labored breaths and blood on her hands, so much blood—

Octavia grasped Clarkes arm. „Come on, it’s not far“ With a grateful nod, Clarke followed Octavia’s lead.

Roan and Ontari challenging the last remaining warriors to a group-spar - and thus drawing any remaining attention on them - let Clarke and Ontari slip away relatively unnoticed.

For anyone who watched, they simply strolled away after a good spar. If not for Octavia’s gentle hand on Clarkes arm, nothing seemed out of place.

Like Octavia had said, the armory was completely empty, safe for the two guards positioned outside (Wo were supposed to stop them, but everybody could recognize Wanheda and it seemed they didn’t want to risk angering her). Octavia was glad for it, as it made it possible for them to easily slip into the room.

Once inside, Clarkes form crumbled, her previous emotionless mask twisting into an anguished expression. 

The blonde felt Octavia gently guide her towards the back of the room, where they’d be hidden behind several shelves should anyone come in.

Breathe, just fucking breathe, she told herself. She was okay, everything was alright. She was in Polis, next to her was Octavia

An angry gash cutting through his throat, blood spraying on her armor

Nia was far away, the pit was far away, they couldn’t get her here

Screams tearing from her throat as a sword slashes through her back

But was she? Where was Clarke? Had she ever made it past Azgeda? Was she back?

Tumultuous applause, cheers, screams for Randha Absyl, cold eyes staring up at her, dead bodies littering the floor

„Clarke, listen to my voice. Stay with me—„

Drowning. She was drowning, water pouring into her lungs

„—in the armory—„

Why was there so much blood. Was that what was suffocating her?

„—In - hold —„

Why was she getting dizzy? She tried to breathe, but no air reached her.

„—not in danger—„

Who was talking to her? Why were they lying? She was in danger. She was always in danger. She was drowning. Nia liked drowning.

Agonized sobs, holding onto burned corpses, she couldn’t breathe then either

„—you made it back safe—„

Clarkes form was trembling while Octavia tried to comfort her. The voice simply slipped past, Clarkes breath picking up, eyes darting around in terror but not recognizing anything.

„Clarke you need to breathe“

She couldn’t. The shore. The water. She was suffocating. 

Strong arms wrapped around her. She tried to fight. Not again, they couldn’t hurt her again.

„Clarke please“ The voice became clearer then. She knew that voice. „Clarke, you’re in the Polis armory. We just came back from a practice spar with Roan and Ontari. It’s noon, we have been out since this morning—„

The longer the voice talked, the less Clarkes ears were ringing. Her hand came to her wrist, feeling her rapidly beating pulse. In and out. Wanheda he’d taught her. She knew how to.

In—hold—out—hold

It took all of 15 minutes for Clarkes form to stop trembling in Octavias arms and for the tears to stop.

Octavia didn’t move away when she felt Clarke relax against her, simply holding the blonde close.

Inside her, her mind was at war. She didn’t have to guess where Clarkes mind went and the only thing stopping Octavia from storming Azgeda right then was the trembling girl in her arms. She might not know what happened in Azgeda, but looking at the broken girl in her arms —

„You’ll be okay“, 

Octavia promised instead. She didn’t know how, but she’d be there. Every step. Clarkes first instinct was to nod and wave any concern away. 

Now is the time to look for outside help

„I don’t know how“ Octavia squeezed the blonde tighter against her. „We’ll get there“

„I feel like we should probably take something, don’t you?“

The blonde said a while later, standing in front of a shelf filled with spears. Her tears had been wiped away, the line of red barely visible anymore. If Octavia didn’t know it, she never would’ve thought anything was wrong at all.

„Yeah but spears? Really?“ „Well, I have everything else on me. Well, not my bow. But I like mine a lot. What I don’t have is a spear.“

„You know these are only for practice right?“ Clarke shrugged. „I’m not going to go out without a weapon after spending so much time in here, O.“

That was fair enough, Octavia supposed, so she went to join Clarke in front of the shelf. As she did, her eyes trailed over a weapon right next to the spears.

„I mean you could be boring I guess“, she said, picking up the weapon, „Or you could take something really cool“.

Clarkes eyes lit up at the sight of the trident. It was perfect.

Roan and Ontari were still in the middle of the group-spar when the two girl rejoined them, now with a trident in hand.

The two warriors looked worse for wear, sweat rolling off of them, with several cuts all over their bodies.

Not wanting to interrupt, Clarke glanced at Octavia. „So, want to break this in till those two are done?“

It took nearly another 30 minutes for Roan and Ontari to join them. The two former Skaikru had used that time to go over some stances. Thanks to her memories, Clarke was already quite adept in using a trident, and had offered to teach Octavia some moves.

„As much as I hate to interrupt, we should probably get going“, Roan called, „I don’t think people would like us being late“.

Lowering her stance, Octavia nodded. „Nor if we arrive the way we look right now. I need a goddamned shower“.

The way back was spent with inconsequential chattering. Octavia was just telling them about that time she had found Raven trying to build explosive arrows, nearly blowing up herself in the process („I swear, for a genius she can be such a dumbass sometimes“), when they arrived at the guest floors of the tower.

Clarke, who had been ignoring the concerned glances from the other three the entire time, stepped out of the elevator first to escape the looks. 

„Well, I’ll take that bath now. I’ll see you downstairs to meet Murphy and Emori in like an hour?“

While all three wanted to protest, Clarkes tone made it obvious that she didn’t want to talk.

„Sure, an hour.“

Chapter Text

The group arrived at the meeting room with a few minutes to spare. Just as they were about to enter, Abbys voice rang through the corridor, asking Clarke to stay behind.

A small sigh escaped the blonde. She had hoped to avoid her mother for at least another day, until she knew what to say to her, considering her siblings warnings about her mothers current… opinions on Clarkes decisions. 

A part of her wanted to simply enter the room with the others and leave the unavoidable confrontation or later. Instead, she gestured for them to proceed inside, leaving her alone with her mother.

"You've been avoiding me," Abby accused, her tone slightly tinged with concern.

Clarke hesitated,"No, I..." she began, then conceded, "I have been busy, Mom. And I did only return yesterday.“ Abby pursed her lips. „I know, baby. I just... I wish you'd come to see me this morning.“

Clarke felt a pang of guilt. She had considered reaching out, but she knew her mother and 9 out of 10 times going to her would end in a fight, and she really didn't have the energy for that. 

„I know, Mom. I'm sorry,“ she apologized regardless.

Abby relaxed slightly. „So, are you ready to tell me what happened now?“ She inquired.

Clarke honestly shouldn’t have been this caught off guard by her mother's directness. „Mom, I…" she hesitated, struggling to find the right words. „I don't want to talk about it yet.“

Abby's expression remained stoic. „You have to, Clarke. It's not healthy to keep it in.“

„I know that. And I'm not. I'm talking to people—" Clarke started, but was interrupted by Abby. „But not me?“ Abby interjected, her tone edged with hurt.  „I'm your mother, Clarke. I— do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?“ 

„I know that,“ Clarke replied, her frustration mounting. „But that doesn't make you the best person to talk about this to. Just... I’m here now, can’t that be enough for you to give me some time?“ 

„You’ve had 2 years, Clarke“ Abby countered, her frustration evident.

„That's not the sort of time I was talking about, Mom,“ Clarke retorted, her patience wearing thin.

Abby scowled, at her daughter's resistance. „No, but as your mother, I have a right to—„ 

„A right?“ Clarke interrupted, her anger flaring. So that’s what this was. (Exactly what she had been afraid of. Why was her mother so predictable at times.) 

“You don't have a right to know everything, Mom. If I'm ready, I'll tell you, and if I never want to, I won’t." 

„Never ready? I should be the first person you talk to,“ Abby insisted, her lips curled and brows drawn tight.

„No, Mom, you're not,“ Clarke countered firmly. „You weren't there, you don't have the same burden. I get that you're worried,“ she added, though, she wasn’t so sure if Abby was speaking out of worry or control-issues (which was unfair. Her mother did worry. She just… wasn’t always great at showing it). „but that doesn't give you the right to know everything or to judge me for not telling you.“ 

Clarke took a deep breath, her frustration ebbing. „I love you, Mom, but please just let this go for now.“  

„Clarke I won't just—„, Clarkes eyes narrowed „Yes you will, mom.“  

Abby growled in frustration. She had a right to know what happened to her daughter. Especially when she returned looking and behaving like a completely different person to when she had left. 

"Clarke-" she warned, but her daughters gaze hardened. „No. Now if that's all we have a meeting to get to“. 

Ignoring Abby grasping for her arm, Clarke turned to the meeting room.

The room was filled with a tense, anticipatory silence as Abby and Clarke finally joined the group, both bristling from their previous conversation.

It wasn’t long before Lexa, seated at the head of the table, started speaking. „We are here to discuss the trial of Nia. Which means that our first point of order is the evidence we have to present. We need to determine what physical proof exists that can be brought before the coalition to support the charges against her.“ 

A murmur ran through the room, each person present aware that this was the crux of their case. Without substantial evidence, the trial would be little more than a formality, easily dismissed by Nia's supporters, which, sadly, were about half of the clans.

Anya spoke first, „The problem is that Nia has covered her tracks well. We've managed to gather some documentation and reports of her movements, but nothing concrete that directly ties her to any crimes.“ 

Indra nodded in agreement. „Most of the evidence we have is circumstantial. It's enough to cast doubt on her character, but not enough to convict her.“

Lexa's gaze flicked to Clarke, a question in her eyes. „Klarke, you spent a significant amount of time in Azgeda territory. You mentioned you managed to obtain any additional evidence that could be useful?"

Clarke felt the question settle on her. She had known this would come up, had prepared herself for it. But now, sitting in this room, the memories of her time in Azgeda flooded back with a force she hadn’t anticipated. 

(The last attack, the frantic retreat, the friends she had left behind by that bunker (keryon, she didn’t even know if any of them had survived)).

Her heart pounded in her chest as she forced herself to answer. „I do, but I didn’t bring any physical evidence with me,“ she admitted, her voice steady but tinged with the emotion she fought to keep at bay. „The departure from Azgeda happened too quickly. Any evidence that was still hidden… I don’t know if it survived after we left it behind.“ 

Raven leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concern. „So all we have is what you saw and heard?“

Clarke nodded, her mind still half-trapped in the horrors of the past. She could almost smell the smoke, hear the shouts and screams… she shook her head slightly, forcing herself back to the present. „Yes.“ she replied, keeping her voice steady as she met Raven’s gaze. 

A ripple of skepticism moved through the group. Ontari, her expression dark, voiced what many were thinking. „A few locks are all we have then, and they aren’t going to convince anyone. Nia has too many clans rallying behind her. We need something concrete, something undeniable.“ 

Clarke hesitated, her mind racing. She knew what she wanted to say, what she hoped was true, but the uncertainty gnawed at her. 

„There should be more evidence brought to us,“ she said slowly, making sure to meet the other’s eyes. Though she didn’t elaborate further when asked, the unspoken fear that her friends might not have survived that last attack making it impossible to say more.

Lexa nodded, her expression determined, „Then we must prepare for the possibility that this evidence will arrive. In the meantime, we need to focus on strengthening our case with what we have.“ 

Clarke barely concentrated on the rest of the discussion, her thoughts spiraling inward, back to Azgeda, back to the friends she had left behind. The uncertainty gnawed at her, a dark shadow she couldn’t shake. 

If the evidence didn’t come… if they didn’t survive…

But she couldn’t let herself dwell on that now. There was too much at stake. She had to believe that somehow, against all odds, they would find a way to bring Nia to justice.

„Clarke?“, the blonde startled out of her thoughts when Asa gently squeezed her hand. „What sort of physical evidence do we have if it does arrive?“

Clarke smiled gratefully when Asa didn’t act concerned, nor made a big deal out of her spacing out, though her lips quickly turned downwards when she thought about the evidence.

„Not as much as I’d like. Nia has been corresponding with several people to bring about your fall, heda“, She paused for a second to let the words sink in, though she was unwilling to meet Lexas gaze.

„None of these letters have any names on them, though Nias handwriting and sigil are unmistakable. We don’t have any full conversations and a lot of these correspondences are riddled, specifically so they’d be hard to hold up in court, but some are rather explicit“.

Anya interjected, eyeing her skeptically „As far as physical evidence goes, it’s not much“

„No, but maybe enough to sway opinions in our favor“, Lexa replied, though she too looked stressed out. There was nothing she wanted more than to sentence Nia to death, but this was very limited evidence. And Nias reach was so wide, it was highly possible many ambassadors and leaders would fear going against Nia if the case against her wasn’t watertight.

Clarke, who had been aware that the few letters wouldn’t be enough proof, looked at the group in resignation.

„We need to focus on the testimonies we can gather. Given the current lack of substantial physical evidence, the strength of our case will rest heavily on the witnesses we bring forward.“

Abby spoke first, her tone thoughtful, though she pointedly didn’t look at her daughter. „The survivors from Farm Station will be crucial. They experienced Nia's cruelty firsthand during their captivity and can speak to the suffering they endured. Helen and Sebastian have agreed to testify. They can recount how Roan’s orders led to their eventual release and how they made it to Polis.“

Anya nodded in agreement. „Their testimonies will carry weight, especially if we can corroborate their accounts with those of others who were involved in their release.“ 

Lexa turned her gaze to Roan and Ontari, who had been quietly observing the conversation. „Roan, Ontari, you both have firsthand experience with Nia's actions. What can you testify to?“ 

Roan, his face impassive but his eyes hard, spoke up. „I can testify to the missions I was sent on by Nia, including attacks on other clans and the assassinations she ordered. I can also corroborate anything Clarke says about her time in captivity, as well as the fact that Nia abducted her.“ 

Ontari added, „I was present for many of the same orders and missions. My testimony will support Roan’s and Clarke’s.“ 

Lexa nodded, satisfied with their responses. „Good. Klarke,“ she said, her voice less certain than before, „your testimony will be vital. As Wanheda, your words carry significant weight. What are you willing to testify to?“

Clarke's expression remained stoic, though there was a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface. „Everything that happened during my time in captivity, the time I spent on the run, and what I witnessed while fighting with the rebels against Nia.“ 

As she spoke, Clarke could feel the eyes of the room on her, scrutinizing her every word, every movement. Lexa’s gaze was the heaviest of all, filled with a mixture of emotions that Clarke couldn’t fully decipher—worry, guilt, and something deeper, something that she had once thought to be love, now buried beneath layers of pain.

But before Lexa could respond, Abby cut in, her voice laced with a sharp edge. „What exactly are you planning to testify to, Clarke? You keep saying you'll testify, but you haven't given us any details. If we’re going to build a strong case, we need to know what you’re going to say.“ 

Clarke's jaw tightened, a flash of irritation flickering in her eyes. „I told you, I’ll testify to everything I experienced. That’s all you need to know for now.“ 

Abby’s frustration boiled over. „Clarke, you’re not making this easy. We can’t go into this trial blind. You need to give us something more concrete to work with. Otherwise, how do we know Nia was actually worse than you? How do we justify this trial then?“ 

The room fell into a stunned silence. Clarke’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. The comparison struck her like a blow, the old wounds tearing open again. She could feel the judgment, the doubt, and the anger bubbling up inside her, mixing with the guilt she had never fully shaken.

Her vision darkened at the edges, a flood of memories threatening to pull her under—the screams, the blood, the weight of lives she couldn’t save. She fought to stay present, focusing on her breathing, but the panic was clawing at her chest. 

„You don’t know what you’re talking about,“ Clarke said through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger and hurt. „I did what I had to do. I’m trying to stop this from happening to anyone else.“

Lexa’s heart twisted as she watched Clarke struggle, her expression betraying the storm of emotions she was trying to contain. She wanted to reach out, to tell Clarke that she wasn’t alone, that she understood the weight of leadership and the impossible choices it demanded. 

Except that wasn’t her place anymore. She had forfeited that right when she had chosen her people over Clarke.

Clarke’s eyes were burning, not with tears but with a fire that had been kindled by pain and betrayal. Wanheda’s fire calling for justice. 

„Nia is a tyrant, a murderer. What I did was to save lives, to end suffering. If you can’t see the difference, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.“

The room was thick with tension, everyone on edge as the argument between mother and daughter escalated. 

Lexa’s hands curled into fists under the table, the urge to intervene almost overwhelming. But she knew Clarke didn’t want her help. Clarke didn’t want anything from her anymore, and that knowledge cut deeper than any blade.

Murphy smiled wryly, leaning back in his chair with a dark chuckle. „Yeah, Nia’s a whole different level of crazy. Zombie over there isn’t even in the same league.“

Lexa’s gaze had turned cold as well, her voice steely as she addressed Abby. „You cannot compare Klarke’s actions to Nia’s. Klarke acted to protect her people. Nia acts only for her own power.“ 

(Though Lexa couldn’t help it, a part of her agreed. Not with the comparison, but with wanting, needing to know what exactly had happened to Clarke. She had ideas, keryon she had had so many horrible pictures running through her head, but she didn’t know).

Abby looked around the room, seeing the anger and disapproval on the faces of those present. Realizing she had crossed a line, her expression softened, guilt flashing in her eyes. „I didn’t mean… I just—„ She sighed, shaking her head. „I’m just worried“.

Clarke’s anger simmered down, but the hurt lingered. „I know, mom,“ she said quietly.

The room settled again, the tension still palpable but slightly eased. Lexa cleared her throat, bringing the conversation back on track. „Aside from the Farm Station survivors, Roan, Ontari, and Clarke, is there anyone else who can testify?“ 

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then spoke. „The Fleimkeepa could testify. He sent spies to Azgeda who helped us during the resistance. They witnessed a lot of what Nia did.“ 

Lexa stiffened at Clarke's words, her eyes narrowing slightly. „The Fleimkeepa sent spies to Azgeda? Without my knowledge?“ 

Clarke nodded, a small frown creasing her brow. „Yes, some of them even bore your sigil, heda. They were instrumental in some of our operations. I thought you knew.“ 

Lexa tried not to recoil, hating how Clarke refused to use her name, not letting herself linger on the pain. Instead, her mind raced, her trust in Titus already frayed by the secrets he kept. „Titus would have had to clear it with me first,“ she said slowly, suspicion growing in her mind.

„It’s suspicious, but if the Fleimkeepa’s spies can testify, it might help our case.“ Anya said, taking note of the growing tension between Clarke and Lexa.

Lexa forced herself to nod, though unease gnawed at her. „Yes, it could help,“ she agreed, though her mind was already turning over the implications. If Titus had acted without her knowledge… she needed to find out why.

„Except I don’t think the spies have made it back yet“, Clarke shared a look with Emori and Murphy, to check if either of the two had heard from anyone who’d been fighting at the bunker when they left. 

Both shook their heads subtly, proving Clarkes fears true.

(Don’t frown, don’t think about it, don’t break now. They could be alright, give them time).

„And we wouldn’t start the trial until at least another two moons have passed, they’ll certainly be back by then. I’ll speak with the Fleimkeepa to make sure the spies are sent to me immediately upon their return“.

If they survived, Clarke thought with a grimace. 

She also wasn’t sure if speaking with the Fleimkeepa was the best decision. He’d obviously kept the spies secret from Le— heda, and while they had been helpful for the rebellion, Clarke couldn’t help but be suspicious about it.

About Titus in general, if she thought about it. The man made her skin crawl. He’d been weird at the meeting the day before and she hadn’t heard many good things about him.

She told heda that much, not to cause the older woman pain, but rather because her instincts screamed at her that something about the man was off.

Clarke noticed how Heda’s posture tensed in response, the way her eyes seemed to cloud with doubt. Still, her voice was sharp when she answered. (Clarke could’ve sworn it was to hide her fear).

„He is Fleimkeepa, Klarke. Not only that, he is my teacher. His secrecy about the spies might be suspicious, and he’s certainly voiced opinions I do not… share. But insinuating he’s against me is out of line“.

Clarke scowled at the brunette, hating how the words still felt cutting, painful. 

And maybe she shouldn’t let it get to her. After all, the rift between them, born from Lexa’s betrayal at Mount Weather, had never truly healed. And now, with so much at stake, it could threaten to widen further.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The trial loomed ahead, and they needed to stay focused. Clarke pushed her own doubts and fears aside, determined to see this through.

„Moba, heda“, she met Lexa’s eyes defiantly, „I did not mean to insinuate anything“.

Lexa frowned, searching for something within Clarke’s gaze that the blonde wouldn’t let her find. Finally, sensing Clarke’s resolve, she nodded. 

„Then we’ll proceed with these testimonies. We may not have enough physical evidence, but the voices of those who have suffered under Nia’s rule will carry weight.“ Hopefully. 

The room’s atmosphere remained thick with tension, and Clarke felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. The topic of physical evidence and testimonies had been exhausted, but this wasn’t just a legal matter; it was personal for Clarke in ways she struggled to fully process.

She could feel Lexa’s gaze on her, intense and unreadable, and it made her insides twist. Two years of distance had done nothing to lessen the pull between them, nor the pain.

Clarke inhaled deeply, her voice steady but carrying the burden of everything she had been through. „We need to consider that Nia has her supporters, and we need to be prepared for that.“ 

Lexa nodded, her eyes never leaving Clarke. „There’s not much we can do beyond testimonies and gathering as much evidence as we can though. Your captivity will by far be the most convincing evidence we have“. 

Clarke’s jaw clenched. Speaking of captivity brought back too many memories she wished she could forget. „I’m aware. And I do believe it’ll be thorough enough to lessen Nias influence, I’m simply not sure if it’ll be enough for the trial to end how we want it to“.

Lexa’s expression tightened, though she tried to mask it. Clarke’s cold, detached tone was like a knife twisting in her gut. Every word reminded her of the distance between them, a distance she had created. Clarke spoke of her time in captivity with a chilling detachment that Lexa knew wasn’t natural. 

She hated it, hated knowing she had contributed to this version of Clarke—hardened, distrustful, and so very… cold. But what right did she have to wish for Clarke’s warmth? Not after what she had done.

Clarke could feel Lexa’s eyes on her, but she refused to meet her gaze. She didn’t want to see the guilt there, the concern. It would be too easy to give in, to forgive, to fool herself into hoping again, and that was something she couldn’t allow herself to do. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

„We need all the testimonies we can get,“ Clarke said, her voice steady, though inside she was anything but. „But that wasn’t my point. If the trial doesn’t hold, if we don’t have enough to convict Nia, then we’ll need to consider other options."

Lexa’s gaze sharpened. „What do you mean?“ (She knew exactly what, supported it, hated that Clarke even thought about it).

Clarke hesitated, the words catching in her throat in fear of what her friends would think of her. She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to open that door, but there was no avoiding it. „If the trial fails, we can’t let Nia go free. We might have to take alternative measures.“ 

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed what Clarke was implying. Assassination.

Abby was the first to react, her face a mix of horror and disbelief. „Clarke, you can’t be serious. You’re talking about murder!“

„If you’re against killing people, you aren’t going to like the rest of this conversation, nor the trial, mom“, Clarke said, her expression hardening. „And I’m talking about preventing more bloodshed. If Nia goes free, she’ll continue to kill, to destroy. We can’t let that happen.“ 

„But you can’t just decide to kill her!“ Abby argued, her voice rising. „This isn’t who you are!“ 

Clarke’s heart twisted painfully. Taking the lives of those who were guilty of horrible things was exactly who she was, or at least an important part of her. 

She wanted to scream, to tell her mother everything, to make her understand. But she couldn’t. Not now. „You don’t know who I am, mom. I’m trying to protect people. To stop more lives from being lost."

„You’re not a murderer, Clarke. You can’t become like that,“ Abby pleaded, her voice breaking. 

Funny you say that after comparing me to Nia.

Clarke felt like she was drowning, the memories of Mount Weather, the pit, the fights, all the lives she had taken, the guilt, all crashing down on her. But she couldn’t afford to break, not now. 

„I’m trying to save lives, not take them. But if it comes down to it, I’ll do what needs to be done.“

Lexa watched the exchange with a heavy heart. She could see the pain in Clarke’s eyes, the way she was struggling to hold it together. She wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but she knew Clarke wouldn’t accept it. Not from her. And that knowledge hurt more than anything.

The room fell into a tense silence. Clarke’s chest was tight, her breath shallow as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She could feel Lexa’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at her. She couldn’t. Not when she was barely holding herself together.

„We need to be prepared for all possibilities,“ Clarke finally said, her voice steady, though she felt as though it should barely be above a whisper. „If the trial fails, we need to act quickly. Supporting the rebellion after Nia wins the trial could be suicide, so killing Nia might as well be the best option to stop more bloodshed“.

Lexa’s eyes lingered on Clarke, filled with a mix of guilt, concern, and something deeper that she couldn’t express. She knew she had played a part in making Clarke this way, and it tore at her. But she also knew that Clarke was right. They couldn’t let Nia win. Not again.

As the meeting continued — evaluating the risks of an assassination attempt, of not going through with the trial in the first place, or of openly supporting the rebellion instead — , Clarke forced herself to stay focused, to push the memories and the pain aside. 

(Except deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing herself to Wanheda in the process).

(Except deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was right).

„If that’s it“, Clarke finally moved to get up once the meeting concluded, but was stopped by her mother. „I’m afraid not Clarke“. 

The commanders expression turned sour as her gaze fell on Abby. Clarkes heart sank. She had an idea what would happen. 

(Which was, to say the least, the reason she hadn’t spend any individual time with her mother before she had gotten ambushed earlier).

„There is some… trouble with Skaikru“, Lexa explained, earning a scoff from Abby, „It’s not so much trouble“, Abby interrupted, „as the coalition holding up their end of a deal“.

The mention of said ‚deal‘ brought on an uneasy tension. „For gods sake Abby, I thought you were over that“,  Octavia hissed, but was silenced by a scathing look from Abby, before the woman turned to look at Clarke.

„Listen, Clarke“, oh this ought to be good, Clarke thought sarcastically,  „Several Skaikru“, Clarke had the feeling that included her mother, „have taken issue with your leadership decisions, regarding your … role … in the events at Mount Weather.“

„My role?“ Clarke scoffed, „If I remember the same mountain as you do, my role was the decision to safe not only our people, but those of a majority of grounders too, since Cage Wallace and his people were about ready to kill thousands“

She had always known that her choices would condemn her in the eyes of many, but she had hoped that her people would understand the necessity of her actions, especially since it was her peoples lives those decisions saved.

„By killing hundreds of them, Clarke“, her mother argued, „You can’t just make that decision - without permission from your own chancellor at that - and expect to just walk away unscathed. What you did was commit a war crime“

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in Clarkes throat. Didn’t her mother just argue that Clarke wasn’t a murderer? 

„Without permission? May I remind you that according to the alliance I was the leader? Or that my chancellor, which was you, so I fucking hope you remember, was tied up and about to die had I not acted?“

„There are better ways than murder, Clarke!“

„Right then tell me what I should’ve done, mom. Tell me, because I’ve spend the last 2 years trying to find a better solution than what I did and until this day I can’t“.

Abby's words cut through the air like a knife. „There is always a better choice, Clarke. You just don’t want to see it“ 

That earned Abby incredulous stares from all sides. If Clarke wasn’t so (hurt? Mad? Desperate? Guilty?) in that moment, she could appreciate her mothers gall to say that in a room where all 12 people - 7 of which were warriors and could easily tear her apart - were ready to defend Clarke for her actions.

„Many in Skaikru believe that you should face a proper punishment for the war crimes you committed, Clarke."

Clarke's jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling to the surface. „What a fucking surprise,“ she muttered, her voice laced with bitterness. "But under what right do you think you can judge me?"

Abby's expression hardened as she met Clarke's gaze head-on. "You are Skaikru, Clarke. You abide by Skaikru law. And the Exodus charter states—„

„The exodus charter is bullshit!“ Clarke's eyes flashed with defiance. „And I haven't been Skaikru since I left Arcadia. Not really anyway."

Abby's temper flared at Clarke's retort. „You were born on the Arc, Clarke. You are my daughter“

„Well you have a shit way of showing it“

Abby continued, unperturbed by Clarkes scathing comment, „You are Skaikru. You are one of us wether you think you’ve gone native or not“ her voice rose with indignation. „Where the hell did your loyalty go“

The other occupants in the room watched the argument like a tennis match, unable to get any words in between as the exchange grew more and more heated.

"That's rich coming from you, Mom," Clarke shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. „Or did you forget about dad lately? Seems like you have gotten a lot of things convoluted in the past two years.“

Abby's face flushed with anger. „That is completely different, Clarke!“, Abby defended herself, “I simply asked Thelonius to have a conversation with your dad. What you did was murder, Clarke. Not just murder, genocide. You need to learn to face the consequences of your own actions.“

Clarke's voice rose. "Consequences? Like what? Being banished? Executed? I faced enough consequences in Azgeda, mom! And there's nothing the council can do that will make me any more aware of what I did. And let’s not forget that the council - which you are on - is not better. Or did you forget that you send 100 kids to the ground to die? And executed 300 more to buy yourself some time? You don’t get to condemn me for saving our people through murder when you’ve done the same for so long!“

„That’s different, we had no choice“

Clarke scoffed. „And I did?“

Before Abby could respond, Lexa interjected, finally having enough of the shouting match. 

„As we’ve discussed before, Abby, if Klarke changed clans, she no longer falls under Skaikru law," she stated, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. „And this argument can wait until after Nia's trial."

The room fell into a tense silence as the weight of Lexa's words settled over them. Clarke's chest rose and fell with each labored breath, her frustration still simmering beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

„She’s infuriating“, Clarke growled, shielding from yet another attack, „Is it so hard to simply, I don’t know, be a decent person?“, she ducked under Ontari’s fist, causing the girl to barely miss hitting Roan instead.

„She’s worried“, her brother said calmly, only causing Clarke to become even more agitated than before. 

„That’s really not an excuse for the things she said“, she ducked away again, barely stopping herself from retaliating the attack. Her siblings sighed, both loosening their stances.

„It’s not, you’re right. You are worried for tonight then?“, Clarke huffed, not meeting Ontaris eyes. She wasn’t worried per se. Worry would mean she had a distinct hope of it going well, which she clearly didn’t.

„I don’t know why I agreed to have dinner alone with her“, she slumped on the floor, ignoring her the dirt stuck to her sweaty form. „She’s your nomom, Klarke. You missed her“.

The blonde pursed her lips, mostly because Ontari was right. She had missed her mother. And the past three conversations they’d had hadn’t changed the fact that she wanted her mother by her side, no matter how bad all the conversations had gone.

„If it goes as badly as you think it will, we’ll let you fight it out. I’m sure there are many gona who’d jump at the chance to get beaten up by you“.

Clarkes lips quirked slightly and she nudged Ontari, who’d sat down next to her, gently. „You just don’t want to be the only one I beat up“.

„I’m not denying that. I greatly appreciate the sessions where you are only allowed to duck and shield“, Clarke did laugh then, her expression loosing some of the previous tension.

„You’ll be alright, Klarke. However this conversation goes“, Roan promised gently, and she almost believed him.

„Hei, mom“, Clarke greeted her mother with a slight smile. They were meeting for dinner on the terrace on the 80th floor of the tower. Clarke had originally asked to meet at a public cafe, but her mother had wanted to have a private conversation, so the terrace it was.

„Clarke, hi honey“, Abby pulled her daughter into a hug, which Clarke repricorated tensely. She didn’t like physical contact, not of people she didn’t fully trust. And as much as it hurt to admit, she didn’t exactly trust her mother anymore.

Abby didn’t seem to catch on, or maybe she ignored it, as she gestured Clarke to sit with a smile. And as much as she didn’t want to (except she did), she couldn’t very well just leave again.

So, she sat down at the small wooden table that had been prepared for them. 

The dinner was surprisingly nice, if she was being honest.

The sun cast a warm glow over the terrace, and the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air. It was a simple meal, but it reminded her of home, of dinners long forgotten, before everything had gone so wrong.

Her mother sat across from her, a soft smile on her lips. For the first time in a long while, there was no strenuous tension between them, no underlying current of anger or disappointment. It was just the two of them, mother and daughter, sharing a meal together. Clarke wanted to savor this moment, to pretend, if only for a little while, that things were normal between them.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had dinner together,” Abby said softly, breaking the silence again.

Clarke nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it has. This is nice.”

“It is,” Abby agreed, her eyes lingering on her daughter. “I’ve missed this, Clarke.”

Clarke’s heart ached at her mother’s words. She had missed it too—missed the simplicity of their relationship before everything became so complicated. She reached for her cup, taking a sip of the spiced wine that had been served. It was good, warm, and soothing.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the quiet between them not uncomfortable, but rather peaceful. Clarke found herself relaxing, the tension she always carried in her shoulders easing just a little.

“So,” Abby said after a while, her tone light, “I was thinking about how you used to hate our vegetable mesh as a kid. You’d always sneak it onto my plate when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

Clarke chuckled softly, surprised by the memory. “I remember that. I thought I was so sneaky.”

“You were,” Abby replied with a smile. “But I always knew. I just didn’t mind.”

The warmth in Abby’s voice was genuine, and for a moment, Clarke allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could get back to that place where things were easier, where love and understanding came naturally.

But then Abby’s eyes softened further, and she tilted her head, a note of concern creeping into her voice. “You’ve changed so much since then, Clarke.”

Clarke’s smile faltered, and she felt her guard starting to rise again. She told herself to stay calm, that her mother didn’t mean anything by it. “I didn’t fancy the reason why I had to change, either.”

Abby’s brow furrowed, her expression serious now. “But, Clarke, if you didn’t want to change, you didn’t have to.”

The words hung in the air, and Clarke felt something twist painfully in her chest. Her grip on her cup tightened. “It’s not that simple, Mom. I did what I had to do.”

Abby leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been through so much, I know that. But Clarke, you didn’t have to become… this. You didn’t have to let it change you so much. Let it make you so cruel and apathetic”

Clarke’s breath hitched, her carefully maintained composure starting to crack. “I didn’t have a choice, Mom. You don’t know what it was like.”

“Maybe not,” Abby replied, her voice tinged with frustration, “but I do know that you’re not the same girl who left Arkadia. You’ve hardened, Clarke. You’re colder, more distant. You didn’t have to become this... this warrior. You could have—”

“Could have what?” Clarke interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. “Stayed the naive girl who believed that everything could be fixed with enough talking? Who thought that there was always a peaceful solution? That girl doesn’t survive out there, Mom. She doesn’t make it.”

Abby flinched, but she pressed on, her concern for her daughter overriding her caution. “I just don’t want you to lose yourself, Clarke. You’ve become so… ruthless. I’m afraid of what it’s doing to you, what it’s turning you into.”

Clarke’s heart pounded in her chest, anger and hurt bubbling up to the surface. She had tried so hard to keep it together, to keep this evening peaceful, but Abby’s words were cutting too deep. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to become someone who has to make these kinds of decisions? Do you think I enjoy the things I’ve done, the things I’ve had to do?”

“I don’t know!” Abby’s voice rose, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know because you won’t talk to me! You won’t tell me anything! You’re so closed off, Clarke. You push everyone away, and I’m just trying to understand why you’ve let yourself become so... so hardened.”

Clarke felt the tears welling up, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried too much, lost too much. “Because I had to, Mom! Because if I didn’t, I would have died, or worse, I would have let everyone else die. I had to make choices you can’t even begin to understand.”

Abby’s face was etched with pain, her eyes glistening. “I know you’ve been through hell, Clarke, but you don’t have to keep punishing yourself. You don’t have to keep pushing me away. I’m your mother. I love you.”

Clarke shook her head, the pain in her chest becoming unbearable. “If you loved me, you’d understand that I did what I had to do. You wouldn’t judge me for it.”

“I’m not judging you, Clarke, I’m trying to protect you!” Abby’s voice cracked, and the vulnerability in her eyes was unmistakable. “You’ve been through so much, and I just want you to be okay. But you’re not okay. You’re becoming something—someone—I don’t recognize.”

Clarke stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “Maybe that’s because you don’t know me anymore. Because you don't- you aren't letting yourself know me.”

“Clarke—”

“No, Mom.” Clarke’s voice was firm, but the tears were dangerously close now. “I know I’m not the person you want me to be. I’m not the person I used to be. But I can’t go back to that, even if I wanted to. I had to change to survive, and if you can’t accept that, then maybe you’re the one who needs to change.”

Abby looked stricken, her eyes wide with shock and pain. “Clarke, please—”

Clarke took a step back, shaking her head. “Either you learn to deal with who I’ve become, or… or we don’t do this anymore.”

The finality in her words hung in the air, and Clarke saw the way Abby’s face crumbled, the heartbreak in her mother’s eyes. It hurt, it hurt so much, but Clarke couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep tearing herself apart trying to be someone she wasn’t anymore.

Without another word, Clarke turned and walked out, leaving her mother behind. As soon as the door closed behind her, she felt the tears spill over, but she kept walking, her heart heavy with the weight of everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.

Clarke stormed out of the tower, her heart pounding in her chest. She could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in her ears, the words like shards of glass cutting into her. 

She tried to shake them off, but they clung to her, filling her mind with doubts and pain. Every step she took felt heavier than the last, and the familiar weight of guilt and anger settled into her bones.

She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. She just needed to move, needed to do something to drown out the thoughts that were tearing her apart. 

Her feet carried her toward the training grounds, and by the time she arrived, her vision was narrowed to one focus: she needed to fight.

The clashing of swords and the grunts of warriors filled the air, but it was all a distant hum to her. Clarke didn’t bother to change out of her clothes. She grabbed a sword from the rack, its weight familiar and reassuring in her hand, and stepped onto the training ground. 

The sharp clang of metal against metal was a welcome distraction, a sound that drowned out everything else.

Without a word, she joined the sparring matches already in progress. The first opponent came at her, a tall man with broad shoulders and a determined look in his eyes. Clarke didn’t hesitate. She met his strike with a force that surprised him, sending him stumbling back. 

She pressed her advantage, moving faster than he could anticipate. Within moments, he was on the ground, disarmed and defeated.

Another fighter stepped forward, then another. Clarke didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. Her movements were sharp, precise, almost mechanical. 

She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, the satisfaction of each victory numbing the pain that had been gnawing at her since the argument with her mother.

But the numbness didn’t last. With each strike, each parry, the words Abby had said resurfaced, taunting her. You didn’t have to change. The anger built up inside her, simmering until it threatened to boil over. 

Another opponent came at her, this time two at once. Clarke’s instincts took over, and she moved with a speed that startled even her. The shadows around her flickered as she sidestepped one attack, then spun to disarm the other. 

For a brief moment, the darkness seemed to cling to her, even in the afternoon sun, enhancing her movements, making her strikes faster, more precise. The warriors stepped back, momentarily startled by the sight.

Clarke barely noticed. All she could see was her mother’s face, hear her voice, accusing her, judging her. She threw herself into the next fight, her strikes harder, more brutal. 

The crowd around the training grounds began to grow, whispers spreading as more and more people noticed the ferocity with which Wanheda fought.

“Ten of us,” someone muttered. “She’s unstoppable.”

“She fights like Rhada Absyl,” another whispered, eyes wide with both awe and fear. The champion’s name carried weight, especially in the hearts of those who had heard stories and those who had witnessed their battles.

Clarke heard none of it. Her world had narrowed to the fight in front of her, and the turmoil roiling inside. 

Another opponent came forward, this time a seasoned warrior with scars that told stories of countless battles. He circled her warily, recognizing that this was no ordinary sparring match.

Clarke didn’t give him a chance to strike first. She lunged forward, her blade moving so fast it was almost a blur. The man barely managed to parry, and even then, Clarke’s strength sent him staggering back. 

She pressed her advantage, every swing of her sword fueled by the storm inside her. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision again, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was winning, about pushing the pain down so deep it couldn’t hurt her anymore.

The warrior fought back valiantly, but he was no match for Clarke in this state. Within moments, he was on the ground, breathing heavily, his sword knocked out of his hand. Clarke stood over him, her chest heaving, the crowd around her silent in awe and fear.

The murmurs grew louder, spreading like wildfire through the gathered warriors and onlookers. 

Rhada Absyl... Wanheda...

But Clarke didn’t hear them. She stood there, her sword still raised, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving her feeling hollow, yet not remotely exhausted enough to stop. 

Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, her emotions a tangled web of anger, guilt, and pain. The fights had distracted her, but they hadn’t erased the ache in her chest, the lingering sting of her mother’s words.

She lowered her sword, finally looking around at the crowd that had gathered. Their eyes were on her, some filled with admiration, others with fear. 

Clarke ignored them all. She didn’t want their praise, didn’t care for their fear. All she wanted was peace, a peace that seemed more elusive with every passing day.

Her hands were shaking as she sheathed her sword, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

She had come here to escape, to find some semblance of control. But as she looked around at the remnants of her battles, the defeated warriors and the murmur of Rhada Absyl's name still echoing in her ears, Clarke realized that no amount of fighting could truly silence the storm inside her.

Clarke remained in the center of the training grounds, the crowd still lingering around her. The whispers hadn’t died down, if anything, they seemed to intensify. But Clarke didn’t care. She was too lost in her own thoughts, her hands still trembling from the rush of adrenaline that hadn’t yet faded.

She didn’t notice when Roan and Ontari arrived. Didn’t see the knowing looks they exchanged as they assessed her, the silent communication between them as they made a decision. It wasn’t until Roan’s voice boomed across the training grounds that Clarke’s attention snapped back to the present.

“Wanheda!” Roan called, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. He stepped forward, drawing all eyes to him. “You’ve proven yourself against these warriors, but let’s see how you fare against a real challenge.”

Clarke blinked, her mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. She saw Roan smirk as he gestured to the crowd, and slowly, more warriors began to step forward. 

Twenty in total, forming a loose circle around her. Among them, Clarke recognized familiar faces—Roan, Ontari, Lincoln, Anya, Indra, and Octavia. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what was about to happen.

Roan’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of love and deep concern. “First blood rules for all of us,” he declared. “But for you, Wanheda, you’re out only if you pass out or yield.”

Clarke stared at him for a long moment, her chest tightening. She hadn’t even realized any of them had been here, watching. 

A part of her wanted to refuse, to turn and walk away lest she hurt any of them on accident, but the other part—the part that was still reeling from the argument with her mother, from everything—needed this. Needed to push herself to the limit, to burn out the chaos inside her.

She nodded, lifting her sword again. The crowd around them grew silent, the air thick with anticipation.

The battle began, and Clarke was immediately surrounded. She moved instinctively, her body reacting faster than her mind could process. 

Roan came at her from the left, his strikes powerful, while Ontari attacked from the right with a ferocity that matched Clarke’s own. Clarke parried and dodged, her movements fluid, the adrenaline surging through her once again.

But this time, it was different. This wasn’t just a fight—this was a test. A test of her strength, her endurance, her will. And Clarke knew that they wouldn’t hold back, not for her, not for anyone. She had to be at her best, or she’d be taken down.

She was beyond thankful for her siblings.

Lincoln’s blade came at her next, and Clarke barely managed to block it. She countered with a swift strike, drawing first blood on his arm. He nodded, stepping back as the next wave of attacks came. 

Anya’s spear grazed her side, drawing blood, but Clarke twisted away, catching Indra’s incoming sword with her own. The clang of metal echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else.

The fight was intense, relentless. Clarke moved like a force of nature, the shadows flickering around her once again as she pushed herself harder, faster. She didn’t have time to think, only react. Every strike, every parry was a desperate attempt to hold on to the control she so desperately needed.

And then, in the midst of it all, Clarke felt something shift. The chaos in her mind began to quiet, the pain in her chest dulling as she focused solely on the fight. 

She was in her element here, surrounded by warriors who respected her strength, who challenged her without mercy, yet not in cruelty. It was a strange kind of release, the physical exertion grounding her in a way nothing else could.

What she didn’t realize was, that someone else had joined the crowd. Lexa stood at the edge of the training grounds, her eyes locked on Clarke. 

She had been on her way to the Natblida training grounds when she’d heard the commotion, drawn by the sound of battle and the whispers of Wanheda’s name. Now, she stood frozen, watching as Clarke fought with a skill and determination that took her breath away.

Lexa’s heart clenched painfully as she saw the bruises on Clarke’s face, the way her muscles rippled with every movement. She was deadly, dangerous, intimidating. But it only added to how beautiful she looked. It took all Lexa had not to blush and stare, not to let herself want.

So she didn’t dare focus on the way heat coiled within her, instead concentrating on the fight itself.

This wasn’t the Clarke she remembered, but at the same time, it was. The strength, the fierceness, the undeniable power—it was all still there, just honed, sharpened by everything Clarke had been through.

But it wasn’t really Clarke’s physical appearance that struck Lexa, not entirely at least. It was the way Clarke moved, the way she fought as if she had nothing left to lose. There was a darkness there, a desperation that Lexa recognized all too well. 

And it was terrifying. It was exhilarating. (She wanted it, needed it, wanted Clarke).

She watched as the blonde took down another opponent, her sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. The crowd murmured in awe, but Lexa couldn’t tear her eyes away from Clarke. 

This was the woman she loved, the woman she had betrayed, and seeing her like this, she didn’t know what to feel. Hated the Clarke had had to learn to fight like this, was in awe, her heart pounding within her chest.

Clarke didn’t notice Lexa. She was too focused on the fight, too caught up in the rhythm of battle. But even as she fought, a part of her mind couldn’t help but wander back to the conversation with her mother, the hurtful words that still echoed in her ears. She shoved the thoughts away, focusing on the next opponent, the next strike.

Lexa’s fists clenched at her sides as she watched Clarke continue to fight, her own guilt and pain swelling up inside her. 

She wanted to go to her, to say something—anything. But she knew she couldn’t. Not now, not when Clarke was like this. (Full of despair, disgust, hate. Not when Lexa couldn’t even be angry about Clarke hating her).

When the last opponent fell, Clarke stood in the center of the training grounds, her chest heaving, her sword still clenched tightly in her hand. 

The shadows that had flickered around her were gone, but the intensity in her eyes remained. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Clarke barely heard them. All she felt was the dull ache of exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

It was only then that Clarke finally noticed Lexa standing on the sidelines, her gaze unreadable. For a moment, their eyes locked, and time seemed to stop. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, and all the unspoken words that hung between them like a heavy weight.

But Clarke didn’t move. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to face Lexa after everything that had happened. And so, she simply turned away, heading toward the edge of the training grounds without a word.

Lexa watched her go, her heart aching with every step Clarke took away from her. She wanted to call out to her, to stop her, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she could only stand there, watching as the distance between them grew wider, not just physically, but in every possible way.

When Clarke left the training grounds, her mind was still spinning from the intensity of the fight. The physical exhaustion was a welcome relief, but it didn’t do much to quiet the storm of emotions raging inside her. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about Lexa. The way she had looked at her during the fight, the unspoken words that lingered between them—it was all too much. Clarke hated how her heart still ached for the woman who had betrayed her, how she couldn’t seem to stop caring, no matter how hard she tried.

As she walked through the halls of the tower, her thoughts became a tangled mess of anger, longing, and confusion. She was so lost in her own head that she didn’t even notice the small figure in front of her until it was too late. Clarke collided with the boy, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Moba!” Clarke immediately knelt down, helping him back to his feet. The boy looked up at her with wide eyes, and Clarke noticed that he had scraped his hand in the fall. 

She gently took his hand to examine the wound, but then she froze. The blood that trickled from the scrape was black.

A Natblida.

Clarke’s heart skipped a beat, but she quickly forced herself to remain calm. This boy was one of Lexa’s students, one of the possible future commanders. She couldn’t let him see how much it affected her. She offered him a reassuring smile. “Are you alright?”

The boy nodded, his expression shifting from surprise to a slightly guarded admiration. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s an honor to meet you, Wanheda.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard by his words. She hadn’t expected that. “Mochof,” she said slowly, "You are one of Heda's students, aren't you? It's lovely to meet you as well".

The boy’s eyes brightened. “I am. Heda has told us a lot about you.”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. Heda. Lexa. The idea of Lexa speaking to her students about her—it was something she hadn’t anticipated. 

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, her emotions swirling even more. Lexa, teaching these children about her. It obviously wasn’t anything bad, considering the young boys reaction. So what was it? Was it respect? Caution? Or something else entirely?

She shook herself out of it, focusing back on the boy, whose hand was still bleeding. “What’s your name?”

“Aden,” he replied.

“Nice to meet you, Aden,” Clarke said, forcing herself to smile despite the turmoil in her chest. She glanced at his hand again. “Can I heal that for you?”

Aden frowned, clearly not understanding. “I can simply bandage it on my own later, I heal rather quickly.” Clarke raised an eyebrow and the boy shuffled. „I don’t have to heal it if it makes you uncomfortable, Aden“. 

The young boy quickly shook his head, „No, it’s just, bandaging really isn’t any effort and you seemed to be going somewhere“. Clarke laughed then, she hadn’t even considered that Aden might not know she could heal people. 

„I don’t need to bandage it to fix it, Aden.“, she promised, „may I?“. Aden studied her for a short moment, before nodding, obviously still rather confused.

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then summoned her power. A soft, golden light emanated from her hand as she passed it over Aden’s scrape. Within seconds, the wound closed, leaving only smooth, unblemished skin behind.

Aden stared at his hand in awe. “That’s amazing,” he breathed. “Mochof, Wanheda.”

Clarke’s heart softened at his innocence. She’d always had a soft spot for children, even now when so much of her had hardened. “You can call me Clarke,” she said gently.

Aden looked up at her, eyes full of wonder. “Klarke,” he repeated, as if testing the sound of it. He fidgeted for a short moment, apparently unsure if he could (should) continue speaking. “I saw part of your fight earlier. It was really impressive”, he finally said.

Clarke chuckled, feeling a small flicker of warmth in her chest. “Mochof, Aden.”

Aden beamed at her, but then his expression turned thoughtful. “Where were you going? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Clarke hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Probably back to my room. I need a shower after all that.”

Aden’s mischievous grin made Clarke smile despite herself. “You’re really sweaty,” he said, his tone playful.

Clarke laughed, the sound surprising her. It had been so long since she’d felt anything close to lightness. But then Aden’s next words brought her back to the weight of everything.

“Do you think you’ll join our lessons sometime?” Aden asked, his voice hopeful. “Heda spoke very fondly of you. And since you’re Wanheda... it would be really cool.”

Clarke’s heart lurched at the mention of Lexa. The warmth she had felt moments ago vanished, replaced by a cold, twisting sensation in her chest. She didn’t know how to respond. The idea of joining their lessons, of being around Lexa in that way... it was too much.

“I don’t know, Aden,” Clarke said, her voice quieter now.

Aden’s face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered. “I hope you do. It would be great to learn from you.”

Clarke nodded, unable to find the words. She felt so conflicted, so lost in her own emotions. But Aden’s sincerity touched her, and for a moment, she wished things were simpler. That she could just be Clarke, and not Wanheda or anything else.

They talked a bit more, and Clarke found herself genuinely enjoying the conversation despite everything. Aden was a good kid, smart and kind. It made her wonder what Lexa saw in him, what kind of leader he might become. The thought both warmed and saddened her.

Eventually, Aden excused himself for his lessons, and Clarke watched him go with a bittersweet smile. Once he was out of sight, she turned and made her way back to her room. The walk was quiet, but her mind was anything but.

Lexa. It always came back to Lexa (Because she could never just be heda).

Clarke’s emotions churned inside her, a chaotic blend of anger, hurt, longing, and confusion. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Lexa had looked at her during the fight, the way her name had slipped from Aden’s lips with such respect. 

She wanted to hate Lexa, to keep her at arm’s length and never let her in again. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny the pull she still felt, the part of her that craved forgiveness, that wanted to believe in Lexa again.

When Clarke finally reached her room, she sank onto a chair, her head in her hands. The exhaustion from the fight was catching up with her, but her mind wouldn’t quiet. All she could think about was Lexa—how much she still loved her, how much she still hurt because of her, and how she didn’t know if she could ever let go of either feeling.

The confusion was maddening, the internal conflict unbearable. Clarke wanted to scream, to lash out, to make the pain stop. But she knew that no matter how many battles she fought, how many enemies she defeated, the war inside her would continue to rage.

And at the center of it all was Lexa.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Clarke did everything she could to avoid Lexa outside of meetings. She buried herself in training, tasks, and any responsibility that didn’t involve crossing paths with the Commander. 

It wasn’t difficult—Lexa didn’t reach out either, and that made it easier for Clarke to justify keeping her distance. But it also gnawed at her, that constant question in the back of her mind: If Lexa still cared, wouldn’t she try to see me?

Luckily, or rather unluckily, she couldn’t think about that too much with everything else going on. Ever since that intense sparring match where Clarke had gone up against Roan, Ontari, Lincoln, Anya, Indra, and Octavia, people had started talking. 

Whispers followed her through the halls, and Clarke noticed the way people looked at her now, the way their eyes lingered with frowns of suspicion and unease over their awe. 

Sometimes it felt as though even her friends had grown more wary, though none of them dared to ask her directly about what they were thinking, so she couldn’t tell for sure.

Well, no-one asked except for Aden.

One morning, after a particularly draining meeting (no, she did not want to share her exact testimony because she hadn’t finished it yet, and no, she hadn’t heard anything from her people back in Azgeda), Clarke decided to escape to one of the less frequented training areas outside the tower. 

The cool nigh air was a welcome relief, and she quickly lost herself in the rhythm of her exercises, trying to push away the thoughts that had been gnawing at her for days.

She was in the middle of a complicated series of moves, her body moving with a fluidity that belied the turmoil in her mind, when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

“Wanheda?”

Clarke paused, her chest heaving as she turned to see Aden standing there, his eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Aden, I thought I told you too call me Klarke” she greeted him, wiping the sweat from her brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you training from our dining hall,” he admitted, stepping closer, his expression serious. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Clarke’s stomach tightened. She had a feeling she knew what this was about, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it. But Aden was a good kid, and she couldn’t bring herself to shut him out.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “What is it?”

Aden hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts. “People have been talking,” he began, his tone careful. “About how you fought in the match. They say you fought like Rhada Absyl.”

Clarke’s breath hitched. She had known this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “And what do you think?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Aden looked up at her, his eyes searching hers. “I think you’re a great fighter,” he said honestly. “But I have only heard stories of the champion, so I wanted to know if it’s true. Are you like them?”

Clarke felt a surge of emotions—guilt, fear, and something that felt uncomfortably like pride. She had never wanted to become Rhada Absyl, but at the same time, there was a part of her that was proud of her skills, of what she could do.

(Of how they allowed her to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves).

(How she had failed doing just that, letting innocents die, letting her friends die).

She met Aden’s gaze, her voice soft but firm. “Does it matter then, who Rhada Absyl is?” she said, and that was the truth.

Aden nodded slowly, processing her words. “I get it,” he said after a moment. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… I saw that move you did during the sparring match. The one where you disarmed Indra’s spear and took down two guards at the same time. Could you… could you show me how to do it?”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard by the request. “Aden, your teachers might not like it if I start showing you moves they didn’t teach you.”

Aden grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We don’t have to tell them, and I’m sure heda wouldn’t mind” he said, his tone conspiratorial. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to stop training with them. But if you could show me just that one move… I think it would be really cool.”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Despite everything, Aden was still a kid—one who, for some reason, looked up to her, who saw something in her that she wasn’t sure she still had. And she wasn’t about to let him down.

“Alright,” she agreed, setting her training staff aside and picking up a new one. “But you have to promise me you won’t try this on anyone without supervision, okay?”

Aden nodded eagerly, his eyes bright with excitement. “I promise.”

“Good,” Clarke said, positioning herself in front of him. “Now, watch carefully. It’s all about timing and precision…”

The next half hour was spent with Clarke showing Aden the intricacies of the move, guiding him through the steps with patience and care. Aden picked it up quickly, his natural talent shining through, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he started to get the hang of it.

“Good,” she praised him, as he successfully executed the move for the first time. “You’re getting it. Just remember to keep your stance firm, and don’t rush it. The key is to let your opponent’s momentum work against them.”

Aden beamed at the compliment, his chest puffing out with pride. “Thanks, Wanheda,” he said, his voice full of admiration.

“It’s Klarke,” she reminded him with a smile. “You’re doing great, Aden. Just keep practicing, and you’ll get even better.”

Aden nodded, his expression serious. “I will. And… mochof, Klarke.”

Clarke felt a warmth in her chest at his words, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Anytime, Aden,” she replied, ruffling his hair lightly.

As Aden gathered his things and prepared to head back to his lessons, Clarke watched him go, a mixture of emotions swirling inside her. 

Ever since then, Clarke couldn’t seem to avoid Aden. The boy appeared everywhere—whether in the halls of the tower, during her brief visits to the training grounds, or even when she wandered outside to clear her head. 

Their exchanges were always pleasant, and Clarke found herself softening each time they spoke, even though she tried to keep her guard up.

Aden was earnest, kind, and so full of hope. In a way, he reminded her of the person she used to be, before everything had hardened her. He reminded her of Lexa too, how she’d seen the brunette before everything that had happened. It was both comforting and painful to see that innocence in him, especially when he spoke so highly of Lexa.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling training session, Clarke was resting near the edge of the grounds when she heard Aden’s familiar voice.

“Klarke!” She turned to see him jogging over, his face lit up with that bright smile he always wore. Clarke couldn’t help but smile back, despite herself. “Aden. How was your training today?”

“Good!” he replied, catching his breath. “I’m getting better at using my left hand to fight, just like you said. Heda was really surprised I think.”

Clarke nodded, feeling a small flicker of pride. After their initial training session, Aden had asked for pointers every once in a while, and Clarke just couldn’t make herself deny his requests. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s always good to be prepared.”

Aden beamed at the praise, then his expression turned thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, about being prepared. Heda always says something similar. She says that being ready for anything is what keeps people safe, even when you have to make hard decisions.”

Clarke’s heart clenched at the second mention of Lexa. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but Aden’s words hit too close to home. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Hard decisions.”

Aden didn’t seem to notice her discomfort, or maybe he found it unbecoming to ask. He continued, his tone sincere. “I hope that if I become Heda, I can be even half as good as she is. She cares so much about everyone, even when it’s hard. I want to be like that.”

Clarke swallowed hard, her throat tightening. If she didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn Lexa had sent the boy onto her. His earnest admiration made it incredibly hard to keep her distant demeanor.

See, she wanted to hang onto her anger, her hurt, but every time Aden spoke, it became more difficult. He spoke of Lexa with such admiration, such faith. 

It reminded Clarke of the Lexa she had fallen in love with, the Lexa who had promised to do everything in her power to protect her people. The Lexa who had, despite everything, still cared, even though she had denied it vehemently.

But then the betrayal resurfaced in her mind—the memory of that last meeting, the coldness, the sense of abandonment. Clarke forced herself to hold onto that, to keep the walls around her heart intact.

“That’s a good goal, Aden,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just remember to always stay true to who you are, no matter what.”

Aden nodded, his eyes full of determination. “I will. And maybe… maybe you could join Heda for our training some time? You’re a really good teacher. And Heda talks about you a lot, you know. She says you’re strong and brave, and that you always do what’s right, even when it’s hard.”

Clarke’s heart twisted again, the weight of his words pressing down on her. Lexa had said that? The idea that Lexa still thought of her that way, still spoke of her with such respect—it was too much to process. Clarke didn’t know what to do with it.

“I don’t know, Aden,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for that. You have Heda, after all.”

Aden looked disappointed, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he smiled up at her again, that same bright, hopeful smile. “Well, I think you’re pretty great. And I’m really glad I got to meet you, Klarke.”

Clarke felt something in her chest loosen, just a little. It was hard to stay guarded around someone so genuine. “Mochof, Aden. I’m glad I met you too.”

They talked a bit more before Aden excused himself again, leaving Clarke alone with her thoughts once more. As she watched him go, she couldn’t help but feel the cracks forming in the walls she had built around her heart. 

Every conversation with Aden made it harder to hold onto the anger she had been carrying for so long.

But what scared her most was the thought that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to hold onto it anymore.

Later that night, as Clarke lay in her room, the silence pressing in around her, she found herself thinking about Lexa again. The distance she had tried to maintain, the coldness she had tried to embrace—it was starting to crumble. And it terrified her.

She didn’t know what Lexa truly felt, didn’t know if she could ever trust her again. But the idea that Lexa still thought of her with such respect, that she still cared enough to talk about her to her students—it made everything so much more complicated.

Clarke turned over in bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts swirled. She was so confused, so conflicted. The pain of the betrayal still lingered, but so did the love she had never truly let go of. 

And now, with Aden’s words echoing in her mind, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep avoiding Lexa.

„Klarke wait“, Lexa called after the Clarke. The other occupants of the room eyed the pair anxiously. The past weeks had been filled with awkward conversations during the meetings and a steadily growing tension between the two. 

Lexa seemed about ready to grovel at Clarkes feet, while the blonde seemed to want to do nothing more than ignore the other girl. 

Throwing each other terse looks, the rest of the group excused themselves, leaving the two girls alone to talk. 

Clarke went rigid at being alone in a room with Lexa for the first time since that very first morning in Polis. „What do you need Heda?“, she asked, hoping Lexa wouldn’t catch onto the stutter in her voice.

Lexa took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. She knew she had to address the elephant in the room, but finding the right words felt like navigating a minefield.

"Klarke, I... I understand that you might not- I understand your anger. Why you feel betrayed, I mean“, Lexa began tentatively, her voice tinged with regret.

Clarke's jaw clenched at the words. Understood her anger? Lexa didn’t understand shit. Hell, Clarke didn’t understand what she was feeling. 

"Oh, do you now?" she retorted, her tone laced with bitterness (and perhaps that was unfair. She could unpack it later). "Understanding doesn't change what you did, Heda. It doesn't make it right."

Lexa winced at the harshness in Clarke's words, but she pressed on. 

"No, it doesn't," she conceded, her gaze fixed on the ground. "But I want you to know that I regret my actions. I regret leaving Skaikru at the mountain."

Clarke scoffed incredulously. "Regret?" she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Is that what you call it? Regret?"

(Skaikru was not why she was conflicted, they weren’t the problem how didn’t Lexa see that).

Lexa's heart sank at Clarke's reaction. She had prayed for a forgiveness she didn’t deserve, but… "I know it's not enough," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know that 'I'm sorry' doesn't begin to cover the pain I caused."

Clarke's eyes narrowed, her frustration boiling over. "Exactly!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with each word. "You're damn right it's not enough! 'I'm sorry' won't bring back the people I had to kill! It won't erase the scars they left behind! So spare me your empty apologies!“

I’m sorry I don’t want to leash out I understand.

Lexa flinched at the outburst, but she remained composed. "You're right, Klarke," she admitted, her voice heavy with guilt. 

No I’m not, I need you to tell me I’m wrong, I need you to fight for me Lexa, please.

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve it.“ Clarke shook her head. You do. In time I will, she thought. Instead - "No, you don't," her voice was bitter.

What are you saying she does I just need more time.

„I- I get that you’re mad and hating me is easier than hating yourself-“, Clarke scoffed in disbelief, not letting Lexa finish. „Don’t worry, I can do both“. 

She didn’t know where it came from, she didn’t hate Lexa, hell, despite everything she still loved her, but she just couldn’t manage to let it go. 

Every time she looked at Lexa all those feelings came up again and she felt like she was back at the mountain, begging for the other woman to stay. 

(And then she was back in Azgeda, crying for Lexa to safe her but she’d never come).

Lexa looked like she had been sucker punched. „Klarke…“, she whispered. Clarke schooled her features into practiced indifference. 

„Was that it or are we done here, heda?“‚ Lexa felt tears brimming in her eyes as she saw Clarkes hardened expression. 

„No, I’m sorry Klarke. That was it“. As Clarke turned to leave, leaving Lexa alone in her remorse, thinking she had destroyed what she had with Clarke beyond repair.

The conversation with Lexa had left Clarke reeling. As she made her way through Polis, she couldn’t shake the image of Lexa’s heartbroken expression from her mind, the tears brimming in the other woman’s eyes. 

It was almost too much to bear, and yet she couldn’t let it go. Not yet. The hurt, the betrayal—it still simmered inside her, a wound that hadn’t healed, no matter how much time had passed.

That night, she found herself in a dimly lit room with Roan and Ontari, the three of them nursing drinks as the weight of everything pressed down on her. The alcohol was doing little to dull the whirlwind of emotions that raged inside her, but at least it gave her something to focus on, something to do with her hands as she tried to sort through the chaos in her mind.

Roan and Ontari exchanged a glance as Clarke took another swig of her drink, her eyes distant, lost in thought. They could see the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders were hunched as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her back. And in a way, she was.

"So," Roan began, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "You and Heda finally had that talk, huh?"

Clarke let out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor. "Yeah, if you can call it that," she muttered, swirling the liquid in her cup. "More like a disaster, honestly."

Ontari raised an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on Clarke. "What happened?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, a hint of concern slipping through her usual stoic demeanor.

Clarke sighed, running a hand through her hair. "She tried to apologize, I think" she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "She said she understood why I was angry, but... I don’t know. It just felt... hollow. Like she didn’t really get it."

Roan snorted. "You think she doesn’t get it? Klarke, she’s been walking around like a kicked puppy for two years. Trust me, she gets it."

Clarke’s shoulders tensed, a mixture of guilt and frustration washing over her. "Is it unfair for me to be mad at her?" she countered, knowing very well that neither could disagree that her anger was justified.

Ontari and Roan exchanged another glance before Ontari spoke up. "Are you?" she pressed, her tone soft yet insistent.

Clarke’s resolve wavered. She could feel the guilt gnawing at her, but the anger was still there, bubbling just beneath the surface. She just didn’t know if it was directed at Lexa specifically.

She looked down at her lap, her voice quiet. "Yes. No. I don’t know.“

Ontari and Roan exchanged another glance, „Then why don’t you let yourself find out?“ 

The blonde clenched her fist around the glass of fayowada, lifting it to her mouth for a big sip. „You know why.“, she mumbled once she swallowed the burning liquid. 

Her head felt slightly buzzy now, maybe that’s why she hadn’t stopped the conversation yet. Though looking at her siblings she’s not sure if they’d let it go again. It was a wonder they hadn’t brought it up the first night already. 

„Do we? Because from where I’m standing you’re simply being stupid“.  

The blonde huffed, glaring at her sister as she did, „Yeah well, I’d like to see you act differently in my situation“. She despised the anger (not anger. Hurt? Fear? Whatever.). It was so much easier when Wanheda would whisper soothing words to her. Keryon, this should be easier after having merged, not harder.

„Except I’m not in your situation“ Ontari shrugged, not deterred by Clarke leashing out at her, „which gives me the lovely advantage of a mostly outside perspective. So until you can give me a very good reason, I’ll stick with your behaviors being stupid“

Roan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. „What `Tari is trying to say, is that you’re allowed to be mad, little wolf," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But holding onto that anger? It’s not just hurting her. It’s hurting you too."

Clarke swallowed hard, the truth of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut. She knew he was right. Every time she pushed Lexa away, it was like she was tearing herself apart, piece by piece. But the fear of getting hurt again, of being betrayed again, was too strong. It kept her walls up, kept her from letting Lexa back in.

"I’m scared," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "I’m scared that if I let her in again, she’ll just betray me again. And I know that’s not fair, but... I can’t help it."

Ontari reached across the table, placing a hand on Clarke’s arm. "It’s not about being fair. In fact, if it wasn’t hurting you, I wouldn’t even see a reason for you to act differently,“ she said quietly. „But it is. Hurting you, that is. So while it’s not about being fair, it’s about what you want. Do you want to keep punishing her? Or do you want to move forward?"

Clarke looked at Ontari, her eyes searching the other woman’s face for something—anything—that would make this easier. But all she saw was concern, and maybe a little bit of understanding. Ontari might not have been in her shoes exactly, but she knew what it was like to carry the weight of impossible choices, to live with the consequences of decisions that could never be undone.

"I don’t know what I want," Clarke whispered, her voice cracking. "I don’t think I even know who I am anymore. Not since coming here.“

Roan reached over, clinking his glass against hers. "You’re Klarke, Wanheda, our little sister“ he said simply. "And as you grow, you will find yourself. But to do that, you’ve got to heal, so you’ve got to figure out what’s going to help you heal. And maybe that means talking to Lexa, really talking to her. Not just trading barbs and avoiding each other."

Clarke let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over her. The idea of opening up to Lexa, of letting her see the vulnerable, scared parts of herself again, was terrifying. But maybe Roan was right. Maybe that was the only way to move forward, to finally start healing.

"I’m just... so tired," Clarke confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m tired of being angry, of being scared. I’m supposed to be Wanheda, merging and coming into this role was supposed to fix all that. But I don’t know how to stop."

Ontari squeezed her arm gently, her voice firm but compassionate. „Even a spirit has a soul, little wolf. And yours has been torn over and over again since you have been reborn into the world. You are a powerful spirit and no-one will deny that, but at the same time you’re a 20 year old who has seen too much“.

„And there won’t ever come a time where there is no doubt or fear“, Roan joined in, „those are not emotions to avoid, but rather ones to overcome and live with."

Clarke nodded slowly, the truth of their words sinking in. She had been hurting Lexa, yes, but in the process, she had been hurting herself too. And she was so damn tired of the pain, of the endless cycle of anger and guilt. Maybe it was time to break that cycle.

She opted to ignore the issue of her failures as Wanheda for now.

„What am I supposed to do“, the former Skaikru mumbled, taking another sip of the liquid, wishing it would affect her just a bit more.

"Talk to her," Roan advised, his tone serious. "Really talk to her. No more running, no more avoiding. You both deserve better than that.“

„I don’t even know what to say, what to feel. And even then I don’t know if I’m ready for her to know that I might’ve forgiven her“ she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Roan nodded understandingly. "Of course not," he agreed, his tone gentle. "But at least talking, rebuilding some trust... it could help both of you."

"I just don't know how," she admitted, her voice strained. "I feel like I can't even think straight when she's near."

Ontari offered a reassuring smile, refilling their glasses with fayowada. "Don't overthink it," she advised, nudging Clarke's glass toward her. "Just tell her to shut up and listen. Let it all out, then have that conversation.“

„If I let her back in once, I don’t think I have the energy to keep any sort of distance“

„Then that’s something we’ll figure out as you go. Though if you cannot keep your distance once close again, maybe it’s not a distance to be kept in the first place. You say you want to heal. You start that by being honest. With yourself and with her. You’re not going to find peace by pushing her away. And neither is she.“

Clarke looked at the two of them, the people who had become her unlikely siblings, her support system. And she thought, well, maybe things could get better. Maybe she could find a way to truly heal, to move forward. But it had to start with her. 

With a deep breath, Clarke raised her glass. "To figuring it out," she said, her voice stronger now, more resolute.

Roan and Ontari clinked their glasses against hers, a small smile tugging at Ontari’s lips. "To figuring it out," they echoed, and Clarke felt a small flicker of warmth in her chest.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

For days, the conversation wouldn’t leave Clarkes mind and the still lingering confusion from Adens words didn’t help. Did she want to talk to Lexa? To learn to trust her again? 

The answer was pretty simply yes. Maybe it was the certainty of the answer that made her hesitate. 

Clarke sighed as she emerged from the steaming bath, her skin tingling with warmth, a stark contrast to the cold heaviness she had been feeling in her heart lately. 

She grabbed a towel, when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her breath catching in her throat. Normally she avoided mirrors. She just remembered why.

Scars adorned her skin like cruel reminders, each one holding it’s own story. Whether from Azgeda, the wilderness or the arc. Her skin looked like a map, and a self-conscious part of her wondered if anyone would ever find her body attractive again.

(A resentful part told her Lexa could’ve made them all go away).

She traced a finger along the jagged lines that marred her skin, feeling the ache in her chest grow with each touch. These scars were more than just physical reminders of her past; they were the evidence to the shattered pieces of her heart.

In the end that’s why the sight hurt so much, why the simplest scar on her hand cut the deepest.

Tears welled up in Clarke's eyes. 

How could she ever forget the pain, the anguish, the betrayal that had left her marked in such a way? If Lexa hadn’t—

If Lexa hadn't what? Betrayed her? 

Lexa had to save her people, she's the commander first, she remembered how Wanheda had said that to her. 

„We all do what we must to survive.“ She had said that herself. Didn't it apply to Lexa too? 

„You're hurting yourself too.“ But how could she just forgive? 

„I wanted to — „ What was it Lexa was going to say? Clarke growled in frustration at herself. How long was she going to continue treating Lexa like this? How long was she going to continue begrudging herself of closure? She had screamed at Lexa and thrown words against her she didn't mean, and —

„She’s been walking around like a kicked puppy for two years. Trust me, she gets it.“ Had they been right? 

„Do you want to keep punishing her? Or do you want to move forward?“ Keryon, she had been such an idiot. 

Making up her mind, she hastily threw on some clothes and raced out of her room. She had someone to talk to before she changed her mind again.

"You know what the worst part is?“ Clarke pushed her way into the room, the door slamming against the wall as she entered.

Lexa, who had been sitting at her desk reviewing reports, looked up in surprise. The last time they had spoken, Clarke had barely been able to meet her eyes, and now here she was, practically radiating anger and something else Lexa couldn’t quite place. 

The guards stationed outside the door looked in, seemingly unsure whether to intervene. Lexa waved them off, silently signaling them to leave.

Clarke took a few steps closer, her chest heaving as she tried to find the right words. The silence between them stretched taut, a rope on the verge of snapping.

"Moba?" Lexa finally said, her voice uncertain, searching Clarke's stormy blue eyes for some clue as to what had prompted this sudden outburst.

Clarke huffed a bitter, hollow laugh, and Lexa winced at the sound, feeling it like a physical blow. "That’s kinda exactly the problem."

Lexa’s heart sank further. The distance between them was more than just physical; it was an emotional chasm she didn’t know how to bridge. She had given Clarke space, as much as it had pained her, but it seemed that only more resentment had grown in that gap. "Klarke, I don’t understand—"

"Of course, you don’t!" Clarke snapped, cutting her off as she began to pace the length of the room, her movements restless, agitated. "You’ve been so goddamn reasonable. You’ve given me space the entirety of the last few weeks safe for trying to talk to me once even though I know it must’ve torn you up, you’ve let me ignore you, you didn’t try to force me to talk. You even changed the course of meetings just so we wouldn’t have to interact more than necessary."

Lexa stood still, stunted into silence by Clarkes outburst. This sounded vastly different than the Clarke from the past week. She watched her, knowing better than to interrupt again. She could feel the desperation in Clarke’s voice, see it in the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, like she was struggling to hold herself together.

"And you know what? That’s the worst part," Clarke continued, her voice breaking as she whirled to face Lexa, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Because you’re making it so damn hard to be mad at you. You’re trying so hard to earn my forgiveness, and I hate it. I hate that I can’t just hate you and be done with it."

"Klarke—"

"No!" Clarke interrupted, her voice cracking as she pointed a finger at Lexa. "No, you don’t get to talk right now. You need to shut up and listen, because if I don’t get this out, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to."

Lexa nodded, swallowing the words that had been on the tip of her tongue. She stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for Clarke to continue.

"The past two years, I’ve had to learn so much about hard decisions," Clarke said, her voice softer now, but no less intense. "I’ve had to make choices that have haunted me, just like the one you made at the mountain. And I get it. I understand now, how awful your position must have been. Because you did the best you could for your people with the information you had. What the mountain did, what I did after, that’s not on you but everything tells me that, if it comes to it, you’ll leave me again.“

Clarke started pacing up and down the room, wringing her hands as she did. A nervous habit she hadn’t fallen into in ages, hadn’t let anyone see. It felt much too vulnerable to let Lexa see it now.

„What I’m trying to say, is that… 

I was so angry in the beginning, but I learned to understand because anything you could’ve done that day was wrong. I just cannot stop thinking that you’ll do it again, that you’ll leave me to die because I’m nothing to you. And that’s what I can’t forgive you for, Leksa, not your decision as a leader.“

She didn’t even realize how she used the brunettes real name. But Lexa did, and where her chest clenched painfully and her mind reeling for the message wasn’t lost on her, her heart soared as she heard her name fall over the blondes lips again.

„I gave you everything, Leksa" she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words struck Lexa like a blow. "And you threw it away. I can forgive Heda for leaving Skaikru. But how am I supposed to forgive my soulmate for leaving me?"

The word hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable. Clarke saw the way Lexa flinched, the way her shoulders slumped as if the weight of Clarke's words had finally broken something inside her.

Before she could reassure the blonde that no, she wouldn’t, and Clarke meant so much to her, she got shushed by another look from her former lover. 

„But at the same time, I know, I hope, I’m wrong. In thinking like this. I thought I was over it, mostly, but then I came back and I saw you and I just wanted to embrace you scream at you and make you understand what you fucking did to me.“ Her voice broke towards the end. She took a deep breath, grasped onto her hand, the scar that came back. She had gotten so many scars since then, but none hurt as much as the first one that reappeared.

„And that was unfair to both of us. Because I have a choice here. And I choose to— to, I don’t even know, make you hurt the same? But how stupid is that because you already are, aren’t you? 

I know that Nia send you my hair and I can only imagine what that must’ve done to you and goddamnit I’m sorry, Leksa. I wanted to hate you the past weeks, hide away, but I can’t, and I“, 

Clarkes rambling stopped as she was looking for words. Lexa, whose heartbeat had steadily grown faster during Clarkes monologue, swallowed harshly. 

„You had every right to, Klarke“. The blonde huffed, but Lexa remained undeterred as she stood from her chair, holding Clarkes gaze, though her eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

„You had every right to and I’m so sorry, Klarke," Lexa whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you. I—"

"I know," Clarke cut in, her voice gentler now, the sharp edges of her anger and anguish softening just a little. "I know you didn’t. But you did. And I don’t know how to get past that."

Lexa looked at Clarke, her green eyes filled with regret and something that looked achingly like hope. "What can I do?" she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of everything left unsaid. "How can I make this right?"

"I don’t know," Clarke admitted, her voice small. "I don’t think there’s a quick fix. There’s too much hurt here. Too much… everything." She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. 

„I just know that I don’t want us to be like this. But how am I just supposed to let you in again. You betrayed me, Leksa, how can I just give you the strength and opportunity to use me again?“. 

Lexa didn’t know what to say. Her emotions felt like a rollercoaster. Until a second ago she thought she had fucked up the one good thing that had happened to her. „A part of me desperately wants to forgive and forget. But it’s hard. It’s really hard and I’m not sure I can."

Lexa nodded, understanding in a way that was more painful than anything else. "I don’t want to push you, Klarke. I won’t. But… I want you to know that I’m here. However you need me to be. Even if it’s just as an ally.“ The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Clarke’s heart clenched. It was Lexa, trying to be so careful, so considerate of her feelings that it hurt. But at the same time, Clarke felt the smallest bit of relief—like maybe, just maybe, they could find a way through this.

"Just… give me time," Clarke said, her voice wavering. "I haven’t forgiven you yet. But I don’t want to keep being this angry. I don’t want to keep hurting both of us."

Lexa looked at Clarke with such a mixture of emotions—hope, fear, and something deeper, something that made Clarke’s heart ache in her chest. "I’ll give you all the time you need," Lexa promised, her voice steady. "And I’ll be here, waiting. For as long as it takes."

There was a moment of silence, both of them absorbing the weight of their words, the fragile thread of connection that still held between them.

Finally, Clarke took a deep breath and nodded. "Maybe… maybe we can start by spending some time together. Just… as friends."

And it took all of Lexa’s practice to not let her face split into a wide grin. She nodded instead, her expression softening into something that almost looked like a smile. "I would like that."

The conversation hadn’t resolved everything, but as she looked at Lexa, standing there with that quiet, hopeful look in her eyes, Clarke felt lighter than she had in years.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was a promise.

Chapter Text

When Clarke went to bed that night, she had a hard time getting to sleep. The talk with Lexa hadn't managed to resolve everything, not by a long shot, but Clarke felt lighter than she had in ages. As though the cracks in her soul were finally allowed to smoothen.

The next morning, Clarke woke up pretty early, which sucked, because that meant she got barely any sleep. Regardless, she doubted she'd manage to catch more sleep, so she groggily slipped out of her sheets.

She quickly splashed some water into her face — the running water on the upper floors was a true blessing — before getting changed into her typical attire. Since she had left Azgeda, she had gotten used to the Cargo pants style she had worn on the journey.

Strapping her weapons on herself - several daggers on her waist, two daggers in her boots and the sword from her escape in Azgeda.

A large part of her itched for her old weapons back. She had to remember to ask Roan and Ontari for both her armor and swords. Well, her swords. Her armor had gotten pretty much ruined in the last fights in The Pits after all.

Once done braiding her hair, she left the room to go to the training fields. It was early enough that she'd have the place for herself again, which was something Clarke planned to take full advantage of.    

As expected, the fields were completely empty when Clarke arrived. She inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp morning air that filled her lungs. The solitude of the early hours was something she cherished, a quiet space where she could temporarily set aside everything else.

After taking off her sword, Clarke began her warm-up stretches, easing the tension in her muscles. Once she felt loose, she took off running, her feet pounding rhythmically against the ground. 

With each stride, she picked up speed, the rush of wind in her ears drowning out the noise in her mind. The faster she ran, the lighter she felt, as if she could outrun her fears, her doubts, everything that gnawed at her in the stillness of the night.

She didn’t even realize a smile had crept onto her face until a voice broke through her reverie. 

"Someone is happy."

Clarke snapped out of her musings, slowing down as she spotted Ontari standing by the side of the field, arms crossed with a smirk on her face. 

With a grin, Clarke jogged over to her sibling. "And someone is awake earlier than expected," she retorted, pulling the older girl into a hug.

Ontari wrinkled her nose, though she didn’t resist the embrace. "Ugh, you’re sweaty," she complained, though there was no real heat in her words. "And if I recall correctly, you’re the one who always wants to sleep in."

Clarke shrugged, still smiling as she stepped back. "Can’t help it, some of us want their beauty sleep."

Ontari frowned in mock hurt. "Are you telling me I’m ugly?“ Clarke laughed, nudging her playfully. "I don’t know, I’m not sure what beauty sleep would do for you."

Ontari eyed her, suspicious of the double-edged compliment, but decided to shrug it off. "I was mostly just going to ask if you want to go have breakfast with me since, you know, you’re awake already."

Clarke’s face lit up in delight. "Why, I thought you’d never ask. Though—" she bent down to pick up the sword she’d discarded just a few feet away, "you up for a round first?"

Ontari gave her a playful smirk. "Always."

Their round of sparring quickly turned into two, then three, and before they knew it, the city had woken up, gona of all ages joining them on the training fields for their morning drills. The sound of clashing metal and determined grunts filled the air, a familiar symphony that Clarke found oddly soothing.

"So," Ontari gasped after Clarke had landed her on her ass for the dozenth time that morning, "I think I was promised breakfast."

Clarke grinned, extending a hand to help her up. "And I shall fulfill my promise after a shower."

Ontari sniffed her nose dramatically. "Hmm, yeah, that’s a great idea.“

As Clarke and Ontari were gathering their things to leave the field, Ontari’s gaze snagged on a familiar figure at the edge of the training grounds. Lexa stood quietly off the side, watching the pair with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. 

Ontari’s eyes darted to Clarke, expecting a flare of tension, a stiffening of the shoulders—anything that indicated the usual discomfort that accompanied Lexa’s presence.

But instead, Clarke smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, more a soft curve of her lips, but it was there. Ontari blinked in surprise.

“Hey, ‘Tari?” Clarke’s voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of tension mixed in. “Would you mind waiting for me? I’m just gonna talk to Leksa real quick.”

Ontari’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You—what?” Several weeks had gone by without a single proper conversation between the two, and now Clarke was smiling at Lexa? She could have sworn that hadn’t been the case the previous day. 

When Ontari didn’t move, still processing the sudden shift in Clarke’s demeanor, the blonde raised an eyebrow. “‘Tari? You still with me?”

Ontari shook herself out of her stupor, narrowing her eyes at her sister. "Fine, but you owe me an explanation," she muttered, making the blonde promise before stepping aside.

Clarke hummed noncommittally, already walking toward Lexa, leaving Ontari behind to watch the interaction unfold with growing curiosity. Her movements were rather stiff and controlled but noticeably lighter than they had been in weeks. Clarke left Ontari standing there, a little stunned, as she made her way to the commander.

As for Lexa, her morning had gotten infinitely better when she saw Clark smile at her. (A part of her had tried to convince Lexa that the previous night had simply been a dream).

She had come to the training fields that morning with the intention of checking up on her warriors, to be visible, to be present. But when she saw Clarke sparring with Ontari, everything else faded into the background. 

After weeks (years) without a real conversation — filled with silence and distance, both of them dancing around the chasm that had opened between them — seeing Clarke smile, even slightly, sent a jolt of hope through Lexa, though she tried to temper it with caution.

Technically, Lexa had to check on her warriors, to ensure their morale was high and their skills sharp. But it was Clarke who had captured her attention. The way Clarke moved across the field, her skin glistening under the early morning sun, took Lexa’s breath away. Even with slightly messy braids and sweat dampening her skin, Clarke looked radiant. And strong. Keryon, how strong she looked.

Lexa’s eyes traced the lines of Clarke’s muscles as the blonde casually shoved Ontari, and Lexa’s breath caught in her throat. Arms. Shoulders. Lord have mercy on her soul. 

She could basically see the muscles flexing underneath all those clothes. Would Clarke have abs now? It definitely looked like she might. Her toned arms and chest were clearly visible, and Lexa found herself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to run her hands over Clarke’s body again, to feel the power beneath her skin. She tried to suppress those thoughts, but they were insistent.

She was startled out of her reverie by Clarke’s voice, gentle yet commanding, just as she remembered.

“Hei, Leksa.”

Lexa’s heart skipped a beat as she snapped back to reality, mortified by the possibility that Clarke had caught her staring. 

Please tell me she didn’t see me ogling her. She prayed silently, earning a snicker from Fleimheda, who offered no comfort otherwise. Struggling to regain her composure, Lexa smiled, though it was more nervous than she’d have liked.

“Hei, Klarke. I didn’t expect to see you up so early,” Lexa said, immediately regretting the words. Was that rude? Was Clarke going to be upset?

But Clarke only laughed, a sound that made Lexa’s heart flutter in her chest. Had Clarke always sounded so... angelic? Lexa couldn’t remember anymore.

“I promise I’m not that bad anymore,” Clarke teased, referencing all the times she’d been grumpy at sunrise before the mountain. “As long as you don’t ask Ontari, that is, because she might tell you something else. It’s all lies, of course,” Clarke added with a mocking frown in her sisters direction.

Lexa’s cheeks flushed, her heart doing somersaults in her chest. All she could manage was a dumb nod in response, her usually eloquent words failing her.

They talked for a while longer, their conversation peppered with tentative pauses and awkward silences. Lexa found herself stumbling over her words, her usual confidence crumbling in the face of Clarke’s nearness. 

Every small smile from Clarke sent a thrill of hope through her, but that hope was tempered by the fact that the blonde would be quick to smother any fondness seeping through on Lexa’s part. 

She wondered how much of Clarkes words and behavior were masking her true emotions at the moment, hated that she couldn’t properly read her like she used to. Lexa’s gaze kept flicking away, unable to hold Clarke’s for too long, afraid of what she might see in those blue eyes.

And then there was the matter of the rumors. The whispers that Clarke fought like Rhada Absyl. Lexa didn’t want to believe them, couldn’t believe that her Clarke—no, Clarke, she corrected herself—might have been the one under that mantle. But the doubt lingered in the back of her mind, nagging at her, even as she pushed it aside. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself focus on it. Not now.

Clarke, for her part, was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She was happy to see Lexa, truly, but that happiness was tinged with anxiety and the lingering sting of pain. So her smiles came easily, but they didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her laughter, while genuine, was tinged with a nervous edge.

After a few minutes, Clarke sighed, her internal battle evident in the way she fidgeted with the hilt of her sword. “I should go,” she said reluctantly. “I promised Ontari we’d have breakfast together. I'll see you at the meeting, latest?“ Clarke offered, her tone hopeful yet tinged with a hint of nervousness.

Lexa nodded, trying to mask her disappointment. “Yeah, definitely,” she said, her tone softer. “I’ll be there.”

Lexa frowned internally at her own words. I’ll be there? Obviously, she would be there. She was leading the damned meeting. Clarke’s response was a soft snicker, the sound playful.

“Looking forward to it,” She said, her grin making Lexa’s heart flutter once more. 

„Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join me tomorrow morning for my run?“

Clarke stared at her for a second, seeming hesitant, before a small tender smile graced her features, „Sha, I’d like that. Any specific time? I tend to run at dawn before I train“

„Dawn is great“, Lexa’s heart was thumping within her chest, „Meet you outside the tower?“. Clarke nodded instinctively, „Sounds great. I’ll see you then. Though I really have to leave now, or Tari is going to hurt me“, she shuddered at the thought.

„Of course, enjoy your day, Klarke“, she said, slightly mournful to have to see the blonde leave so soon. Lexa hesitated then, and just as Clarke was about to turn away, she blurted out, “You were really impressive earlier.”

Immediately, she cursed herself. It sounded so inadequate, so clumsy. The Commander of the Thirteen Clans turned into a blundering mess because she doesn’t want to see someone leave. If anyone was listening, they’d probably laugh at her.

But Clarke’s reaction wasn’t laughter. Instead, she turned back to Lexa with an almost shy smile, a hint of color dusting her cheeks. “Mochof, Leksa,” she said, her voice soft, sincere. 

As Clarke turned to rejoin Ontari, Lexa watched her go, a thousand thoughts swirling in her mind—regret, guilt, hope, and that ever-present worry about the future. But for the first time in a long while, that hope felt stronger than the rest.

Clarke reached Ontari, who had been waiting a respectful distance away to give them privacy, a faint smirk on her face.

“Ready to go?” Clarke asked, her voice more subdued now, the conversation with Lexa still lingering in her thoughts.

Ontari raised an eyebrow. “So, ready to tell me what that was about?” Clarke sighed, although not unhappily, running a hand through her hair. “It’s... complicated.” (It really wasn’t).

Ontari gave her a long look before shrugging. “I bet it is. Come on, let’s get that breakfast. You look like you could use it more than me at this point.”

They began walking back toward the tower, Ontari rolling her shoulders as she fell into step beside Clarke. "Are you ready for the ambassadors' meeting?" she asked, her tone casual, but Clarke could hear the underlying concern.

Clarke’s steps faltered just slightly, her smile slipping for the briefest of moments. The meeting—just a week away—was a dark cloud looming on the horizon, one she had been trying her best to ignore. 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t prepared for it, but it was the moment she’d have to stand before the ambassadors and present her case, convincing them to give Nia a trial. If she failed…

"Yeah, I’m ready," Clarke said, forcing her voice to remain steady, even as her heart began to race at the thought. 

Internally, she was anything but. The anxiety that had been lurking beneath the surface reared its head, threatening to overtake her. She knew what she needed to say, had rehearsed it over and over in her mind, but that didn’t stop the fear from creeping in. What if she panicked in the middle of the meeting? What if she froze, or worse, what if she lost control?

Ontari shot her a sideways glance, clearly sensing Clarke’s unease despite her nonchalant answer. "You’re sure?" she pressed gently, her voice softer now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

Clarke swallowed hard, nodding. "I have to be," she replied, her tone firm but lacking conviction. 

Ontari didn’t push further, but she stayed close as they walked, her presence a silent reassurance. Clarke appreciated it more than she could express, even if the anxiety continued to coil tightly in her chest.

As they reached the tower, Ontari clapped Clarke on the shoulder. "Whatever happens, just know you’ve got this. And if you need to kick someone’s ass to make your point, well," she smirked, "I’ll back you up."

Clarke managed a small laugh, though it was strained. „We both know that’s what you’re hoping for, Tari."

Ontari gave her a warm smile and a wink, then turned to head toward her own quarters. Clarke watched her go, taking a deep breath as she tried to push the meeting out of her mind again.

She wasn’t ready—at least, not in the way she wanted to be. So she wouldn’t think about it for the day.

———

The morning was still dark when Clarke descended the stairs of the tower as she made her way outside. She’d gotten used to waking before dawn, to the quiet solitude of the early hours when the world was still asleep, and the only sound was the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. 

It had become her time, a moment of peace in the chaos of life in Polis. Except this morning, she found herself to be anything but at peace, her heart pounding within her chest as though trying to escape.

She reached the foot of the tower, adjusting her gear. As she and Lexa were meeting up simply to run, she had left her sword behind, rather opting for light clothes and knifes that wouldn’t interfere with her movement.

As she left the tower, she froze for a good few seconds. Lexa was standing there, just a few paces away, watching her. Even though their interactions had grown less strained, Clarke still wasn’t quite used to seeing Lexa outside of formal settings or the occasional awkward encounter. She tried to ignore the way it made her heart flutter.

Lexa mustered her, her expression stoic and unreadable until she met Clarkes eyes. Once they did, her posture immediately softened a bit as a smile graced her features. 

“Sonop, Leksa,” Clarke greeted, her voice catching slightly as she spoke. She tried to mask the relief in her tone, but it lingered there, just under the surface. “It’s good to see you.”

Lexa seemed to hesitate, her eyes meeting Clarke’s before glancing away, as if unsure of her welcome. “Sonop” Lexa answered, her voice quieter than usual, tinged with something Clarke couldn’t quite place. “I’m glad to see you, I wasn’t sure—” She trailed off, the uncertainty in her words hanging in the air between them. 

Clarke’s heart skipped a beat, unsure how to react to Lexa’s uncertainty. But after everything, the idea of spending time with Lexa was enough to make her chest tighten as she found herself relieved, almost happy, to have Lexa close again, so she didn’t linger on it.

“Of course I’m here,” Clarke said, forcing herself to sound casual, as if the sight of Lexa standing there didn’t make her head spin in a way she wasn’t ready to examine for the utter confusion of it all. “Now, I believe we were going to run?”

Lexa nodded, gesturing for Clarke to follow, but instead of turning toward the training fields, she glanced at the tree line beyond the city walls. Clarke followed her gaze, finding herself rather confused when Lexa started walking toward the forest instead of the fields.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asked after a short while, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice as she watched Lexa’s retreating form. She had expected Lexa to lead her to the fields, where they could run a few rounds in relative silence, not this detour into the woods.

Lexa paused, turning back to face her, an apologetic look crossing her features. “Moba, Klarke,” she said softly, a slight tension in her posture. “I usually run through the forest. I thought we could run there too today?” Lexa’s voice trailed off, seeming almost embarrassed by her decision, as if she had intruded on Clarke’s space without thinking.

Clarke blinked, processing this new information. Lexa had been running through the forest every morning, alone. It was oddly fitting, and the image of Lexa finding peace in the quiet solitude of the woods was unexpectedly endearing.

“That’s okay,” Clarke replied quickly, her tone softening as she took a step toward Lexa. “We can go that way. I don’t mind.”

Lexa’s eyes flickered with something—relief, maybe, or gratitude. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to disrupt your routine.”

Clarke found herself smiling, just a small curve of her lips, but it was genuine. “I could use a change of scenery,” she said, her voice light, trying to ease the tension that still hung between them. “Lead the way.”

For a moment, Lexa simply looked at her, something unreadable passing across her features. Then, with a small nod, she turned and started off toward the trees in a light jog, glancing back only once to ensure Clarke was following.

As they entered the forest, the — albeit still quiet — sounds of the city quickly faded behind them, replaced by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the gentle rustling of branches overhead. The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground as they ran side by side in a comfortable silence.

Clarke was hyper-aware of Lexa’s presence next to her, the way the other woman’s movements were so fluid, so controlled. Even here, in the quiet solitude of the forest, Lexa moved with exceptional grace, every step deliberate, every breath measured. It was mesmerizing.

They didn’t speak, but Clarke could feel the tension in her chest slowly unwinding, the rhythm of their steps syncing as they ran together. She stole a glance at Lexa, noting the way her features softened in the natural light, the usual stoic mask slipping just enough for Clarke to catch a glimpse of vulnerability beneath.

As they continued through the forest, Clarke noticed how Lexa kept a careful distance, close enough to be by her side, but not so close as to crowd her. It was as if Lexa was afraid to push too far, to do anything that might break the fragile peace they were trying to forge. 

Clarke appreciated the subtlety of the gesture, the way Lexa seemed to understand her need for space, even as she offered her company.

Lexa’s gaze flicked toward Clarke every so often, just a quick glance before she looked away again, as if checking to see if Clarke was still there, still running beside her. 

(And a part of Clarke hated that she could see the concern in those glances, the guilt that still lingered in Lexa’s eyes, yet she cherished how she also found something else—something that looked a lot like hope).

When they finally slowed to a stop, both of them breathing a little heavier from the run, Clarke turned to Lexa, her expression softening as she saw the slight sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. Lexa met her gaze with a bright smile.

“Mochof,” Clarke said quietly, the words surprising even herself. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was thanking Lexa for—the run, the company, or the unspoken understanding that had passed between them—but she felt the need to say it all the same.

Lexa looked at her, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Any time, Klarke,” she replied, her voice just as soft, just as filled with unspoken meaning.

They stood there for a moment longer, the silence between them thankfully no longer awkward or tense, before slowly heading back into the city.

„Hey, I— I had a really good time, Leksa“, she smiled abashedly at the slightly taller brunette, whose face had taken on an endearing blush when Clarke had said that, „if you have time, do you want to maybe do that again tomorrow?“

The way Lexas face lit up was worth any teasing Clarke would receive from her siblings and friends when they found out about it, „Sha, Klarke, I’d like that“

———

The walk to the tattoo parlor was brisk, the streets of Polis bustling, the afternoon sun shining above. Clarke was incredibly glad to know the way, as her mind churned with unease, leaving her unable to quite focus on the path. 

Raven and Octavia had insisted on coming with her, and while she appreciated their support, the prospect of them seeing what lay hidden beneath her clothes made her stomach twist.

As they approached the parlor, Clarke’s steps slowed. Octavia noticed and furrowed her brow in concern. "Clarke, if this is too much, we can leave," she offered gently.

The blonde let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "No, it’s okay," she replied, though her voice wavered. "It’s just…"

Raven gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You call the shots, princess," she said softly, her dark eyes full of understanding. Clarke managed a small smile. "Thanks. And you can stay, just… only if you’re comfortable."

The parlor was small and familiar, the scent of ink and antiseptic lingering in the air. The artist, a middle-aged man with ink-stained hands and a focused expression, looked up as they entered. His face brightened when he saw Clarke. "Sonop, Wanheda," he greeted, his accent thick but warm. "Back so soon?"

"Sonop," Clarke replied, returning his smile. She appreciated that he didn’t treat her differently, despite who she was. She had met him within her first week in Polis, back when the idea of getting another tattoo had been more about regaining a sense of control than anything else. 

She had admired his work, leading them to have a conversation. At some point he’d asked about tattoos, leading her to show him the wolves on her shoulders. He’d been fascinated when he learned she had drawn them herself. Since then, she had sketched a few designs for him, a small favor she was happy to offer in exchange for him giving her new motifs to draw every time she came by.

The man’s gaze softened, likely noting the tension in her posture. "What can I do for you today? I imagine you’re not looking for something new to draw?“

Clarke shifted uncomfortably, aware of Raven and Octavia standing just behind her. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. „I’d like you to add the marks," she said, grateful she wouldn’t have to explain more, as they’d already spoken about that particular tattoo. "Forty-three, to be exact."

There was a pause, a heavy silence as the words settled. Forty-three more lives added to the burden she already carried. Raven and Octavia exchanged a glance, their expressions darkening with concern. They remembered the bright-eyed girl who had once stood among them, the girl who now bore the weight of so many deaths.

The artist, to his credit, simply nodded, his gaze sympathetic. "Sha, I can do that. Come, lie down over here."

Clarke hesitated as he gestured toward a bunk at the back of the room. She knew what was coming next. Removing her pants would reveal the scars that crisscrossed her legs, and the kill-marks etched into her skin—marks she had kept hidden from everyone except those who had been with her in Azgeda. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of shame and dread swirling within her.

Octavia noticed Clarke’s hesitation and frowned slightly. She nudged Raven, ready to suggest they leave, but Clarke shook her head before she could speak.

"No," Clarke said, her voice firm though her hands trembled. "It’s fine.“ For a moments she wondered why she was torturing herself like this.

Her friends exchanged another glance, their worry evident. But they didn’t argue, instead stepping back slightly to give Clarke some space. 

Clarke took a deep breath and began to undress. The fabric of her pants slid down, exposing the jagged scars that marred her skin—some old and faded, others newer, still red and angry. The kill-marks were there too, stark and unyielding. She thought they looked much more terrifying that any of the scars on display.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. Clarke could feel her friends’ eyes on her, could almost taste their horror and sadness. But she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet their eyes, unwilling to see the pity she feared she might find. Terrified it was disgust she’d have to face.

The artist returned with his tools, his expression unchanged. He had seen the marks before, but he knew better than to comment. Instead, he simply gestured for Clarke to lie down, his touch gentle as he positioned her leg.

The first prick of the needle made Clarke wince. Not because of the physical pain, she was much too used to that by now, but rather because of what each tally meant. She forced herself to stay still, to breathe through it. 

It was painful in a way she hadn’t experienced before. Back in Azgeda, the marks had caused her to feel guilty as she got them. But it was fine, because she was honoring the victims with a spot on her skin. This time, she wasn’t doing that.

She had lost count of how many tally marks she would’ve had to add. Too many had fallen to her blade in the months she had spent on the run, and she hadn’t allowed herself to count. To be fair, she wasn’t even sure if she could’ve kept count properly. 

The forty-three marks she was adding today were only the ones that haunted her most—the lives taken in that final battle in Azgeda before they’d had to abandon the rest.

Raven and Octavia stood quietly by, their eyes wide as they took in the extent of Clarke’s scars and the tally marks. Octavia’s fists clenched at her sides, her face a mask of barely-contained rage and sorrow, where Raven’s expression was one of shock, her mouth set in a thin line as she struggled to process what she was seeing.

Neither dared to comment on it.

When the artist finished, Clarke finally allowed herself to look up, her eyes meeting Raven’s and Octavia’s. Their expressions cut her to the bone, but she forced herself to hold their gazes.

Raven was the first to speak, her voice rough with emotion. "Clarke..." The blonde in question shook her head, cutting her off. "Don’t," she said, her voice cracking. "I don’t want to talk about it.“ A lie and they all knew it.

Octavia bit her lip, her brows furrowing in concern. "Maybe you should, Clarke."

Clarke sighed, feeling the buried emotions she had been fighting to keep down threatening to boil over. She knew they were right; they cared about her, and she could see how much it hurt them to watch her struggle. But the thought of revisiting those moments, of dragging them into the light, filled her with a dread she couldn’t put into words.

"I know," she finally admitted, her voice trembling with the effort to keep her emotions in check. "I just… I can’t. Not yet. Not here.“ A part of her hoped they would push.

Because even as she said it, Clarke could feel the tightness in her chest, the way it was becoming harder and harder to keep everything inside.

Her friends seemed to share a silent conversation, before they pulled her up, clearly signaling their movements. „Not here then. Lincolns temporary flat is nearby and I have a key, how about we go there?“

Clarke didn’t argue as they left the tattoo parlor with a quick goodbye, though she remained mostly silent and lost in thought as they went towards Lincolns flat. She tried desperately to keep up her mask, not to cry.

Still, her thoughts were haunting. Of the nightmares that had been relentless, clawing at the edges of her mind, and she was barely holding it together. The thought of reliving those horrors, of putting them into words, was terrifying. 

(But even more terrifying was the idea of facing the ambassadors in the days to come, without ever having talked about it with anyone who wasn’t there.)

Once inside, she let herself be pushed onto a couch. Raven’s softened gaze met hers. "You can’t keep bottling this up, Griff. It’s eating you alive."

The blonde closed her eyes, a tear slipping free before she could stop it. It was like trying to hold back the tide with a dam that was slowly cracking. The pressure was building, and she didn’t want to keep it at bay.

"I don’t know how to talk about it," She admitted, her voice breaking under the weight of her words. She hated how weak she sounded, how vulnerable. But it was the truth. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that room, the smell of blood and burning flesh consuming her senses, or she’d be back in the Pit, or back on the run, where the sound screams would ring in her ears, the smell of smoke thick in her nose. 

How do you explain something like that to the people you love?

Raven and Octavia exchanged a look. Then, they both moved closer, not pushing, but just being there. Clarke felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, though it was tinged with guilt. 

(Felt like she didn’t deserve their kindness, their understanding, not after everything she had done. But they were here, and she couldn’t deny that it brought her some comfort, some small measure of relief.)

„You just have to start," Octavia said softly, her voice full of quiet strength. „and whatever you say, I promise we’ll listen.“

It sounded much easier than it actually was. 

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. But as she looked at them, saw the worry and the love in their eyes, something inside her shifted. It wasn’t much, just a small crack in the wall she had built around herself, but it was enough.

"I..." Clarke began, her voice wavering. She swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. Where would she even start? What would she even be ready to tell them about?

"I was on my way to Niylah when I was captured, a few months after the mountain. I remember running and getting hit by arrows. Everything went dark after that, and when I woke up... They took me to Azgeda, obviously. Tari made the travel kind of bearable, as much as she could, but well. I barely..." Her voice trailed off, the memory too raw, too painful to fully articulate.

Raven’s hand tightened around hers, grounding her, and Octavia’s presence on her other side was a steadying force. It gave her the courage to say what she needed to, even if it was just a small piece of the truth.

"I thought I was going to die," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And a part of me... a part of me almost wanted to. It would’ve been easier than... than facing all of this again."

The sense of relief washing over her was strange, like a weight had been lifted from her chest. Yet the admission hung heavy in the air. It was somehow worse than anything else that had happened. The fact that, had it not been for Wanheda and then Niylah and her siblings, she would not have survived he mountain.

„For a long time I wasn’t sure if I regretted surviving or not. But Roan and Tari, and later Asa, they were brilliant, you know? Helped me more than they’ll ever be able to comprehend. With the questioning and the Pits, they were my anchor“.

She stopped talking, unsure what to say.

Thankfully, Raven and Octavia didn’t push her for more, didn’t press her for details. They simply held on, letting her know that they were there, that they would be there when she was ready to say more. Clarke’s heart ached.

As the moments stretched on, Clarke realized that opening up, even just a little, had taken the edge off her fear. The living nightmares still lurked at the corners of her mind, and the guilt still gnawed at her insides, but she had taken a step, however small, towards healing.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Clarke was completely and utterly exhausted, though going by the wide grin on her face, no-one would be able to tell.

Over the past week, her and Lexa’s morning run had turned into a routine, the brunette always waiting for her just at the foot of the tower so they could go running together in the forest.

And if there was one thing Clarke had learned, it was that Lexa had held back tremendously the first time, likely to gauge how much of an effect Wanheda had on her ability to run.

Now, knowing she could push, both of them took joy in trying to outrun the other, trees and bushes blurring as they raced by in a way no other could even begin to compare. It was exhilarating.

But even more so, and Clarke was not too afraid to admit that (she was, she’d absolutely been trying to ignore it), was the change in their interactions. Where before, they had been careful at best, they had learned to be a lot more comfortable around each other again.

It probably helped that running didn’t include a lot of talking, and the rush afterwards made it incredibly hard to overthink their words. Which was exactly what lead to their conversation just outside the training fields where Clarke would meet up with Anya and Octavia.

"Would you like to have dinner with me? Tonight?" Lexa blurted out, eyes shining hopefully.

Clarke's own face involuntarily lit up with a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. "I'd love that".

"Great," Lexa answered, relief flooding through her. "You could come to my room around dusk?"

Later, she would realize what she had proposed Would wonder if it was too personal, too soon, too romantic of a setting. But in that moment, Clarkes smile widened, and there wasn’t a single ounce of regret within the brunette.

“Sounds perfect, I'll see you then?"

"Yeah, see you tonight.“

When Clarke arrived at Lexa's quarters that evening, her heart was fluttering in her chest. She had spent too long deciding on an outfit and then, when the sun had started setting, she felt a little rushed. 

As she approached the doors, her palms began to sweat, and she wiped them discreetly on her dress. 

It’s just dinner with Lexa, relax. She told herself, taking a steadying breath. Yeah, dinner with Lexa that’s kind of the point.

She told the voice to shut up, before knocking on the door.

It took barely three seconds for it to open, and Clarke's breath caught in her throat. Lexa stood before her, lit by the soft glow of the evening sun, and she looked utterly breathtaking. 

Clarke's eyes widened at the sight of her, and Lexa's heart skipped a beat in response. Had Clarkes skin always glowed like that? Had she always had such captivating eyes? Had she always looked like an ancient goddess? 

The more Lexa took her in, the less she seemed to be able to speak. Clarke was wearing a blue-golden long-sleeved dress that complimented her so well, that—

A small cough pulled Lexa out of her thoughts and she blushed as she realized she had been staring at the blonde (Not that Clarke could say anything as she had done the exact same, just with slightly more decorum. Ish).

Regaining her ability to think, Lexa gave her guest a tender smile. „I’m glad you could make it“, she said, opening the door wider to give Clarke the space to enter. „Thank you for the invite“, Clarke replied in kind.

The room was cozy, with a comfortable couch and a table positioned by the window, offering a spectacular view of the bustling marketplace and the training fields beyond. 

When Lexa turned to Clarke after closing the door, she found her captivated by the view below. A small smile graced her features. Had she ever seen Clarke so relaxed? She wasn’t sure, but she hadn’t expected to be allowed to see it ever again.

She quietly slit up to the blonde, following her gaze. „It’s beautiful isn’t it?“ Clarke nodded. „If I had this view, I don’t think I’d ever leave Polis“, she breathed. „Don’t you have a similar view from your room?“

„Well, yeah“, Clarke shrugged, eyes still fixed on the scenery below, „But I haven’t really had time to appreciate it yet“.

Lexas answer was interrupted by a knock on the door. „That’ll be the food“, she said, calling for the servants to enter.

They moved quietly about, their footsteps soft on the stone floors as they set out platters of delicious-smelling food. 

Clarke's eyes widened further at the sight of the spread, and she felt a smile spread across her face. Lexa noticed her reaction and gestured for her to take a seat, enjoying the way Clarke's eyes sparkled with appreciation. 

„I hope you’ll like it“, Lexa said once the servants had left again. She had chosen the food based on what she remembered from before the mountain.

„I’ve never had deer!“
Clarke had exclaimed one of those evenings, taking a big bite out of the tender meat, joy filling her eyes. Lexa had laughed when some juice dribbled down Clarkes chin.

„If you think the deer here is good, you should try the one our cooks in Polis prepare“, she had answered, „it’s served with fresh vegetables and this wickedly good sauce, which is so much better than anything I’ve ever eaten at any temporal camp“

Clarke had grinned at her „You’ll have to treat me to some then“ Lexa had smiled. „It’ll be the first dinner we’ll have“

Clarke, thinking of the same conversation, smiled at the brunette. You remembered. „If it’s anything like you promised, I’ll love it, Leksa“

Clarke sat across from Lexa, the space between them filled with the hum of casual conversation. As the evening unfolded, any remnants of formality slipped away. Clarke had been tense at first, still unsure of her footing in this new dynamic with Lexa in this setting.

The conversation flowed remarkably easy though, filled with almost easy banter and genuine curiosity. They discussed the daily happenings in Polis, the latest trades, and rumors that had circulated throughout the city, Clarke's impressions of the city. Lexa found herself completely engrossed in Clarke's every word, her nervousness from earlier forgotten. 

“So, what do you think of Polis now that you’ve been here a while?” Lexa had asked at some point, which was how their conversation had turned to the point it was at right now.

“It’s more than I expected,” Clarke admitted, pondering over her words. “It’s like a living thing, you know? The people, the culture, the way everything intertwines. It’s fascinating. I don’t know, it’s really different to the arc. Even to what I saw from Absol, or, well, any Azgedan village I visited after.”

It must’ve been the first time she voluntarily mentioned Azgeda, not that Clarke actually realized she had. Lexa’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I’m glad you see it that way. Polis is the heart of our people, but it can be overwhelming when you see it for the first time.”

“It definitely was at first,” Clarke confessed, her tone softening. “But now it feels less like a place I’m just visiting. It’s starting to feel more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Like somewhere I could belong.”

More home than the arc or the drop ship ever had. Not that she would say that out loud.

Lexa’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Clarke thought she saw a flicker longing in those green eyes, causing her heart to beat just a little faster. “I’m really glad for that, Klarke.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, only the crackling of the fire and the soft clink of utensils filling the space. Clarke found herself relaxing more with each passing minute, the tension in her shoulders easing as the evening progressed. 

It scared her, in parts, how Lexa still had a way of making her feel at ease, something that had been rare in the months since everything had changed.

“So,” Clarke refused to focus on her fears, rather breaking the silence with a grin, “Tell me something.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, though her smile widened, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Well, there’s the fact that Anya seems to be thinking about properly asking out Raven.”

Clarke laughed, the sound light and genuine. “She does? I didn’t think they’d ever get it together. Good for them.”

Lexa chuckled softly, clearly enjoying Clarke’s reaction. “If you believe it. You know, as fierce of a warrior as Anya is, I wouldn’t bet on her saying anything within the next few months”.

“I suppose that’s true,” Clarke agreed, still smiling. “But we need something to believe in, and I need Raven to stop whining about Anya and how Anya is never going to like her like that. It’s driving me insane.”

„Hmm, Anya is the same“, Lexa hummed wistfully, her eyes suddenly clouded, „but I think they’re lucky, don’t you?“

„Why?“

„Well, it’s not actually a question if they like each other. Everybody knows that once one of them is brave enough to ask, the other will immediately reciprocate. And I think both of them know it too. I just think it’s really lucky to have that certainty, that when you’re ready, the one you love will be as well“.

There was a sincerity in Lexa’s voice that tugged at her heart, a truth that reminded her too much of them, yet not enough. Clarke reached across the table, her fingers brushing against the older woman’s hand in silent comfort. The touch was brief, but it conveyed what Clarke couldn’t quite put into words (conveyed too much, yet too little, never enough).

Lexa looked up, her eyes meeting Clarke’s with a mix of emotions she didn’t dare read. (Hope, adoration, guilt, love; it made Clarke’s breath catch). 

The moment lingered between them, the air thick with unspoken emotion. It was a line they hadn’t crossed the week prior, gentle touches or hints of what used to be that is, and that line was becoming increasingly blurred. Clarke pulled her hand back, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to focus on the conversation again. 

She didn’t know if it was anxiety or relief that coursed through her veins.

“Have you ever thought about getting more tattoos?” she said, trying to steer them back to safer territory. “I found the parlor by Al’s pastries is amazing.”

Lexa’s expression shifted, the warmth in her gaze tempered by the return of her more familiar composure. „Not right now. But I know the artist, Cameron. I didn’t know you got any tattoos here?“.

She left the statement as an open question, following Clarke’s lead to change the topic. „Not a new one, no. I met him because I thought about it, and I’ve been drawing some designs for him since“.

Lexa’s eyes widened a bit, not knowing quite how to react to the admission that Clarke had tattoos. Though asking about them would lead them into uncharted territory again, so she didn’t. „I imagine he’s thrilled about that. You always have been an awfully talented artist“.

As the evening progressed, their conversation steered back into it’s original rhythm. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft orange glow on the room, they were long back to their joking banter. 

The servants discreetly cleared the table and left them to their evening, with only the flickering candlelight lighting the room. Neither of two women had taken any note of them.

When they finally stood to leave, Clarke felt a pang of reluctance, a desire to linger just a little longer. But the night was late, and they both had duties to attend to in the morning.

“Mochof, Leksa,” Clarke said as they walked to the door. “I really enjoyed myself tonight.”

Lexa smiled, a genuine, open smile that Clarke hadn’t seen in what felt like a long time before that evening. “Me too. We should do it again soon.”

Clarke nodded, her heart lighter than it had been in months. “I’d like that.”

As they parted ways, Clarke couldn’t help but glance back at Lexa one last time. She stood in the doorway, watching her with an expression that made Clarke’s pulse quicken. It promised that there was still something there, and Clarke couldn’t for the life of her figure out if she truly wanted it.

"How close are we to finding more evidence?" Lexa’s voice was steady, but Clarke could hear the underlying urgency, the same fear that gnawed at her own heart.

They were sitting in a dimly lit room, the soft glow of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. It was their last meeting before Clarke would present their case to the ambassadors the next day, and everybody was keenly aware of the lingering tension of simply not having enough concrete evidence to go off on. 

Which, while it wasn’t technically a problem for the next day, could quickly turn into one for the actual trial.

"Scouts have been sent to Azgeda territories. If any evidence or allies survived the battle, we should hear from them within the week." Anya replied with a court nod, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. "But there's no guarantee they’ll return in time. That is, if there’s anything or anyone left.“

Clarke felt a wave of guilt crash over her. She hadn’t voiced it aloud, but the possibility that her Azgedan friends hadn’t survived still haunted her. She had been the one to leave them behind, and now, if they were gone… she pushed the thought away, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in that spiral, not now.

„Yeah, well, we need that evidence," Ontari added, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension. „If we cannot prove that we have concrete evidence, the ambassadors may vote against the trial. Or they might vote for Nia’s innocence at the end of the trial, and if that happens…“

The unspoken threat hung in the air. Clarke knew all too well what would happen if Nia was found innocent. She could possibly have to face a conclave as the one who called for the trial, a fight where she would be pitted against the warriors of the nations that voted against the trial. 

The thought made her stomach churn. She was clearly no stranger to battle, but the idea of fighting in a conclave where she was not allowed to tap into her powers, especially with the deck stacked against her, was terrifying.

Abby, who had been sitting quietly near the end of the table, send a wavering look towards Clarke. „Isn’t there another piece of evidence." Her voice was hesitant, and Clarke’s heart sank as she realized what she was about to say. She had known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.

"Rhada Absyl," she continued, glancing at Clarke with a mixture of concern and determination. „At least, that’s what the warriors I’ve been treating in the clinic have been talking about. They’re saying that Clarke fights like Rhada Absyl."

There was a pause, a beat of silence where the words seemed to crush the air out of the room. Clarke felt the eyes of everyone on her, the unspoken question hanging in the air. If she had truly fought in the pits under that name, had truly done things that still haunted her dreams. 

And she wanted to deny it, didn’t want there judgement, nor their concern. Hated how it was all coming back to the surface now.

Roan and Ontari shifted slightly, both of them clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. They had seen her in those pits, had watched her fight and bleed and survive. They knew better than anyone what she had gone through, and they wanted desperately to shield her from having to relive it.

Except they couldn’t say anything, because Abby was right. As far as evidence went, it was the best one they had. And further more something that was bound to come out.

Even Clarke knew she couldn’t avoid it. So she straightened, forcing herself to meet Lexa’s gaze (Ignoring the others for the moment, ignoring her still churning emotions about Lexa and simply letting green eyes soothe her stirring terror). 

"It’s true," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside her. "I fought in the pits under the name Rhada Absyl and we have evidence we can use in the trial“.

Lexa’s expression didn’t change, but Clarke could see the subtle tension in her posture, the way her hands clenched just slightly at her sides. She was trying to keep her emotions in check, but Clarke knew her well enough to see the pain that flickered in her eyes. It was a pain that mirrored her own.

Anya was the first to speak, knowing very well that neither Clarke nor Lexa would truly be able to. "What kind of evidence are we talking about?"

"We brought Clarke’s—Rhada Absyl’s—armor and weapons. They’re distinctive, anyone who’s seen her fight would recognize it. And since we can easily prove that the blood on the armor is Clarke, it’s… damning evidence if we present it."

Clarke’s chest tightened as she thought of that armor, those weapons. She missed them, even though at times she wasn’t sure what to think about them.

They had been her tools of survival in the pits, but they were also a reminder of everything she had lost, everything she had been forced to become. She had fought like a demon, like a monster, because it was the only way to survive. But much more importantly, they were her siblings gift to her. As horrible as the memories connected to them could be, she couldn’t truly hate the tools.

She ignored it for now, focusing on the current situation instead.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze never leaving Clarke’s. "Will you be able to speak to this, Klarke?" Her voice was measured, but Clarke could hear the concern beneath it. Lexa was asking if she could handle it, if she could stand before the ambassadors and reveal this part of herself.

It was kind as it was superfluous, because wether she could or couldn’t, she would have to if they wanted to win the trial.

Still, she hesitated, the question pressing down on her. Because she desperately didn’t want to relive those memories, not while awake when she already had to live through them every single night. 

And selfishly, she didn’t want to expose that part of herself to the scrutiny of the ambassadors. Except she didn’t actually have a choice, so her hesitation truly didn’t matter here. If they were going to have any chance of convicting Nia, she would have to face this, no matter how much it hurt.

„I can" Clarke replied, her voice firm. She saw Lexa’s eyes soften slightly, a flicker of something that looked almost like pride, but it was gone before she could be sure.

Anya gave a curt nod, her tone still brisk. „You've prepared a statement for tomorrow? Something that explains Nia’s crimes in a way that the ambassadors will understand?"

„I did, yes“, she nodded, sharing a glance with her siblings. Writing the statement had been, well, awful and she wasn’t sure if she actually would’ve finished it by now if it hadn’t been for her sibling’s and Asa’s help with it.

It felt pathetic, in a way. As though writing it shouldn’t have affected her, especially considering that this first one wouldn’t even delve into her own experiences.

Roan, Asa and Ontari exchanged a glance, their concern for Clarke evident in their expressions. "We helped," Asa said, her voice surprisingly gentle, „I’m not too worried about the outcome of the vote tomorrow“. Clarke looked at her, appreciating the support before anyone else could ask more.

"There’s one more thing we need to discuss though“, Clarke quickly changed the topic, „what do we do about Skaikru?“

Even Abby grimaced at the question. A subtle but surprising shift Clarke had begun to take note of, though she refused to put too much thought into it just yet.

„The news of Clarkes return reached Arcadia almost immediately. Even before then, Pike and his followers were causing problems. They’ve apparently gotten a lot worse since they heard that Clarke is back and not imprisoned. They’re questioning why she’s allowed to remain free, and it’s causing unrest.“ 

Clarke listened tensely while Abby spoke. Raven and Octavia had brought the matter to her attention a week after her return, and she’d been kept up to date since then. Had been told of small riots and arguments, but also about alarming attitudes concerning grounder-culture. She desperately hoped Pike wouldn’t do anything stupid. If he, if Skaikru, did something idiotic, it could jeopardize the entire trial.

"I’m going back to Arcadia tonight," Abby finally told them, her voice sounding almost as defeated as she looked,  "I’ll try to talk some sense into them, but…"

Her voice trailed off, the unspoken doubt heavy in the air. Clarke looked at her mother, seeing the conflict in her eyes. Abby had always been a voice of reason, but now she seemed uncertain, torn between her duty to her people and morals, and the need to support her daughter.

Clarke swallowed, the tension between her and her mother still leaving her aching. Wondering if they could ever reconcile, especially now that Pike’s influence was growing and Abby might have to decide. It felt like they were on opposite sides of a widening chasm.

She ignored that too.

"I’ll do what I can to keep them in line," Abby finally said, her gaze flickering away from Clarke, "But if they push too hard, I have no idea what could or couldn’t happen."

Lexa’s expression remained impassive, though Clarke could see the gears turning in her mind. She was calculating the risks, weighing the options. „I’m sure you’ll handle it," Lexa said finally, her voice firm. "Skaikru must understand that this trial is bigger than any one clan. And if not, we’ll find a way to deal with it then."

Clarke was certain she was already making plans for it. For the rest of the meeting, Clarke remained mostly quiet, stuck in her own mind. 

Once it finally drew to a close, Lexa approached her while the others began to file out of the room, her expression guarded, but her eyes soft with concern. "Klarke," she said quietly, her voice just for her, „if there’s anything you need“

Clarke nodded, unsure what to say. "I know," she replied, meeting Lexa’s gaze with a steady one of her own. „Mochof, Leksa"

They stood there for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between them. There was so much Lexa wanted to say, so many emotions that she couldn’t afford to voice right now (ever).

„Abi is waiting for you outside“, Lexa finally broke the silence, withdrawing with a soft sigh. „I know“, the blonde replied, her gaze hesitantly flickering towards the door. „I’ll tell her to come inside then“, Lexa left the room with one last lingering look.

„I didn’t know you were going to leave tonight“. Looking at her mother, Clarke wasn’t entirely sure what to think. „I only decided I would after speaking with Marcus this morning“, she said carefully as she took her daughter in. Pursed lips, squared shoulders and crossed arms, yet she somehow still hunched over.

Abby’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at her. „Clarke, listen. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I don’t want to leave Polis like this.“ 

Clarke tried to swallow down her mounting hope, unwilling to go there before her mother explained. Truly came through and apologized for the things she’d said. 

„I thought a lot about what you said. But it’s really hard, you know? I just— I want you to know that I’ll do my best to support you in this. With the trial and also with our people“.

The words were tentative, almost fragile, but they were enough to make Clarke’s throat tighten. For the moment, she ignored that they weren’t her people anymore. The delinquents were, not Skaikru.

„Even if I refuse to be judged by the exodus charter?“, she asked instead of pointing that out, because on the grander scheme it felt like their smallest conflict. „Clarke…“ 

„No, mom, I’m serious, please. Are you saying this because you don’t want to feel guilty before you go back or because you mean it? If I don’t face Skaikru judgement for the mountain, will you still support me? And at the trial, if you learn the details of what I did to survive, will you stand by my side? And when Nia dies, because whether that’s how the trial goes or not, I will ensure she does, will you choose me or will you choose to cling to your morals?“

Abby shook her head, looking stricken, „I don’t know. You know I don’t share your… opinions, Clarke. Not about what happened, not about this kind of execution or, even worse, murdering Nia“.

„Then why are you here? Haven’t I made it clear that, if you want a relationship, you need to accept who I’ve become? If you cannot stand by my side, you haven’t done that“, Clarke felt sick, hated that, even though she’d tried to suppress her hope at it’s core, it still felt crushed.

Abbys expression turned sour, before contorting into a guilty grimace, so quickly that Clarke could almost think she only imagined the displeasure.

„But that’s what I was trying to say, Clarke“, she sighed, „a part of me understands the executions. Not their brutality, but the results. And another, a darker part of me, does want Nia to die painfully because she hurt you. I’m just trying not to let that part win“.

„Why?“, Clarke frowned then, honestly curious about it. Because if she held the same morals as her mother — which she admittedly had when they first arrived — she still couldn’t see herself surprise that urge. Not if it was Nia.

(But maybe that was only because Abby not wanting Nia to have a painful execution stung. Shouldn't Abby - her mother, who was supposed to protect her - want to give into the urge to hurt those that hurt her daughter?)

„Because then I’d be acting like them, like- like a grounder, making decisions to torture people to death completely disregarding anything I learned growing up. What I taught you growing up" 

Clarke's jaw tightened, and her hands clenched into fists. What I learned is that the slightest crime deserves a death sentence.  

Instead of saying that, she took a deep breath, trying to get her mother to understand. "She killed so many people, mom. Tortured them, let them starve. Innocent people. I know you don’t think I’m innocent, and you’re right about that, but a lot of the people Nia hurt were.“    

Abby's face fell, and she shook her head, „I know that, Clarke, I—„, she ran her hands over her face, „god, this isn’t how I wanted this to go“.

The words almost made Clarke feel guilty, because she knew that, this time, she’d been the one to push the issue. But she’d meant what she’d said before, if her mother couldn’t accept her, all of her, she couldn’t just keep coming back to her. And if the execution was a problem already, what would she think of the rest?

„Back when we landed, I thought like you“, Clarke met her mothers gaze. She wasn’t quite sure why she explained, though she desperately hoped her mother would listen. 

„I thought that everything would be peaceful and perfect once we just settled. And then the fog came, and the attack at the drop ship happened, and then the mountain had to be dealt with, and then Azgeda happened and I… it’s impossible for me to hold onto those morals like you seem to.

What I need you to understand, is this; You told me I lost myself in all of this, but you’re wrong. 

You seem to think I support violence because I want to belong to every part of our culture. But that's not why I do, mom. The truth is, I still want peace, and happiness, and love and laughter. I want everyone to live without being afraid of being attacked, or being afraid to run out of rations, or being afraid that a simply crime could get them killed.

That’s the reason I am like this. I haven’t lost myself, mom. I haven’t lost my morals either, I simply learned to adapt. You say our ways are cruel, but was the arc better? Here it is only the guilty who die by execution. Any other crime is punished proportionally, unlike before.

I understand that you struggle to wrap your head around this. I understand you see me as a murderer, maybe as a monster. Keryon knows you’ve said that much. But I need you to understand that I am not lost because my morals have changed. You might think me cruel for it, but I learned it to be just.

I’m Wanheda, mom. The commander of death, though it fits much more to say the commander of the circle of life. That means I cherish life and protect it, just as I deal with anything that threatens it.

If you cannot accept death and pain as a part of that, if you cannot accept me defending those who are innocent with all I have because you see it as cruel, then you cannot ever understand me. I am not a child anymore, Mom“. 

Clarke did her best to ignore the voices in her head screaming at her that she was cruel, cowardly, a monster. If she wasn’t, she would’ve found a better way at the mountain, or she would’ve found a way to escape the pits, or she wouldn’t have run away in Azgeda. But, like all distracting thoughts, she balled those up and buried them deep within as she focused on her mother. 

"I've had to grow up and make difficult decisions to keep me and my people alive. The ground has changed me, yes, but it hasn’t made me loose myself. You need to accept that this, this is me.“  

Abby's expression softened, and she reached out to take Clarke's hand. Throughout the speech, her expression had gone from stricken, to desperate, to something aching to understanding. Now it lingered on concern though, as though suppressing the part of Clarkes words that seemed to have made it through. „Is it worth it though? Is this truly who you are?" 

Clarke's lips pursed. „It is. And I am, mom. I am someone who can kill few to safe many and I'm someone who can stand by while someone gets executed for their crimes and I'm someone who can kill that person herself. I'm Wanheda, saving innocent people and bringing death to the guilty ones, it's literally a part of my spirit. But while I had to learn to be ruthless to those who endanger us, that doesn't mean I'm a bad person"

A part of her disagreed. She ignored it. „And yes, maybe that means I’m not your little girl anymore. Frankly I think I haven’t been in a long time. But I can still be your daughter.“

Abby seemed apprehensive, not so much at the words, but at the unsaid request. Her expression wavered, before settling on a conflicted frown. „I know, Clarke. And I’m trying. I promise I’m trying to understand. But it’s— it’s really hard“.

As much as she wanted to, Clarke was unable to ignore the earnest regret in her mothers eyes, not could she overlook the unshed tears, or the way her mother seemed hunched over as though tons upon tons of weight were crushing her.

„I don’t need you to support every decision I make. I also don’t need you to share my opinions or morals. What I do need is for you to understand them and support me.“

Abby swallowed harshly, „I understand. I had hoped— well. I cannot say I support all you do, I think that’s obvious. But I do need you to know that I love you. And what I was trying to say earlier was, well— we had our arguments, our differences. And I understand I said a lot of… things. But I still want you to know that I love you, Clarke. You’re my daughter, you always will be. I just — there’s a lot to work through“.

Clarke nodded slowly, not quite knowing what to do with the slowly quelling relief within, because she didn’t remember the last time her mother had earnestly told her she loved her without using it as a way to guilt-trip or insult her. 

„Are you willing to? I mean, you’re leaving, so you’ll have lots of time to think about it. Are you willing to do that?“ She hoped she would. Was terrified she wouldn’t and listen to Pike instead.

But as their eyes met, Abby nodded. Hesitantly, almost not noticeable. „You’ve given me more to think about at least“.

Her relationship with her mother had been strained for so long, she thought this might as well be the closest her mother had gotten to truly listening to her.

"Thank you," she replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t much by any means, but it was a start. She truly hoped her mother would come through

Abby watched as Clarke left the room, wondering if there was any way to truly fix what seemed irreparably broken. She sighed. Tonight, she'd leave for Arcadia. Maybe Marcus had some better insight.

The next evening came much too quickly for Clarke’s liking. All day, she had tried to prepare herself for the meeting, her thoughts spinning in endless loops of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. 

She had barely left her room, only managing to do so when Niylah had practically dragged her out, insisting on lunch together. "You'll drive yourself mad if you keep stewing in here," Niylah had said, her voice gentle but firm. Clarke had reluctantly agreed, though even as she ate, her mind remained miles away, tangled in the anxiety of what was to come.

Now, as she sat in front of the mirror, she found herself frozen, unable to focus on anything other than the gnawing pit of unease in her stomach. Her mind was a blur of half-formed thoughts, the minutes ticking by faster than she could manage. She was so lost in her head that she didn’t even hear the door open until Lexa stepped into the room.

Clarke turned, her breath catching slightly at the sight of Lexa clad in her full commander’s gear. The headpiece, the face paint—it all should have been intimidating, and in a way, it was. But when Clarke met Lexa’s gaze, she found not the steely resolve befitting the attire, but rather tenderness she had almost become accustomed to. 

(Lexa’s eyes held that expression that Clarke still wasn’t sure how to handle. It made her want to shrink and step forward at the same time.)

“Are you ready for the meeting?” Lexa asked, her voice breaking the silence between them.

Clarke hesitated, trying to find an answer that didn’t reveal how utterly unprepared she felt. “I’m not sure anyone could be ready for this,” she finally replied, shrugging in an attempt to appear more at ease than she was.

Lexa hummed softly in agreement. “I can believe that. But you’ll do great, Klarke. You always do.”

Clarke groaned, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “How am I supposed to do great when I can’t even decide on the kind of war-paint I want?” She gestured vaguely to her bare face, as if the lack of paint was a symbol of the chaos inside her.

Lexa’s eyes brightened with a hint of amusement as she noticed the absence of paint on Clarke’s face. “I can help with that,” she offered gently. “I know some of Wanheda’s war-paints.”

The offer hung in the air for a moment, the simple gesture somehow feeling loaded with more than Clarke was prepared to acknowledge. Her heart skipped a beat, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, an involuntary reaction she was beginning to resent. But she nodded, trying to push the awkwardness away. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice soft.

Lexa stepped closer, her movements deliberate, as if she knew Clarke was teetering on the edge. Clarke forced herself to stay still as Lexa picked up a brush, her breath hitching slightly when Lexa’s fingers brushed against her skin. 

(The sensation was too gentle, too intimate for what this was supposed to be, of what they were supposed to be, and yet Clarke couldn’t bring herself to pull away.)

As Lexa worked, Clarke closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the rhythmic motions of the brush against her face. She could feel Lexa’s breath, warm and steady, so close that it sent a shiver down her spine. And for a moment, Clarke allowed herself to lean into that warmth, to let it wrap around her like a protective shield against the storm raging inside her.

“There,” Lexa whispered after a while, her breath fanning over Clarke’s skin in a way that made her feel almost dizzy. “Done.”

Clarke’s eyes fluttered open, her heart thudding in her chest. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak, simply lingering in the closeness, the soft, careful touch of Lexa’s hands. It felt... wrong. Or maybe too right. Too close, too warm, too everything. It felt like falling, like losing herself in something she couldn’t afford to lose herself in again.

Realizing how long she’d let herself stay there, Clarke pulled away, trying to make it seem casual, like it was nothing. 

(Wouldn’t acknowledge how she noticed the flicker in Lexa’s expression, the slight tightening around her eyes, the almost imperceptible slump of her shoulders. Nor how her chest tightened, a pang of something that felt too much like guilt twisting inside her)

“So, I’m good to go then?” Clarke asked, forcing her voice to be light, dismissive, as if nothing had just happened.

Lexa’s smile was small, almost strained, but it was there. “Perfect,” she replied. Clarke offered a smile in return, though it felt abashed, too aware of what she was trying to deny. She turned to the mirror, needing something to focus on. 

Clarke hesitated, her hands tightening around the cloth she had draped over herself. The dress she wore beneath was revealing, the deep neckline and open back exposing skin she wasn’t sure she was ready for others to see—not with the scars that marred her body. But this wasn’t just about her; it was about sending a message, one that Asa had assured her would be powerful.

Clarke glanced at Lexa through the mirror instead of focusing on herself, watching as the brunette’s gaze softened once more. Lexa hadn’t seen the dress yet, hadn’t seen the extent of the scars Clarke would be revealing. The thought made her stomach twist with uncertainty.

“Are you alright, Klarke?” Lexa’s voice was gentle, but Clarke could sense the concern beneath it. Despised it as much as she craved it.

Clarke blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears, and nodded quickly, trying to hold herself together. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. She turned back to the mirror, maybe to prove that she was, indeed, alright.

The reflection staring back at her was stunning, the black, purple, and gold paints intricately designed across her face. The gold sat beneath her eyes, drawn into the shape of wings that extended into black and purple tips. It was, as Lexa had said, perfect.

The war-paint complemented the deep purple of her dress perfectly. Clarke couldn’t deny that she looked intimidating. 

“Do you like it?” Lexa’s voice was closer now, and Clarke could see her standing beside her in the mirror, the image of the two of them side by side striking in its contrast and unity.

Clarke nodded, her eyes meeting Lexa’s in the reflection. “Sha,” she said softly. “You were right, it’s perfect. Mochof.” Lexa’s smile was genuine then, if a bit subdued. “Pro.”

Together, they left to meet the council.

Chapter Text

When they got there, the ambassadors had already arrived. Standing outside the door, Lexa gave Clarke a reassuring smile. "I'll call for you when we're ready", Lexa promised, before disappearing inside the room. Clarke watched the door close behind her, leaving the blonde alone in the hallway.    

Clarke's anxious pacing filled the hallway outside the council chamber, internally recounting the speech she had prepared. Finally, the doors opened again and Clarke was summoned inside.

She took a steadying breath, straightening her posture and removing the cloth that covered her shoulders and back, revealing the intricate tattoo and the telltale signs of battle scars. Her palms began to sweat, but she wiped them surreptitiously on the dark purple robe.

As Clarke entered the room, all eyes immediately turned to her, their gazes drawn to her pale and scarred skin, barely concealed gasps flitting through the room. She could feel their stares, but she refused to let it affect her, nor let herself gauge the reactions of the few familiar faces in the room. This was part of the plan. This was good. 

Clarke steeled her nerves. She could do this.

"We have gathered here today to vote on the accusations brought against Queen Nia kom Azgeda by Wanheda," Lexa's words rang through the hall, drawing all attention back on her. She turned to Clarke, "You may speak.“ Clarke gave a grateful nod, before beginning to address the audience.

"I come before you today to speak of Nia, the Ice Queen of Azgeda," Clarke said, her voice unwavering. "Many of you may know her story, how she fought against the coalition in its early days, attempting to stop the peace from being formed by any means she could acquire. But what you may not know is the true extent of her crimes."

A murmur rippled through the room as the ambassadors exchanged uneasy glances. Clarke let her words hang in the air for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in.

„Kwin Nia does not only rule her own people through terror and fear, mistreats them, killing them and letting them starve, torturing them for her own amusement. No, her cruelty reaches far beyond the borders of Azgeda.  And as it reaches far beyond, it threatens all of us."  

She scanned the room, her gaze landing on each ambassador in turn, letting them feel the weight of her words. "We all have something to lose because of Kwin Nia. We all have something to fear."

The crowd shifted uncomfortably, some nodding their heads while others look wary. „Floukru“, Clarke continued, knowing that her next words will be crucial, her gaze directed to the Floukru ambassador. "Do you want to continue living in fear of attacks from the north because Nia perceives you as weak?“ 

The ambassador hesitated, then shook his head, fear flickering in her eyes.

Moving on to the Trishanakru and Trikru ambassadors, she asked, "Do you want to keep living with the constant danger of raids during the winter because Nia orders her people to steal instead of trade fairly?" 

The ambassadors exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of her words sinking in. Clarke moved on, her gaze locking onto the elderly Yujleda ambassador, who shrank back in his seat.

"And what about Yujiledakru? Do you want to see more dead leaders and ambassadors because they dared to speak out against Nia?"  

The man looked down, unable to meet her gaze, his silence speaking volumes.

Finally, Clarke’s eyes settled on the Ice Nation ambassador. "Do you want to continue experiences the suffering of your people?"  

She began to pace, the scars crisscrossing her body visible to all. The room seemed to hold its breath, the ambassadors staring at the labyrinth of wounds etched into her skin. She could feel their eyes on her more intensely now, could sense their fear, pity, and hopelessness. She shoved the emotions aside once more.

"I have been to Azgeda," Clarke said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. "I have experienced everything you fear. The torture. The deaths." She gestured to her scars, a silent testament to her words.

Clarke took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her racing heart. The next words were harder to say, the memories clawing at her mind, threatening to drown her. But she couldn’t stop now. She needed to be honest, to lay everything bare.

„In Azgeda, Nia tried to break me,“ Clarke began, her voice growing quieter but still strong, carrying across the room. "She tortured me, held me captive. Day after day, I was beaten, starved, and threatened. Every time I refused to betray Heda—refused to fight for her cause—she would come back with another form of cruelty."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Clarke could feel eyes on her, could sense the shifting unease in the air. But she kept her gaze forward, trying to avoid Lexa’s eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep going if she saw the guilt and anger in them.

„And then, when I was forced to fight to survive, they gave me another name," Clarke continued, her voice faltering just slightly before she pushed on. "Rhada Absyl."

The name echoed through the room like a knife slicing through the silence. The Azgeda ambassador stiffened in his seat, his eyes widening in shock. The Sankru ambassador shifted uncomfortably, his expression darkening. They had not only heard that name before, they had seen Clarke fight in the pits under that name—and had watched their own warriors fall at her hands, never knowing who she really was.

Clarke kept speaking, the words like shards in her throat. "I was forced to fight in her pits, to kill in front of her people for her amusement. She used me as a tool to sow chaos, to send a message to all of you." Clarke's voice hardened. "All while telling me that if I only turned against Heda, if I only betrayed our leader, it would all stop. The torture. The death."

Her voice almost trembled, betraying the strain of saying this aloud. It took all she had not to squeeze her eyes shut, to mute the scenes replaying in her mind.

(„Champion of the Pit!“
Cheers, applause, so much blood, death
Murderer, Monster
„Run, Wanheda!“
Weak, Traitor
„Is she really worth your loyalty“)

Panic clawed at the edges of her mind. She buried it deep. This was necessary.

The room buzzed with tension. Ambassadors exchanged horrified glances, some looking pale, others avoiding her eyes entirely. The Azgeda ambassador’s face was unreadable, though his hands had clenched into tight fists, knuckles white. 

Clarke could feel the fear and shock ripple through the crowd, especially those who had witnessed the brutality of Rhada Absyl and now knew it had been her all along. It made them sick, made them question everything they thought they understood.

But it was Lexa’s reaction that pulled at Clarke most.

Though Lexa remained outwardly calm, her posture straight and still, Clarke knew her too well to be fooled. Lexa’s jaw was tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hands, clasped behind her back, trembled ever so slightly, and her usually steady breath had become shallow. 

She knew about Rhada Absyl of course, but not like this. Not with these details. Not about the offers Nia had made for Clarke to betray her. Lexa was silent, holding herself together as she always did, but Clarke could read the guilt and anger simmering beneath the surface.

Their eyes met, and Clarke gave Lexa a small, forced smile, as if to reassure her. But the weight of Lexa's gaze—the barely-contained rage, the profound sorrow, the devastating guilt—almost made her falter. Clarke quickly looked away before her resolve could crumble.

She forced herself to focus on the ambassadors again, despite the crushing weight of the memories. Despite the way her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her body on the verge of trembling with all the emotions she was trying to suppress.

"Nia used me as a pawn," Clarke said, her voice growing stronger, though it took everything in her to keep going. "She tried to turn me into a weapon against Heda, against all of you. But I refused. I escaped with the help of those who still believed in the coalition. And I came back, knowing she would never stop. Knowing that if we allow Kwin Nia to go unpunished, she will continue her reign of terror—not just over Azgeda, but over all of us."

The room was thick with tension, the weight of Clarke’s words pressing down on everyone present. She could see the shock and disgust on their faces, the way some of the ambassadors sat back in their chairs, as if distancing themselves from the horror of what they had just heard. Saw unreadable expressions unable to hide the deep unease in their eyes.

Clarke’s breaths were shallow, the edges of a panic attack lingering just beneath the surface. But she couldn’t let it show. Not here. Not now.

She took one last look around the room, meeting the eyes of each ambassador, her expression unwavering.

„You thought Nia untouchable. Unbeatable. I am here to tell you she’s not. I’m living proof that she’s not. And further, that she made a mistake“, she declared, her voice trembling with emotion. "She took innocent Skaikru and killed them. She sent warriors into Trikru lands. And she has sent further assassins to kill Heda. She took me.“   

A brief pause hung in the air, the room utterly silent.  

"We have proof of this." Clarke’s words were firm, but a part of her knew the evidence was fragile, built on circumstantial truths and testimonies that could be questioned. But she pushed that thought aside. She couldn’t afford doubt now.

She scanned the faces of the ambassadors, her breath heavy with her emotions. She could see doubt lingering, but she also saw the shift, the slow ebbing away of mistrust. She couldn’t let it consume her, couldn’t let her voice break now.

„When Nia tried to break me," Clarke continued, her voice stronger again. "She wanted to force me to her side in her fight against not only Heda, but against freedom, peace, and prosperity—the very pillars upon which this coalition was built. Some of you may have been swayed by her rhetoric. Perhaps she promised you mercy or power. Perhaps you believe our Heda to be weak.“ 

Lexa looked at her with quiet confusion, but Clarke gave her a small smile, hoping to reassure her. If Nia was to be trialed, Clarke needed them to believe, to have faith in Lexa as their leader.  

"But ask yourselves," Clarke said, her voice rising, "is a leader who prioritizes their own comfort over the safety of their people truly strong? Heda’s actions speak of her strength, her resolve."

She paused, calming her own churning thoughts before continuing, "She showed it when she was chosen by the flame at the age of twelve and has become the longest-reigning commander since then. She showed it when she chose the lives of her people over vengeance for the lover that Nia took from her. She showed it when she gave up her own happiness and vengeance at the mountain to keep her, your, people safe."

When she willingly betrayed me because she thought she could safe you. The thought didn’t bring the same pain it once used to.

"Your people thriving—that was the gift Heda gave you," Clarke said, her voice soft but firm. "The gift you now call weak. But I call it strength. A strength Kwin Nia doesn’t possess and never will. So I ask you now: will you stand by the side of a just and strong leader? Or will you let a cruel one go unpunished?"

The room was silent, the words hanging in the air as the ambassadors exchanged glances, each of them grappling with the truth Clarke had laid bare. The truth they had already known, had shown them her scars, both physical and emotional, and now it was up to them to decide.                                    

The room fell silent as the ambassadors looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. But then, one by one, they began to nod.

Lexa rose from her throne. She looked as though hundreds of questions were burning on her tongue, yet she had to hold them in for now.             

"We have heard the words of Wanheda," she spoke, her voice echoing throughout the room. "It is time to make a decision."          

Clarke watched from where she stood in the middle of the room. She had worked hard for this moment and she tensed as she awaited the outcome. One by one, the ambassadors cast their votes. Clarke held her breath as she watched.

As hands rose in favor of a trial, Clarke nearly sagged in relief. Only the ambassadors from Azgeda, Sankru, and Delfikru had voted against.    

Lexa's expression remained stoic as she tallied the results. "It is decided," she announced. „Kwin Nia kom Azgeda will stand trial for her crimes against the coalition."  

That night, Clarke and Lexa sat across from each other at the dinner table in Lexa's chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Both were dressed in simple robes, a stark contrast to the weighty attire of the day. They had long finished their meal, and now simply sat in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken thoughts.

Clarke found comfort in the quiet. She leaned back, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her cup as she soaked in the peace of the moment, the company working as a distraction from her thoughts. But Lexa, across from her, was far from peaceful. Her posture was tense, her gaze distant, as if she were somewhere far away.

Clarke noticed, of course. She had noticed Lexa’s mood shift shortly after the ambassadors’ meeting had concluded, a strain that had lingered through dinner and now hung heavy in the room. It gnawed at her. She knew Lexa well enough to see that something was bothering her—something deeper than the usual burdens.

And it certainly wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Which was the main reason it took her so long to ask about it.

But after a long, tense stretch of silence, Clarke couldn’t take it anymore. She leaned forward slightly, her voice soft. „Leksa, what's been bothering you? You've been distant all evening.“ 

Lexa's muscles visibly tensed at the question. Her eyes, usually so composed, flickered to meet Clarke's, uncertainty written in their depths. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with how to respond, as if weighing the consequences of her words.

"It's something from the meeting," Lexa finally admitted, her voice quiet, betraying a hint of the nerves she so rarely let show. "Something that’s been on my mind since your testimony."

Clarke felt a cold weight settle in her chest at the mention of her testimony. The mere thought of it sent a fresh wave of discomfort through her, the memories she had barely kept at bay now hovering closer to the surface.

Lexa hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. "I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you join Nia when she offered it?"

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that question, though in some part of her, she supposed she should have. Still, hearing it aloud—especially from Lexa—hit her harder than she’d expected.

She swallowed, trying to push past the sharp sting of the memories that the question dragged up. Lexa’s gaze never left her, though Clarke could see the strain in her eyes, the guilt she was trying so hard to hide.

"I know you said you don’t align yourself with cruel leaders," Lexa continued, her voice soft, almost tentative. "But I’ve been thinking... I know how strong Nia’s hold can be, especially with what… happened before. And I—" she paused, her brow furrowing, "I just wonder why you didn’t take the offer. I would’ve understood.“ 

Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly, tracing the rim of her cup as she tried to compose herself. The memories of Azgeda were raw now, after her testimony, and Lexa’s question dragged them back, forcing her to confront what she still wasn’t ready to face.

She took a slow, deep breath before finally answering. "The thought crossed my mind, in the first week or so, when things got bad," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended, almost fragile.

The pain that flickered across Lexa's features was unmistakable. Clarke knew Lexa didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to think that she had ever considered turning to Nia. The silence between them grew heavier, and Clarke’s fingers drifted to the scar on her hand, tracing it absently. Lexa’s eyes followed the motion, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

"But then I remembered..." Clarke’s voice wavered as she spoke, her thumb still grazing the scar. "I remembered what it felt like when you left me at the mountain. How much it hurt." She hesitated, her throat tightening around the words. "And as much as I wanted to hate you for it, I couldn’t. Not enough to make you go through the same thing.“ 

Lexa swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. Clarke’s words hit her like a blow, the guilt and regret she had been carrying resurfacing all at once. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she say? Moba felt utterly inadequate.

There was a long pause before Lexa spoke again, her voice quieter, more tentative. "Klarke," she began, clearly unsure whether she should press forward. "What you said today... about Azgeda. About what Nia did to you. You’ve never spoken about it before, not in that much detail."

Clarke stiffened slightly, her fingers freezing in place on the cup. She could feel the familiar panic rising again. (Unsure if it had actually left since the meeting). 

She didn’t want to talk about it—not now, not ever, if she could help it. But Lexa’s gentle voice pushed her to answer, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I haven’t had time to really think about it." Clarke trailed off, swallowing hard. "To deal with it."

Lexa’s eyes softened, a flicker of sorrow crossing her features. She hesitated again before asking, carefully, "Can you tell me more? About what happened?"

Clarke’s pulse quickened, her heart hammering in her chest. Her breath came heavier now, the panic sharper, clawing at her insides. But she couldn’t ignore Lexa’s question. (Didn’t want to ignore it). She had already opened the door, and now Lexa was gently pushing it further.

"I..." Clarke’s voice faltered, her hands shaking. „You heard the gist of it, Leksa. They tortured me to make me submit. To make me betray you. And when I wouldn’t, they threw me into the pits. That’s when I became Rhada Absyl."

The words came out slowly, as if each one weighed her down, even though she had said them before. Clarke forced herself to keep going, though her body felt like it was on the verge of collapsing under the strain. "I fought, and I killed. Because I had no other choice."

Lexa looked at her intently, yet a soft frown was etched onto her face. „There is a difference between what they did and what happened, Klarke“

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in another shaky breath. She understood what Lexa meant—what had happened were the parts she hadn’t said aloud, the parts that scared her most to relive. The parts that clawed at her when she was alone. And now Lexa was asking for them, those horrible moments she hadn’t let herself fully confront.

„I don’t think—,“ Clarke whispered, her voice strained. She didn’t look at Lexa, staring down at her trembling hands instead. "It’s not the same, talking about it.“ 

She hated how Lexa just looked at her so patiently, so openly concerned. (Hated it because before they met, Lexa never would’ve allowed herself to feel those emotions, so how dare she show them now).

She forced herself to continue. Because she was Wanheda, she was supposed to be strong, not this… this terrified shell she felt like at times. She was better than this.

Clarke’s voice still dropped, quieter now, raw with emotion. She wished she could be as strong as she was supposed to be. “It wasn’t the torture the got to me. Well, it wasn’t the worst part, at least. It was not knowing if my friends, my family, were alive and okay. Every day, wondering if I’d ever see them again, if I was the last one left. If I’d even live long enough to find out."

She hesitated, her throat tightening as memories flooded back. "And then… then came the pits. My first fight…" Her voice broke for a moment, and she had to swallow hard before continuing. "They put me against this warrior from Sankru. He was older, incredibly strong. He’d been there before, knew how to fight. And I did too, obviously, but…“

The scene played out in her mind as she spoke, the roar of the crowd, the scent of blood, the way her heart had pounded in her chest, filled with terror. "I was so scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not of dying, but of what I had to do to survive. I fought him, but it wasn’t entirely my skill that won. It was pure instinct I got from Wanheda. And then I killed him, because I had no choice, but it… it broke something in me.“

She laughed humorlessly for a second, it almost sounded like a scoff, „It’s funny, in a way. I thought the warriors at the drop ship broke something, then I thought the mountain did. But both I could argue were to safe more people, those I loved. In the pits, it was… well. It broke something completely different. Something I’m not sure I can ever fix."

Lexa’s eyes darkened with sorrow as Clarke spoke, but she didn’t interrupt. She sat perfectly still, though the tension in her body was unmistakable.

Clarke’s hands clenched tightly around the fabric of her robe. Her knuckles whitened as she moved on to the next, even more painful part. "When I escaped, Roan, Ontari, and Asa helped me… but I ran alone because it gave me more chances. I was hunted, constantly. Always on the run, always looking over my shoulders. 

At some point, I met Murphy and Emori, and we needed help. It lead us to join the rebellion later. I lived with them, fought with them. But we were overwhelmed, eventually. And we had to leave the others behind. I didn’t have a choice," Clarke repeated, her voice cracking under the strain. It felt hollow. She always had a choice. "I don’t even know if they’re still alive. I just left them. Left them to die."

Lexa’s frown deepened, her eyes brimming with an emotion she kept tightly controlled. Clarke could feel the weight of Lexa’s gaze on her, the unspoken words lingering between them. 

"I still don’t know what happened to them," Clarke admitted, her voice raw and unsteady. "Every day, I wonder if I could’ve done something different. If I should’ve stayed with them, fought with them… but I didn’t. I ran."

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Clarke could feel the walls closing in, her breath growing shallow. Her body screamed for release from the memories, from the suffocating weight of her guilt, but she couldn’t stop. Not now that she had opened the door.

"And that’s what haunts me," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper. "The constant not knowing. The fear that I’ll never get them back, never make up for the things I did—or didn’t do.“ 

Lexa’s expression was unreadable, but Clarke could see the storm brewing behind her eyes. Lexa knew Clarke had been through hell, but hearing her speak it aloud was different. She hadn’t realized just how deep the pain went, hadn’t fully understood the extent of what Clarke had endured until now.

Lexa’s hand twitched, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out, as if to offer comfort, her fingers brushing against Clarke’s arm.

But Clarke recoiled. It was instinctive, immediate, and heartbreaking. She pulled away from Lexa’s touch as if it burned, her breath hitching in her throat.

The hurt flashed briefly in Lexa’s eyes, but she masked it quickly, pulling her hand back. Clarke looked away, her heart pounding painfully. The room felt too small, too suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on her all at once.

"Moba," Clarke whispered, barely able to meet Lexa’s gaze. "I just... don’t. Please."

Lexa nodded, her expression carefully controlled, though Clarke could see the pain she was trying so hard to hide. "I understand," she said softly, though the sorrow in her voice was unmistakable.

The silence between them grew, thick and heavy, but neither of them moved. Clarke felt the ache of it—the distance between them, of pain they both carried, and wounds that still hadn’t healed.

Clarke stood in the open courtyard of Polis, seeking a moment of solitude as the weight of the impending trial, the statement at the ambassadors' meeting the previous day, and everything else pressed heavily on her. 

The sky was a dull gray, overcast and foreboding, perfectly mirroring her somber mood. She leaned against a cold stone wall, her thoughts a chaotic swirl, when a quiet footstep caught her attention.

A young messenger, no older than fourteen, approached her with a small, folded piece of parchment. Clarke accepted it, her heart quickening slightly with unease. The boy gave a brief nod before hurrying away, leaving her alone with the mysterious letter.

Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she examined the unfamiliar handwriting on the outside—her name written in a delicate, careful script. The sight of it made her pulse race with a mix of anxiety and suspicion. She instinctively glanced around, her senses heightened.

Who could have sent this? Was it a trap? After everything she had been through, Clarke had learned to approach everything with caution, to brace herself for the worst before allowing even a sliver of hope.

Despite her apprehension, curiosity and a faint flicker of hope drove her to unfold the letter with trembling fingers. Her eyes quickly scanned the page.

The flame flickers, but it hasn’t gone out. Some light remains in the shadows.  

Stars hide in the night sky, but they will shine when the time is right.  Trust in the moon, and remember that where there is darkness, there are also those who protect the dawn.    

Clarke read the letter twice, then a third time, almost disbelieving. Her heart pounded in her chest as she worked through the cryptic words. The flame flickers… her thoughts raced. The rebellion. The night sky… stars hide… survivors? She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. 

They’re alive. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, she could only stare at the letter, disbelief warring with the surge of hope that threatened to overwhelm her. Xenia was alive. Others, too. Her vision blurred as tears sprang to her eyes, a choked sob escaping her lips before she could stop it. They were alive.

She hadn’t lost them all. Xenia others (which ones?) had survived, somehow. They had made it out of that nightmare.

They were alive and — as soon as that sweet relief washed over her, it was quickly followed by a wave of guilt so crushing that it almost brought her to her knees. They were alive and Clarke had left them behind. 

She had made the choice, to leave those people to fend for themselves, and now, according to this letter, many of them had died. The lives lost because of her decisions… which of her friends and allies had it cost her? How many names would she have to add to the growing list of those she couldn’t save?

Clarke's breath hitched, and she pressed her free hand against the stone wall beside her for support. The solid, cold surface grounded her in the present, pulling her away from the spiraling thoughts of guilt and despair.

But even the overwhelming guilt couldn’t quite drown out the overwhelming relief she felt at knowing Xenia was safe. She could practically feel the tension in her shoulders easing, the tight coil of anxiety loosening just enough for her to take a full breath.

Xenia was alive. Alive. And she was coming to Polis for the trial.

That small flicker of hope was enough to pierce the darkness that had been threatening to swallow Clarke whole. It didn’t erase the pain or the guilt, but it was something—a lifeline she could cling to.

Clarke took a deep, shaky breath, clutching the letter tightly. She needed to let Murphy and Emori know. Their friend had survived too. They deserved to feel that same relief, that same spark of hope.

She could worry about everything else later. Right now, these news—this small miracle—was something she had to share with the rest.

The following night was the one before Niylah would depart to return to her trading station.

When Raven and Murphy had found out that Niylah was soon to leave, they insisted on a proper goodbye, and the group was happy to oblige. So as the night fell, they all found themselves on the rooftop of the tower for a farewell. 

As the night deepened and the laughter of their friends filled the air, Clarke and Niylah sat side by side, their playful banter flowing freely. The top of the tower provided a perfect view of Polis, bathed in the dim light of the moon, while the faint scent of fayowada hung in the air. 

Clarke had spent the entire day with Niylah, catching up, sharing meals, and wandering through the city, enjoying the ease of their time together. It felt good. Normal.

The group was in high spirits, too. Raven, Murphy, Anya—everyone had come together for a proper send-off for Niylah, who would leave the next morning to return to her trading post. Even Lexa had joined in, though Clarke suspected her slight loosening up had something to do with Anya’s challenge to a drinking contest. Clarke smiled to herself at the thought.

Separated slightly from the rest of the group, Clarke and Niylah found themselves caught up in their own conversation. The lightness in Niylah’s laughter felt comforting, soothing the tension Clarke had been carrying since the day before.

"I mean, you had muscles before, honey, but I wouldn't mind getting a feel now," Niylah teased, eyes twinkling with mischief. Clarke grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You couldn't handle me anymore, babes."

They both laughed, the sound bright against the backdrop of the night. For a moment, it was easy, fun—the weight of everything else seemed distant. Clarke could feel Lexa’s gaze from across the rooftop, but she didn’t let it bother her. This was just a good night, a much-needed escape.

But then, Niylah leaned in a little closer, her voice still carrying a teasing edge but warmer now. "You're my champion, Klarke," she said, laughing softly.

It was meant as a joke, a lighthearted comment. But something in those words hit Clarke hard, a switch flipping in her mind. Champion. The word echoed in her head, triggering something dark and buried, and before she knew it, her heart started racing. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as her mind spiraled.

Suddenly, she wasn’t on the rooftop anymore.

Champion. Nia’s voice. The whip cracking. The pits. The blood, the death, the applause. Champion. Her body moving on instinct, killing because she had no choice. Her hands were covered in blood, her hands shaking as she tried to survive. Champion.

"Klarke?" Niylah’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt distant, as though she were speaking from far away.

Clarke couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt like it was caving in, her hands trembling uncontrollably. She couldn’t stop the images flashing through her mind—Nia, the pits, the escape. Her body reacted as if it were back there, trapped in those moments of terror, and no matter how much she fought, she couldn’t pull herself out of it.

"Klarke!" Niylah’s voice sharpened with concern. She reached out, placing a hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke gasped, her body jerking as if she’d been pulled out of water. Her wide eyes met Niylah’s, and she realized she was shaking, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts. "I-I… Moba," she stuttered, trying to collect herself, but the panic had taken hold, and it wasn’t letting go.

Niylah’s face softened instantly with understanding. Without hesitation, she pulled Clarke into a warm embrace, holding her close as the blonde began to break down.

"It’s okay, honey. You’re okay," Niylah whispered soothingly, gently stroking Clarke’s hair. "Shh, it’s okay. Just breathe. You’re safe."

Clarke clung to Niylah, her tears spilling uncontrollably as the weight of everything she had kept locked away finally crushed her. The strain of the last few days, the weight of the meeting, the conversation with Lexa—it all came crashing down. Her sobs were quiet at first but soon turned to gut-wrenching cries, the dam of emotions breaking.

From a distance, their friends watched with growing concern. The laughter and merriment faded into an uneasy quiet as they saw Clarke falling apart in Niylah’s arms. Roan, Octavia, even Lincoln—all of them felt their own hearts break at the sight. They knew Clarke had been through hell, but seeing her like this, so vulnerable and shattered, made it all too real.

Niylah held Clarke tightly, not letting go for a second. "It’s okay to let go," she whispered, her voice steady and calm. "You’re so strong, Klarke, but it’s okay to let go."

Clarke continued to weep, her body trembling as she allowed herself, for once, to just feel everything. The fear, the pain, the exhaustion—everything she had buried deep came rushing out, and she was powerless to stop it.

Niylah didn’t try to fix it or offer false reassurances. She simply held her, letting Clarke cry until her sobs began to quiet. Even then, she didn’t loosen her embrace, as though she could somehow shield Clarke from the world, even for just a moment longer.

And Clarke, finally, allowed herself to be held. Allowed herself to not be okay. Just for now.

(Nobody would bring it up after, but over the next weeks, she would see the lingering worry in her friends. 

She would see it in Anya and Octavia requesting more spars even when they were dead on their feet, in how her siblings would hold her just a bit tighter when they hugged, in how Murphy and Emori would make just a tad more jokes about Azgeda, how Asa would pull her to the med-tents with her, or in how Lincoln would share his drawings with the blonde, prompting them to talk and bond about art, or in how Raven would randomly appear at Clarkes side, telling her about these really cool things she saw and even regaling her with tales about Anya. 

And nobody would show it more than Lexa, who would start gravitating around Clarke. They'd still go running each morning, spend  evenings in Lexa’s chambers, sharing dinner over conversations, they'd be seen walking around the market together, even having breakfast and lunch together at times.

Clarke would've been annoyed by the fussing, but it would be... nice, in a way.)

Chapter Text

Aden sat in the front row, his back straight and his expression attentive, but his mind was far from the history lesson being taught. He knew he should be focusing on the details of past battles and the strategies of former Commanders, but today, he found it impossible to concentrate. His thoughts kept drifting back to the promise Clarke had made earlier that week.

Evolving fighting styles, she had called it. The concept fascinated him. He had always been a quick study, excelling in combat training, but Clarke’s fighting style was unlike anything he had ever seen. Fluid yet powerful, almost like she was anticipating moves before they happened. He wanted to understand it, to learn it.

Aden shifted in his seat, trying to refocus on Titus’s words, but his eagerness to meet Clarke made the minutes drag on painfully slowly. 

Finally, the Fleimkeepa dismissed them, and Aden was out of his seat in an instant. He only just offered a small smile and nod to Lexa, who had been watching him carefully, before practically darting out of the room. 

His heart raced, but it wasn’t fear driving him—it was pure excitement.

He was careful not to draw too much attention as he made his way to the designated meeting spot. The other Natblida went towards their quarters or the training grounds, but Aden took a turn before reaching them, heading towards a more secluded area. His heart pounded in his chest—not out of fear, but out of excitement.

Klarke is waiting, he thought, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed slightly as she observed his hurried departure. Aden was usually the most disciplined of the Natblida, barely ever rushing, always composed. His behavior today was unusual, and it tugged at Lexa’s instincts. Without a word, she followed him, her footsteps light and silent as she trailed behind.

Aden led her through the winding paths of Polis, his destination clearly somewhere secluded. When he took a turn away from the main training grounds, Lexa’s curiosity deepened. She stayed at a distance, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to anticipate where he was headed.

Then, she saw her. Clarke stood waiting near the edge of a small clearing, partially obscured by the shadows of the evening. The sight made Lexa pause, her breath catching slightly. Clarke had her back to Lexa, her posture relaxed as she waited for Aden to arrive.

Lexa slipped into the shadows, deciding to remain hidden and observe. What was Clarke doing here, meeting with Aden in secret? The answer quickly became clear as Aden approached, his face lighting up with a mixture of respect and excitement.

“Heya Klarke,” he greeted her, the relaxed words startled Lexa almost as much as the boyish eagerness in his eyes had earlier.

Clarke smiled, her expression softening as she looked down at him. “Heya, Aden. Ha yu?” she replied warmly, earning an eager I’m well.

Why didn’t Aden tell me about this? she wondered, a twinge of hurt and confusion mingling with the warmth that spread through her chest. The bond between Aden and Clarke was unexpected, and while Lexa trusted Clarke with her life, this… this was different. Aden was one of her most promising students, and she was fiercely protective of him, as she was with all the Natblida. 

But as she stood there, hidden from their view, watching the interaction unfold, the initial sting of feeling left out began to fade. Aden’s face lit up as he reached Clarke, his childish joy breaking through the disciplined exterior he so often maintained. And Clarke—there was a softness in her expression, a warmth that Lexa had missed seeing in her for too long.

The pair had no idea of Lexa’s inner turmoil as they conversed. And when Clarke asked “Well then, are you ready to learn something new today?”, and Aden’s nod was almost too enthusiastic, Lexa found herself smiling at how incredibly endearing it was to witness. “Sha! I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

Clarke chuckled softly, reaching down to ruffle his hair with a fondness that made Lexa’s chest tighten. “Good. Let’s get started then.”

Lexa’s breath caught again at Clarke’s words. She’s teaching him. The realization was both surprising and heartwarming. She knew Clarke was an excellent fighter, but this—this was Clarke sharing her knowledge, her experience, with Aden. It was a trust, an investment in his future that Lexa hadn’t anticipated.

And yet, it made sense. Clarke had always been a leader, a protector. Aden’s admiration for Clarke wasn’t misplaced. If anything, Lexa found herself admiring Clarke even more for the bond she had formed with Aden. 

It was endearing, seeing how much Clarke cared for the boy. She hadn’t expected this, but now that she saw it, she realized how right it felt.

Clarke stepped back, revealing a selection of swords laid out on the ground behind her. Lexa’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of them—different lengths, different styles, each one a piece of history in its own right.

“The way people fight has evolved over centuries,” Clarke began, her voice calm and steady, filled with the authority of someone who truly understood her subject. “As cultures grew, so did their weapons, and with that, their fighting styles. Today, we’re going to focus on swords.”

Aden’s eyes were wide with interest as Clarke picked up a short sword, holding it out for him to see. “This is a gladius. It was used by Roman soldiers—short, sturdy, and designed for quick, precise thrusts. It was perfect for close combat, especially in formations like the phalanx. Which I’m assuming you have been taught about?”

Aden nodded in affirmation. 

As Clarke spoke, she demonstrated a series of rapid, precise thrusts with the gladius, her movements fluid and controlled. Even from her hidden vantage point, Lexa could see the power and precision in each strike. It was clear that Clarke wasn’t just knowledgeable—she was skilled, every movement displaying her mastery of these techniques.

“Later,” Clarke continued, swapping the gladius for a larger, heavier sword, “the Celts and Germanic tribes influenced the Romans, leading to the development of larger swords like the spatha. These were better suited for powerful slashes rather than quick thrusts.”

She swung the spatha in a wide arc, the blade cutting through the air with a menacing hiss. Aden watched in awe, his eyes glued to Clarke as she moved seamlessly from one style to the next, explaining the evolution of sword fighting with a clarity and passion that was infectious.

Clarke continued, picking up a longer, two-handed sword. “The Vikings were known for their ferocity, and their swords reflected that. Heavy, long, designed for powerful, sweeping blows that could cut through armor and bone alike.”

With ease, Clarke demonstrated the Viking fighting style, her movements slower and more deliberate, emphasizing the sheer power behind each swing. Aden’s admiration was palpable, his gaze fixed on Clarke as if she were the most fascinating person in the world.

Lexa found herself similarly captivated, her initial curiosity giving way to a deep sense of admiration.

Clarke moved on to eastern sword fighting, the katana in her hands like an extension of her own body. The contrast between the swift, precise strikes of the katana and the earlier styles was stark, and Clarke explained it with a patience and clarity that made even the most complex concepts seem accessible.

“As you can see,” Clarke said, finishing her demonstration, “each style has its strengths and weaknesses. What makes a great warrior is not just mastering one style, but understanding how they all work together—how you can adapt and evolve.”

She paused, glancing at Aden with a soft smile. “And that’s what I try to do. I mix these different techniques to create something that’s uniquely mine, something that works for me in any situation.”

To emphasize her point, Clarke flowed through a series of movements that blended Greek, Roman, and eastern techniques into a single, cohesive sequence. It was a display of skill and creativity that left Aden—and Lexa—speechless.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Aden finally spoke, his voice filled with awe. “That was amazing, Klarke. I didn’t know… I didn’t know you could do all that.”

Clarke smiled, crouching down to his level again. “You’ll get there too, Aden. It just takes time, practice, and a willingness to learn from everything around you.”

Aden’s expression was serious as he nodded, clearly determined to absorb every bit of knowledge Clarke had to offer. “I want to learn. I want to be as good as you.”

Clarke’s smile softened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. “You will be, Aden. You’re already well on your way. Now come on, how about we try some sequences together?”

From her hidden spot, Lexa felt a surge of warmth and pride, not just for Aden, but for Clarke as well. The bond between them was clear, and it was…beautiful. Clarke was kind, patient, and compassionate with Aden, but there was also a fierceness in her that Lexa couldn’t help but admire. Watching them together, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Lexa continued to watch, her gaze softening as Clarke crouched to Aden's level, explaining something in a low voice. Aden listened intently, hanging onto every word she said, before carefully going to the sequences himself.

Still there was a part of her that felt a pang of something close to jealousy, or perhaps protectiveness. They didn’t tell me. 

It shouldn’t be much of a surprise, not when Clarke evidently didn’t trust her yet. And Aden had too high of an opinion of Wanheda to tell Lexa about this if Clarke had asked him not to.

So it wasn’t necessarily the secrecy that stung, but rather the fact that this was something she wanted to be a part of. Clarke and Aden, two people she cared deeply about, sharing something so so important.

She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt though. This moment was theirs, and she would let them have it. But later… later, she would talk to Clarke. She would ask her to meet the other Natblida, to share with them the same knowledge, the same care she was showing Aden now.

For now, she allowed herself to enjoy the sight of the two people she cared about most forming a bond that, despite everything, gave her hope for the future. She was content to know that Aden was in good hands, and that Clarke, despite everything she had been through, still had so much to give.

The crisp morning air was filled with the rhythmic sound of footsteps as Clarke and Lexa ran side by side through the woods just outside of Polis. Their early morning runs had become a quiet ritual, a way to clear their minds and momentarily escape the reality of their burdens.

Clarke matched Lexa’s pace effortlessly, her breath steady, though the tension from the past days still hummed in the air between them. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with unspoken words.

As they reached a clearing and slowed to a walk to cool down, Lexa glanced at Clarke, her eyes carefully guarded. Clarke sensed the shift immediately, her own gaze meeting Lexa’s, waiting. There was something Lexa wanted to say.

"You taught Aden yesterday," Lexa finally said, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of something Clarke couldn’t quite place. "I saw you."

Clarke wasn’t surprised. "I noticed," she replied softly, with the faintest hint of a smile. „The shadows are kind of my thing. You weren’t exactly hiding in them."

That caught Lexa off guard, though she didn’t show it on her face. The only giveaway was the subtle shift in her posture, a flicker of surprise in her eyes that Clarke easily picked up on.

"You knew I was there?" Lexa asked, though she didn’t push further. She seemed almost curious as to why Clarke hadn’t said anything when she noticed her watching.

Clarke simply nodded. "I didn’t mind. Aden’s a great kid. He listens. Reminds me of... well, of me at that age." There was a softness in her voice, an affection she wasn’t afraid to show.

Lexa’s expression remained neutral, but there was a slight relaxation in her shoulders. "He looks up to you," she said, the words carefully measured. She paused, as if gauging how much to say, her eyes studying Clarke’s reaction.

Clarke smiled, her heart warming at the thought. "He’s a fast learner. He’ll make a great heda one day." Her tone was gentle but sincere. She had grown fond of Aden in the brief moments they’d spent together, and it showed.

Lexa looked down for a moment, her hand brushing against a tree as they slowed further, her movements calm and deliberate. "All of the Natblida are exceptional," she murmured, though there was a quiet pride in her voice. Then, she glanced at Clarke again, more intently this time, as if what she was about to say carried far more weight. "Would you like to meet the others?"

The question hung in the air between them, the meaning behind it so much deeper than the words alone. Clarke blinked, caught off guard by the offer. Her lips parted, but no words came out for a moment. She hadn’t expected that—Lexa inviting her into such a private part of her life, into the world of the Natblida.

When Clarke finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost reverent. "You want me to meet them?" 

Lexa’s posture remained calm, but Clarke could see the tension in the way she held herself, the way her fingers lightly grazed her wrist as if it was the only tell she allowed herself. This was a risk for Lexa—a deep show of trust and care. She was letting Clarke into a space that few were allowed to see.

Lexa gave a small nod. "If you would like to. You could join us during their lessons tomorrow."

Clarke’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—surprise, joy, but also a deeper understanding of what this meant. She felt the urge to hug Lexa, the excitement bubbling up inside her at the idea of being included, of being trusted with something so important. 

For a split second, she took a small step forward, her body moving almost instinctively toward Lexa before she caught herself and stopped.

The moment passed, but the gesture had been there, and Lexa had noticed. The way Clarke’s eyes had lit up for just a second, the way her body had moved before she pulled back—it gave Lexa hope. There was something unspoken between them in that brief pause, a flicker of the closeness they once had, even if it was just out of reach.

(Always unspoken. And now more than ever, Lexa wanted to say it, comment on it. She didn’t.)

Clarke, on the other hand, felt a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She didn’t know why she had almost reached out, why her heart seemed to tug in one direction while her mind pulled in another (except she did). Her feelings were still so confusing, so raw.

"Leksa..." she started, then stopped, unsure of what to say. She settled on a soft smile, her emotions still warring within her. "I’d love to meet them."

Lexa gave a small but sincere nod, the tiniest of smiles tugging at her lips as she looked away briefly. "Then it’s settled," she said, her voice steady, though there was something lighter about her now, something almost relieved.

The throne room was filled with the soft murmur of young voices, and Clarke paused at the entrance, taking in the scene. 

Lexa sat in the center of a circle of Natblida, her voice gentle but commanding as she spoke. She was telling a story about Bekka Praimheda, the first Commander, who had emerged from the flames over a century ago. The children, wide-eyed and eager, hung on every word.  

But it wasn’t the sight of Lexa as their teacher that stirred something deep inside Clarke—it was the way Lexa looked so... human. Not the Heda, but someone who deeply cared for these children, someone who cherished them. 

That glimpse of vulnerability pulled at Clarke, and it certainly didn’t help her navigate the tightrope of emotions she has been balancing on for so long.

Clarke stepped inside, her presence drawing all eyes to her, including Lexa’s. The surprise in Lexa’s voice was subtle but unmistakable when she spoke. "Klarke."

The way Lexa said her name—soft, yet laced with something that made Clarke’s chest tighten—made her stomach flip. It wasn’t just surprise; there was an unmistakable affection there, a relief even, as if Lexa had half-expected Clarke not to show up.

Clarke smiled, her eyes sweeping over Lexa and then to the children, who were staring at her in a mix of awe and apprehension. Lexa quickly recovered from her initial surprise. "Klarke, meet the Natblida," she said, her tone composed once more, though Clarke could still sense the undercurrent of warmth.

Grinning, Clarke stepped forward, waving at the kids. "Nice to meet you all," she said, her voice gentle as she moved toward the circle. Lexa started to offer, "I’ll have someone fetch a chair—"

But Clarke shook her head, her gaze flicking to Lexa with a soft smile, "I’m good, Leksa. Mochof.“ 

Without hesitation, she sat down on the ground beside the children, immediately putting herself on their level. Lexa looked faintly surprised, her brow lifting just slightly. The children were wide-eyed, their apprehension slowly melting into something closer to admiration. Clarke couldn’t help but smile at them, feeling their curiosity.

"So," Clarke began, trying to ease the tension, "I think it’s a little unfair that you all know my name, but I don’t know yours."

That earned her a few giggles, the initial stiffness fading as the first child, Aden, spoke up proudly. "I’m Aden," he said with a grin, already familiar with Clarke but eager to reintroduce himself in front of the others. "I’m the oldest.“

Once the oldest had introduced himself, the younger ones felt free to follow. There were a total of seven Natblida from the ages of 5 to 10. 

Tom and Evie, she learned, were twins and both 8 years old. Tanza and Sya were 7, though Anuri stated proudly that he'd also be 7 very soon. Torin was the last to introduce himself, the 5 year old still very shy and slightly afraid of the warrior in front of him. Clarke gave them all smiles, making sure to soften her features even further for Torin.

"Nice to meet you all!"  

As they finished, Lexa spoke again, her voice filled with warmth Clarke wasn’t used to hearing when she addressed anyone but her people. "We're all glad you could make it. My Natblida have been excited since I told them you’d be joining us," Lexa said, looking pointedly at the kids, who immediately looked sheepish. "I don’t think they paid attention to any of my lessons today.“ while her words were reprimanding, Lexas voice spoke volumes about her affection for the kids.

Clarke laughed lightly, her gaze softening even further. "Well, I hope I don’t disappoint."

The children shook their heads quickly, clearly worried that Wanheda might think she could disappoint them. Lexa looked on, her expression gentler than Clarke had ever seen. This side of Lexa, the way she interacted with the children, was something Clarke hadn’t anticipated.

Lexa gestured to the children. "I think they have a few questions for you, Klarke.“

Clarke, very aware that most people tended to be scared of her due to her reputation, smiled at the Natblida once more. "Well, I'll be glad to answer any question you might have".

"We wanted to know", Evie straightened when she addressed Clarke, "All our people, they say that you're really strong. That it was you who freed us from the mountain. Did you really do that Wanheda?"

Clarke noticed Lexa stiffen ever so slightly beside her, clearly not expecting the directness of the question. But Clarke didn’t flinch. She was used to people bringing up the Mountain, used to the way it lingered in every conversation, every look. 

"First off," Clarke said gently, her tone warm but firm, "you can call me Klarke. No need for titles in here." That seemed to ease the children’s nerves a little more. "As for the Mountain… it wasn’t just me. It was a team effort." She paused, ignoring the flash of memories that threatened to pull her under—the burned flesh, the horror, the graveyard. 

(Not a monster. Not a monster. Murderer.)

She pushed them aside. "There were people inside who helped us, people fighting outside."

The Natblida and Lexa were stunned by Clarke's response. "Everyone says your power killed them," Tom reiterated.

Clarke nodded. "Yes, in the end it was me. But I couldn't have done it without help." 

The Natblida nodded in contemplation, though their curiosity wasn’t satisfied. "And you didn’t celebrate after?" Evie asked again, pushing a little further. And keryon were those kids asking her the exact questions she had been avoiding answering the previous 1.5 months?

Clarke’s heart clenched at the question. She could feel Lexa watching her, probably ready to intervene, but Clarke kept her focus on the children. "No," she admitted. "I didn’t. I needed to get away for a while, you know? And then I learned about Wanheda and let me tell you, suddenly having a spirit talking in my head was an adjustment“.

Now she did look at Lexa to wink at her "I'm sure you can ask your heda how she felt about the flame".

Lexa let out a rare laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, yes. The first time Fleimheda spoke to me, I nearly jumped out of my skin."

The kids giggled, clearly surprised by Lexa’s admission. Clarke couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound bringing a warmth between them that hadn’t been there in a long time. "Exactly! It was such a weird feeling in the beginning".

„In the beginning? I’m still not used to it," Lexa added with a smirk. Not that it happened frequently, as the spirit tended to be nestled further in the back of Lexas mind unless the brunette needed their advice or guidance.

"I can imagine that. But back to your question, I was lucky enough to not be needed for a while, so I left to deal with everything that had been going on at that time, before coming to Polis".

The Natblida listened eagerly. "And? What do you think of Polis now that you're here?" Anuri asked.

"Polis is everything your heda promised and unlike anything I've ever seen," Clarke said, her eyes sparkling with memories. "The bustling streets, and how there's always something new to discover. Like- I hadn't ever had pastries, right? So when my friends took me to get some on my first day here, I thought I went to heaven.", she gushed, "And the baths. Actual warm running water. When I grew up we had restrictions for how long we could shower, so this is a huge change for me."

Clarke was pulled out of her gushing by laughing kids and blushed slightly, grin never leaving her face. "I mean it. Baths are like the second best thing Polis has to offer"

"The second best? What's the best then?", Clarkes eyes flitted over Lexas face before resting on Sya, who had asked the question, "The company here is pretty great", she admitted.

"The company? Really?" Tanza asked, "I was so sure you'd say the pastries", Clarke smirked "Well, I think they make a nice fourth place. Because the cooks here make wickedly good deer".

The children giggled. "That's your favourite things? Water and good food?“ Clarke smiled at Aden. "Well, yes. I didn't have those growing up after all“.

"That's because you fell from the stars, right? What was it like to live there?"   

"It was... different. I grew up in a metal contraption called the arc, that circled around the earth. As for what was different. Well everything, really. Like... we didn't have animals or fresh air. So when I first saw an animal once we came down, I was so in awe of it. We also had very regulated resources, so we couldn't learn to swim, or eat for the indulgence of it. Even training was forbidden because we didn't have enough air up in space. Day and night were defined by a system that would turn the lights on and off, so I never saw a real sun set or rise like we do here. Back up on the arc, I'd look down on earth and wished to walk on the ground"

Aden leaned in eagerly. "And now that you're here. Do you think Earth is worth coming to?“ It was a question he’d asked before, and Clarke hadn’t always known quite how to reply.

Now, her gaze involuntarily flicked towards Lexa, a fond smile playing on her lips. "Sha," she answered softly. "Now that I'm here, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Throughout the rest of the lesson, the Natblidas kept being transfixed on Clarke, quickly loosing their fear of the blonde. They'd ask about her training, her strengths, about stories of her friends and of Wanheda. 

Clarke made it her mission to answer each and every one of them, animatedly retelling stories - like that time Niylah had taught her to ride and she immediately fell from the horse - drawing the Natblida in with every word she spoke.

As the kids continued to ask Clarke questions, she felt a strange kind of contentment settle over her. The kids’ laughter was infectious, and every time Clarke looked up, Lexa was watching her with so much… adoration. 

And for probably the first time since coming back, Clarke wasn’t so confused anymore. She wasn’t caught between wanting to push Lexa away or pull her close. As she sat there, surrounded by the Natblida, seeing Lexa in this new light, Clarke couldn’t deny that she wanted Lexa close—desperately so. 

It terrified her, but there was no escaping it now. Not after seeing the care Lexa showed these children. Not after the way Lexa had looked at her, soft and unguarded.

Their moment of ease was interrupted by the doors opening with a bang. 

In the doorway stood Titus, furious eyes fixed on Clarke, sitting in the middle of the circle of Natblida. At some point Torin had come to rest against her, though the boy now quickly scooted back again.

"The Natblida are late to their training with me", Titus rasped out. Gritting her teeth, Lexa stood up. "Sha, moba, Titus. We have forgotten the time", she said. Titus grunted before looking to the Natblida.

"In formation and wait outside the door", he commanded. The Natblida were quick to follow his orders, though Clarke felt their gazes lingering on her. She gave them all a small smile and wink. It seemed to relax them enough to leave the room. But not before Torin didn't turn to her once more. 

"You're a really strong warrior, sha, Wanheda?" Clarke nodded, ignoring Titus bristling beside her. "Will you be joining our training then?" Clarke was shocked at the unexpected request, but quickly  hid it. "I think that'll be up to your teachers to decide, Torin", she gave the diplomatic answer. The boy nodded slightly dejectedly. He had really hoped she'd say yes. Though instead of complaining, he went back into line, trailing behind the other Natblidas as they left the room.

Once the door closed, Titus face turned red in rage. (Clarke felt like she shouldn't ask him if he was getting sick though she'd love to see his expression if she did).

"Why is she here?" Titus growled, his finger jabbing in Clarke's direction. "She has no right to disrupt the Natblidas lessons." Lexa - kudos to her - remained calm. 

"She's here because I asked her to meet the Natblida. Both as my guest and as Wanheda, I thought it important for them to meet." 

"She will undermine my teachings, heda," Titus argued. "Already, an affection has formed. I will not let-" 

"You will not go against my decisions, Fleimkeepa." Lexa's voice was firm, but there was a hint of exhaustion in it. "You are valued as both my teacher and my advisor, but the Natblidas are my responsibility." 

Titus growled. "If you truly valued me as your advisor, you would heed my warnings and not let your weakness stop you." As Titus glared at her, Clarke couldn't help but feel like she was missing something important. 

„Em pleni, Titus." Lexa's tone brooked no argument. Undeterred, Titus turned to Clarke. "Does she even know the position she has put you in? You should have taken her power for yourself," he seethed. "That way she'd stop being a problem for everyone." 

Ah, right. Funny, even Nia had known not to try that. 

Lexa's eyes flashed dangerously. "And I have told you not to mention that ever again, Fleimkeepa." She paused, her voice dropping low. "Now, I believe you have lessons to commence." 

"Sha, heda." With one last scathing look in Clarke's direction, Titus bowed to Lexa and made his way to the door.  

Lexa called out to him as he was about to leave, causing him to pause. "I would like for Wanheda to join the Natblidas training sessions twice a week," she announced. "They have much to learn much from her." 

A vein pulsed on the back of Titus head and Clarke couldn't help the flicker of satisfaction, that was clearly mirrored in the slight petty glint Lexas eyes held. "I'll make sure to prepare for it, heda", the man growled before he bellowed out of the room.

"Now that that's done", Lexa breathed out once the man had finally left, "would you like to take a walk?“ Clarke had a strong urge to say yes, but-

"Moba, I promised Octavia and Anya a spar". "Right, no, of course", the brunette stuttered slightly sullen.

"You could always join?", she offered, "I don't think we've ever sparred before. For that matter-" she frowned at the brunette, "I don't think I've ever even seen you spar before". 

Lexa laughed softly. "You wouldn't have, I train separately from the main fields. But if you're sure, I'd love to watch.“ 

Clarke considered that. True, she hadn't seen Lexa around the training fields when she was sparring. "Well, Come on then. Don't want to leave them waiting, Octavia always gets really grumpy. And Anya hits me when I'm late, which is just rude".

Lexa smirked, "And you can't duck?" "Of course I can, I just don't want to make her mad before we even start sparring. I'm not that stupid“ 

Chapter Text

Clarke was in her room, sitting at her desk and going over some notes when the door burst open, causing her to jump in surprise. Raven stormed in, her usually confident and composed demeanor completely gone.  

"Oh my god Raven, are you okay?" Clarke asked, jumping out of her chair to get to her friend.  

Raven nodded, then shook her head, as if unsure of her answer. She paced around the room, her movements frantic and erratic.

"Raven?", Clarke asked again, unsure how to proceed. "I think I might be in love," she finally blurted out, her words coming out in a rush.

"I- huh?" Clarke stuttered dumbfounded. That's what had Raven so stressed? Clarke had been scared that something terrible had happened. 

"See it's like I knew I liked Anya, I'm not stupid" she stammered, "In fact, I'm a genius, so that couldn't escape me, like, ever. Nothing does. Well, some things do, but not the important ones right? So point is I knew I liked Anya. Shocker, okay." 

Raven still hadn't stopped her pacing. 

"But then we were at the training fields earlier, well, Anya was there, and I went to watch. And she saw me and came over and gave me that stupid smirk" Her breath hitched as she recalled the memory,. "God, that smirk," she groaned, her heart pounding in her chest. "It does something to me." 

Clarke tried really hard not to laugh, waiting for her friend to continue. "Anyway, so Anya turned, and she looked good. Like she always does, it's those cheekbones I swear," Raven rambled on "But well she came over and asked if I'd finally learn to fight. And like I laughed it off, cause obviously I did? But she looked kind of sad and I mean I don't want to make her sad? So I agreed which was totally worth it because she was like really surprised - and did I mention that Anya is really cute when surprised?"

Clarke couldn't quite link the word cute to the terrifying general, but she'd take Ravens word for it. "Anyway, so Anya showed me some basic moves," she said, "She was really careful too, you know, only showing me things that wouldn't strain my leg or anything. It was nice, really nice, even though it was exhausting. I mean, sweat is disgusting, but... but it was nice."

Judging by the smile Raven was spotting it was more than just nice, but Clarke obtained from interrupting the mechanic.

"So then she wanted to show me this move where you use your bodies speed to flip them over you, which sounded really cool, but we had too much speed and she ended up on top of me"

Oh. Oh. 

"And I was underneath her and... and god it did things to me", she admitted, "and I really really wanted to kiss her right then, but I- I don't know I panicked. I said I forgot an appointment and pushed her off me and now I'm here and what the hell am I supposed to do now."

As though all fight had left her, Raven finally slumped on Clarkes bed, holding her head in her hands.  "Listen, Rae. Maybe you should just talk to Anya about it? I mean, I'm like 100% sure she feels the same way," Clarke suggested, unsure what she was supposed to say.               

"Yes, of course", Raven snarked back, "Hey cheekbones, sorry for running off, I promise I didn't mean to, by the way, did I mention that I love you? In which world is that supposed to go well."    

"In the one where both of you are just too scared to take the first step?“ Raven remained silent.

"Hey, Rae", she said softly, crouching down in front of her friend, "It's okay to be scared. Relationships can be... complicated. But they're also all-encompassing and wonderful. Don't you owe it to yourself to at least try?"   

Raven's gaze flickered up to meet Clarke's, a hint of fear lingering in her eyes. "But what if I mess it up?" she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "I've been burnt before and I- I can't take another Finn."

Clarke shook her head, her expression earnest. 

"Rae, you can't let a bad experience prevent your happiness," she said firmly. "Anya isn't Finn, and you're not the same person you were back then. You've grown, you've changed." She paused, her gaze softening. "Do you think Anya is like Finn?"

Raven shook her head, "No, but-"

"No buts, Rae. Don't do Anya the disservice of comparing her to Finn. She deserves better than that." Raven's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding with uncertainty. "But what if I mess it up?" Clarke gave her a reassuring smile. 

"Then you talk it through," she said gently. "Communication is key, Raven. You and Anya need to be honest with each other, even when it's scary." She paused, her expression growing more serious.  Raven's shoulders sagged. "I hate you".     

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "No you don't," she replied, her tone teasing. "And you'll thank me later." They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before Clarke hesitantly broached a different topic. 

"So, uh, how's your hip?" she asked, her voice gentle. Raven's gaze flickered away for a moment before she replied, "It's fine." Clarke arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Bullshit," she retorted, her tone firm. "I've seen the way you wince at the slightest movement sometimes, and your tea always has at least some pain-relieving herbs in it." 

Raven hesitated, her defenses crumbling under Clarke's scrutiny. She hadn't realized the blonde had been that attentive. "Okay, it's not great," she admitted reluctantly. "Abby operated on the bullet, you know that, but there's not much more they can do with the medication we have." 

Clarke nodded. That was pretty much what she had expected, which is why she had spend the previous months researching the difference between acute injuries and those remaining from the injury Raven acquired. While her memories hadn't helped - No previous Wanheda had attempted to heal nervous damage - she was pretty sure the same rules applied for both.  

"I might be able to help," she offered tentatively. Raven's eyes widened in surprise (not hope yet, she couldn't afford hope). "What?" 

"You know that being a spirit comes with powers?" she asked, unsure how much exactly Lexa had told the others. Raven nodded, "Like how Lexa can kind of control flames, right? I know about that. It's pretty cool." 

"Exactly," Clarke agreed. "Well, one of my powers as Wanheda is healing."  "Griff, if you can make me walk painlessly without a brace again, you'll forever be my favorite person." Clarke laughed, her heart swelling with affection. "Careful," she teased. "Anya might get jealous if she hears that." 

"If you want I can try right now?" Clarke offered after she had given Raven some time to process  the information. "I mean I haven't ever tried healing nervous damage, but by now I've generally healed more than enough injuries that it shouldn't make a big difference" she hoped.

Raven seemed scared, almost. What if it didn't work after all?

"Hey, Rae?" Clarke made sure to look the brunette in the eyes, "No matter what, you're still awesome. This is for you, not anyone else. So if you aren't ready"

"No, I am. I'm-" Raven let out s shake breath, "I just really want it to work.", she admitted,

"So, how do we do this?"      

Clarke gestured towards the bed. "Lie down, and we can get started," she said gently. Raven chuckled nervously. "So, you just want an excuse to get up close and personal, huh?" she teased, trying to deflect her own anxiety. 

Clarke deadpanned. "Anya can keep that for herself," she retorted with a smirk. Rolling her eyes, Raven complied, lifting her shirt and removing her leg brace, exposing the injured part of her hip. 

"Happy now?" she quipped, her tone laced with nervous energy. Clarke hummed and instructed Raven to lie on her stomach and close her eyes, promising to let her know when she was done.  Placing her hands on the injured part, channeling her magic, bracing herself for the pain that would come. 

Concentrating, Clarke felt the familiar warmth flood through her body that she always experienced when she was healing someone.

The next thing Clarke could feel was pure agony in her hip. For once she was glad she had gotten so used to pain, because she was able to simply grit her teeth and keep going, while her hips felt like the injuries were freshly made. She could basically feel a bullet tearing through her back and a drill taking her bone marrow and goddamn it hurt.          

For 10 minutes, she stood over Raven, until finally, she felt the pain subside to a dull throb, signaling that the healing was complete. 

"You're done," Clarke whispered hoarsely. 

She was drenched in sweat, and felt slightly dizzy from the exertion. 

Raven sat up, and her face went from cautious to surprised to excited within seconds. Sitting up hadn't hurt. Hell, even the usual twinge she felt on the best of days had been absent. She could've wept in joy. She stood up. Walked. Sat back down.

It couldn't be that easy, couldn't just be gone. But it was, not even the slightest simmer of pain remained. 

Raven was thrilled. All the while Clarke is trying not to pass out.                

"I-" Raven began, her voice trembling as she turned to Clarke. She didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she breathed. Clarke managed a weary smile. "Anything for you," she replied softly.

That's when Raven took in the blondes state. "Oh shit, Clarke, I- are you okay?" Clarke winced as she moved - that hip injury really was a bitch - and nodded.

"Yeah, good, just" Clarke felt the room spin, her vision blurring as she swayed on her feet, "Just bit light-headed". 

Clarke collapsed.    

The moment Clarke’s body went limp, collapsing to the floor beside Raven, panic surged through Raven’s veins like lightning. She scrambled up from where she had been sitting, cradling her now-healed leg. 

„Clarke!“ she shouted, her voice thick with fear, shaking Clarke’s shoulders gently at first, then more desperately when there was no response.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt the overwhelming surge of dread. Clarke’s face was pale, her breathing shallow, and her body unnaturally still. It didn’t seem like it was just exhaustion. Something seemed very, very wrong.

"Help!" Raven’s voice cracked as she screamed again. "Somebody, help!"

The door to Clarke’s quarters burst open a moment later, two guards rushing in, their eyes wide as they assessed the scene. They saw Clarke’s limp form in Raven’s arms and moved immediately to action, clearly understanding the urgency.

"Get Heda," Raven ordered, her voice sharp with panic. "And Anya. And a healer, Asa. Now.“ 

The guards hesitated for the briefest of moments, glancing at each other, but one look at Clarke’s lifeless form and the pale, frantic expression on Raven’s face sent them into motion without another word. They rushed from the room, leaving Raven alone with Clarke.

Raven cursed under her breath, her hands trembling as she tried to move Clarke’s body. She needed to get her to the bed, to make her more comfortable, but Clarke felt so heavy, her body limp and unresponsive. Raven’s leg, though healed, was still weak, and she struggled to lift Clarke.

„Dammit, Clarke, why’d you have to build so much muscle? You’re freaking heavy“ she muttered under her breath, her frustration a mask for the terror coursing through her. She managed to drag Clarke a few feet, her arms burning with effort, before gently laying her down near the bed, unable to lift her any farther.

Raven knelt beside her, brushing strands of hair out of Clarke’s face. „You’re gonna be okay, okay? They’re coming. You’ll be fine.“

Her words felt hollow, and Raven’s heart clenched painfully as she waited for what felt like an eternity, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

Suddenly, the door flew open again, and Lexa stormed into the room, her mask of command firmly in place. Behind her were Anya and Asa, moving swiftly to Clarke’s side. The guards lingered for a moment, watching the scene unfold, but Lexa’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

„Leave us,“ she ordered, her tone cold and stern.

The guards exchanged a quick glance before exiting, closing the door behind them. As soon as they were gone, the tension that had been coiled so tightly in Lexa’s body snapped, and the mask of indifference cracked.

Lexa dropped to her knees beside Clarke, her hand hovering over her chest as if she couldn’t bring herself to touch her, not knowing what state Clarke was in. "Klarke…" she whispered, her voice strained, breaking with barely-contained fear.

Asa wasted no time. She knelt beside Clarke, gently placing her fingers against Clarke’s neck to check for a pulse, her brow furrowing with concentration. Anya stood behind Lexa, her own features tight with concern, though she remained composed, a grounding presence in the room.

„Is she…?“ Raven’s voice faltered, unable to finish the question.

„She’s alive,“ Asa confirmed, though her voice was tense. „She’s exhausted, though. Drained from whatever she did.“

Lexa’s breath came out in a rush, but her worry didn’t dissipate. Her hand finally settled on Clarke’s forehead, her fingers brushing against her skin with an uncharacteristic gentleness. „What happened?“ Lexa’s voice was low but filled with restrained intensity as she turned to Raven, her green eyes flashing.

Raven swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. „She was healing me… my leg. It wasn't- I didn't think anything was wrong, Lexa. She said she could help, but I didn’t think—" Her voice cracked, guilt washing over her. „I didn’t think it would take so much out of her.“

Lexa’s jaw clenched tightly as she processed the information, her hands balling into fists for a moment before relaxing, her gaze flickering back to Clarke, her expression raw with emotion. She had seen Clarke push herself before, had seen the strength and stubbornness that often pushed the blonde past her limits, but this was too far.

Anything that hurt Clarke was too far.

Asa was busy checking Clarke’s breathing, her hands moving swiftly but carefully over her body. „She needs rest,“ Asa said firmly. „Deep rest. Her body is spent. There’s nothing more we can do but wait and let her recover, I think. Though we should check with Murphy and Emori just in case, I believe they have the most experience with Clarke’s powers.“

„Will she wake soon?“ Lexa’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of her worry, her thumb gently caressing Clarke’s cheek as she sat beside her, helpless.

Asa shook her head. „It could be hours, maybe longer. But she will wake.“

Lexa’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stared down at Clarke, her hand never leaving her skin, as if she could tether Clarke to this world by the sheer force of her will. „She better,“ Lexa muttered under her breath, her voice hardening once more as her worry crashed down on her like a wave.

Anya stepped forward, placing a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, her voice low. „Clarke will pull through this. She always does.“

Lexa nodded, though her eyes remained fixed on Clarke’s still form, her emotions warring within her as she tried to keep her composure. „She never should’ve risked herself like this,“ she murmured, her voice breaking slightly.

She still remembered Fleimhedas lessons, all the horror stories of things that could happen if a vessel overuses their powers. Stories of Heda’s who became one with the fire they controlled, stories of Wanheda’s who’d fade into the shadows they made apart of them. That couldn’t happen to Clarke.

„She did it for me,“ Raven said softly, guilt flooding her voice. „She didn’t want me to suffer. I—I didn’t know it would take so much out of her.“ 

Lexa’s head snapped up, her eyes locking onto Raven’s, a mix of anger and understanding swirling in her gaze. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned back to Clarke, her expression softening, the cold mask cracking once more.

„Clarke does what she must,“ Anya said quietly. „You know that, Leksa.“ The brunette closed her eyes, nodding slightly. "I know."

For a long moment, no one said anything. The room was thick with tension and worry, the only sound the faint, shallow breathing coming from Clarke.

Lexa stayed by Clarke’s side, her hand never leaving her. As the minutes ticked by, Raven, Anya, and Asa watched in silence.

The tension in the room was palpable as Clarke lay on the bed, her chest rising and falling softly, though too shallow for Raven’s comfort. Lexa sat beside her, her hand resting on Clarke’s arm, while Asa had left the room in search of Murphy.

Raven tried to focus on Clarke, on the fact that she was alive and breathing, but her thoughts kept drifting. Her heart pounded in her chest, not just from the recent scare with Clarke but also because of the presence lingering at the edge of her vision—Anya. She could feel Anya’s eyes on her, and it was unbearable.

“Reivon,” Anya’s voice broke the heavy silence, startling her. It was gentle, though tinged with concern, and it made Raven’s chest tighten. “How are you holding up?”

For a moment, Raven wanted to deflect, to make a joke or brush it off like she always did. But as she glanced over at Clarke, the image of Lexa’s hand softly resting on her arm, her gaze full of worry yet so deeply in love that she couldn’t confess, something shifted in Raven.

Raven swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She couldn’t hide from this anymore. Not from Anya. Not from herself.

“I—” Her voice cracked slightly, and she cleared her throat, trying again. “I think we need to talk.”

Anya’s brow furrowed, her eyes darkening with concern. "About Clarke? Asa said she’ll recover—"

“No, not about Clarke.” Raven’s voice was quieter now, a little more unsure, as she glanced over at Lexa and Clarke. “Can we talk somewhere private?” She didn’t dare meet Anya’s eyes.

Anya paused, confusion flickering across her face, but she nodded. She gave Lexa a look, silently checking that they wouldn’t be needed, and after receiving an approving nod, she turned back to Raven.

“Come,” Anya said softly, her voice lower than usual. “We’ll go to my quarters.”

Raven followed her out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest. Every step felt heavier than the last. This was it. No more running, no more hiding behind jokes or deflection. She desperately hoped Clarke had been right.

Anya led her down the stone corridor and to her quarters, which were just a floor below. The door creaked open as they stepped inside, the space modest yet unmistakably Anya—bare walls, neatly arranged weapons, and a small bed in the corner. It was quiet, private, and suddenly Raven felt too exposed.

Anya closed the door behind them, her gaze lingering on Raven for a moment before she spoke, her voice carefully measured. "What is it, Reivon? Is it about earlier?“

Raven let out a humorless laugh, her eyes flicking to the floor. „Yeah, about that…“ 

Anya’s stoic mask faltered, her brow creasing. "Why did you leave like that? You said you had an appointment, but I knew something was wrong. Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m really sorry if I did.“

Raven’s chest tightened. She could feel the weight of Anya’s gaze, and it made her pulse race. Her mind raced for something, anything, to brush it off, to joke, but the words caught in her throat. 

She couldn’t keep doing this.

“I freaked out,” Raven admitted, her voice small. She looked up at Anya, her heart pounding so hard she was sure Anya could hear it. “I mean, we were training, and it was great. It was really great, Anya, but… then we were so close, and I just—” She broke off, her breath hitching as she tried to find the words. “I panicked.”

Anya’s lips parted slightly, her expression softening in a way Raven wasn’t used to seeing. “You panicked? Why?”

Raven shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her. “Because I’m scared, okay? You—" she stopped, biting her lip, "you make me feel things. Intense things. And I’ve been dancing around it for ages because I don’t know what to do with it.” She let out a long breath, her hands fidgeting in front of her, nervous energy coursing through her veins. “I wanted to kiss you, Anya. Right then and there. I— I really really want to kiss you. But instead, I ran away.”

Anya took a slow step closer, her eyes never leaving Raven’s. “Why did you run?”

Raven’s mouth was dry, her hands trembling slightly. She could feel Anya’s presence, so steady and unwavering, and it only made her feel more off-balance. “Because… I’m terrified,” Raven whispered. “Terrified of screwing this up. You’re important to me, and if I mess this up, I lose you. I don’t think I can take that.”

Anya’s eyes softened, her stoicism slipping away as the vulnerability in Raven’s voice cut through her. She stepped even closer, her hand reaching out to brush against Raven’s arm, and it sent a jolt through her body. “You won’t lose me, Reivon.”

Raven blinked, her throat tightening. “But what if I do? What if I say or do something that ruins everything?” She looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been hurt before. I don’t know if I can handle that again.”

Anya was silent for a moment, and Raven felt her heart in her throat, waiting for the inevitable rejection, for the silence to stretch too long. But then, Anya spoke, her voice steady yet full of emotion. 

“I’ve been scared too,” Anya admitted quietly, her hand moving to gently cup Raven’s cheek, tilting her face upward until their eyes met. “I’m not good at this. At feelings. I’ve always been better at fighting wars than understanding people.”

Raven’s breath caught, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “But you—” she paused, swallowing hard. “You always seem so sure of yourself.”

Anya gave her a small, almost rueful smile. “Not when it comes to you. When it comes to you, I don’t know what to do either. You make me feel things I don’t understand.”

Raven’s heart swelled in her chest, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to hope. She searched Anya’s eyes, seeing the raw honesty there, and it made something in her chest loosen. Maybe Anya was just as terrified as she was.

“I’ve been dancing around this because I don’t want to lose you either, strik sora” Anya continued, her thumb gently brushing Raven’s cheek. “But maybe… maybe we should stop being afraid and just… try.”

Raven’s breath hitched, her eyes searching Anya’s. “You think we can make this work?”

Anya nodded slowly, her gaze unwavering. “I think we can. If— if you want to, that is. Without running away.”

Raven swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Her heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t just fear. It was something else—something deeper. “No more running,” she agreed softly.

There was a moment of stillness, of shared vulnerability hanging between them, and then, before Raven could second-guess herself, she closed the distance between them.

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, and Raven felt the world tilt beneath her feet. Anya’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and Raven’s heart soared, the warmth spreading through her chest like wildfire.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was gentle, full of the tenderness neither of them had been able to put into words.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, Raven let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She smiled, the weight in her chest finally lifting. 

“See?” Anya whispered, her voice soft. “We can make this work.”

Raven chuckled softly, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her fingers gently tracing the edge of Anya’s jaw. “I think we can.”

Clarke woke up who knows how long later, to several worried voices around her. Something was tickling her nose. She swatted it away.

"Oh thank fuck you're awake", she heard someone exclaim. Was that Raven?  People seemed to shuffle around the room. 

"How are you feeling. Are you alright? Raven told us what happened" That was Lexa. Wait when had Lexa gotten there? Clarke shot up in her bed. The expected lingering pain from her back was mysteriously absent. Dread pooled in her stomach. Did that mean- 

"Rae, are you alright?", Clarke asked, panicked that somehow the injury had returned to the mechanic. But Raven was standing, and she wasn't wearing her brace, and she was smiling,

"Yeah, thanks to you, Griffster. Though", she gave her friend a sharp glance, "If you ever pass out on me again, I'll hurt you".  

Clarke let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over her as she realized that Raven was indeed alright. It had actually worked. 

"Sorry? I should've warned you. To be fair, normally it takes a lot more injuries for me to pass out", she defended herself.

"Yeah, Murphy told us that. He also said to just let you rest for a while and you'll be fine."      

Murphy? How had he gotten wind of that? "Please tell me not everyone knows I passed out", she winced, earning a scoff from Lexa.

"Klarke, you've been unconscious for almost 24 hours. Of course everyone knows. Do you know how worried we all were?" 

Clarke recoiled, then looked at Raven sheepishly, "Well look at that, there must've been a difference between acute injuries and nervous damage after all".

Raven did not look impressed. Nor did anyone else for that matter.

"So..." Clarke trailed off when it became apparent the others were just going to stare at her, "Is there any food around? I'm starving."

Over the course of the next two days, Clarke was constantly shadowed by others. Even Murphy - aware that her exhaustion after healing someone were not a cause for concern - made sure she was never alone. 

Asa had even insisted she receive a medical checkup and it had taken hours to convince anyone that she was fine to spar, which would have been bothersome if it weren't also endearing.  

However, in the present moment, she could do without the constant doting. "Leksa, I assure you, I am perfectly fine," she said for what felt like the hundredth time. "Not only am I fine, but I am also feeling great. And I am eager to see the Natblida again, so let's get going or we'll be late. And I don't want to deal with an even grumpier Titus." 

Relenting, Lexa managed a small grin. "Very well, if you say so, let's be on our way," she acquiesced. "But if you pass out I'll leave you."

Clarke laughed  "Leksa, according to Raven and well - anyone really - you were going mad with concern. I doubt you'd just leave“ Lexa scowled 

"Try not to find out please“. 

Clarke stood in the training grounds, feeling a strange sense of anticipation mixed with nervousness as she faced the group of Natblida. After all, it had only been a few days since she passed out after healing Raven, and though she felt better now, there was still a quiet voice in the back of her mind telling her to be careful. 

(The voice sounded oddly like Lexa, so she was reasonably certain it was simply her friends (friend. They were friends.) overbearing nature that made her hesitate).

Either way, this wasn’t about fighting or pushing herself—it was about teaching the next generation of leaders how to heal on the battlefield.

(It was about spending time with and teaching the children she had grown so incredibly fond of).

Lexa had excused herself to the sidelines, though her presence was - as always - unmistakable. So was her tense posture and the worry lines drawn onto her forehead.

Clarke knew she’d requested this change in the training schedule, switching out the usual martial arts lesson for something less physically taxing, given Clarke’s recent collapse. And Clarke certainly wasn’t blind to the fact that it was at least partly because Lexa was still worried about her. 

The Commander had been hovering ever since Clarke had woken up, and while Clarke appreciated her concern, it also made her a little anxious.

Still, she couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face as the Natblida gathered around her. Their dark eyes were wide, curious, and expectant. These kids were being trained to be leaders, warriors, and healers, learning to carry the same burden Lexa did. It was impossible not to feel a little protective over them.

"Alright," Clarke said, clearing her throat as she crouched down to their level. "Today we’re going to learn something very important—how to take care of your warriors on the battlefield. Sometimes, when you're fighting, there won’t be a healer around. So it’s up to you to keep your people alive until help comes. Do you know why that's important?“

Anuri’s small hand shot up, the little boy with the freckled face just as excited as he had been in earlier training sessions. "Because dead warriors can't fight," he said, his voice high-pitched in a way that made the statement sound so incredibly wrong.

Still, she had to stifle a laugh, nodding seriously. „Exactly. Dead warriors can’t fight, and a good leader knows how to keep their people alive. So today, I'm going to show you some basic techniques—things you can do in the middle of a battle to stop someone from bleeding or to help them breathe.“ 

The children leaned in, clearly interested, and Clarke felt a warmth bloom in her chest. She was good at this, she realized. Healing, teaching—it reminded her of her days as a medical apprentice on the Arc, but this was different. Here, she wasn’t just helping people; she was giving them the tools to help themselves. (Here, she belonged). It felt... right.

Clarke demonstrated simple techniques—how to apply pressure to a wound, how to make a makeshift tourniquet with the fabric you had on hand, and how to assess if someone needed more help than you could provide. 

She had one of the Natblida, Sya, pretend to be injured while the others gathered around and practiced what they’d learned. Their small hands moved carefully, mimicking Clarke’s actions as they tied makeshift bandages and gently pressed on wounds that weren’t really there.

"Remember," Clarke said softly as she guided Aden through tightening a strip of cloth around Sya’s arm, "you have to be calm, even when things feel scary. Your people will look to you for guidance, and if you stay calm, they'll follow your lead.“ 

As she continued teaching, Clarke’s attention was briefly pulled away by movement at the edge of the training grounds. 

Titus had approached Lexa, his expression tight with disapproval (as always). Clarke watched as the two of them exchanged a few words.

The tension between them had gotten even worse since Clarkes return, as far as she could tell, and even from where she stood, she could make out the obvious tightening of Lexa’s jaw. 

Titus’ lips moved quickly, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Clarke as if she were, unsurprisingly, the subject of their conversation. Lexa said something in response, her tone clipped, and though Clarke couldn't hear the words, it was clear this wasn’t just a casual conversation. Titus was angry, that much was obvious, and Clarke had a sinking feeling she knew why.

She tried not to focus on it, returning her attention to the children as Torin tugged on her sleeve. "What next?" the little boy asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Clarke forced herself to smile, pushing aside the unease gnawing at her. She wasn’t about to let Titus’s disapproval ruin this moment. "Now," she said, "let’s talk about what to do if someone stops breathing.“

As Clarke knelt down to demonstrate a basic technique for checking airways, she caught another glimpse of Lexa and Titus. They had moved farther away now, almost to the tree line, and Clarke could no longer hear their voices over the chatter of the children around her. But she didn’t miss the way Titus’s posture stiffened, or the brief flash of emotion on Lexa’s face—something like frustration, or maybe even anger. Clarke couldn’t be sure. 

She forced herself to focus on the lesson, but the feeling of being watched, of being discussed, lingered uncomfortably in the back of her mind. 

(The distrust lingered in the back of her mind, the fear that Lexa would listen to Titus, the fear that Lexa had been lying, the fear that Clarke would loose her again).

"Klarke?" Torin tugged at her sleeve again, bringing her back to the present. She blinked and looked down at the small group gathered around her. "Moba," she said, her voice softening. "Let’s keep going.“ 

The children listened intently as Clarke demonstrated chest compressions, their small hands pressing into the ground as they tried to mimic her movements. Clarke found herself smiling despite the heaviness lingering from Titus’s confrontation with Lexa.

As the session continued, Clarke felt the tension ease from her shoulders. She watched the Natblida practice, offering gentle corrections and encouragement. Evie caught her attention with her meticulous care as she wrapped a strip of cloth around Sya’s arm.

"Good job," Clarke said, patting her shoulder gently. "You’re going to be a great fisa one day."

Evie beamed up at her, pride lighting up her face, and Clarke felt her heart swell. She could see a future here—a future where these children, these possible leaders, didn’t have to face the same horrors she had, the same horrors Lexa had. 

Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to make the same choices she had made.

(If Lexa could convince the ambassadors and Titus to get rid of the conclave. If Lexa stayed alive. She ignored all the ifs).

As the lesson wrapped up and the Natblida began to drift away, Clarke finally allowed herself to glance toward Lexa again. 

Titus was gone, but Lexa remained, her eyes on Clarke. There was something unspoken between them, a quiet understanding. Clarke didn’t need to ask what Titus had said—she could already guess. But Lexa’s presence, her silent support, was enough to steady Clarke’s heart.

Lexa gave her a small nod, the slightest inclination of her head, and Clarke returned it, feeling a sense of calm wash over her.

That evening, she sat cross-legged on the couch in Lexa’s quarters, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup absentmindedly. The dim light of the evening flickered from the candles, casting a soft glow over the room. 

"What were you and Titus talking about earlier?" Clarke asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm but curious, though there was an edge to it. Lexa hesitated, lowering her cup, her expression tightening with contemplation.

"He’s… concerned, that’s all," Lexa said, though the words felt hollow, as if she wasn’t quite convinced of them herself.

Clarke raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Concerned?" she repeated, leaning back slightly. "I saw him glaring at me, Leksa. Like, more than usual."

Lexa sighed, rubbing her temple as if trying to ease the weight of the day. "You know his opinion of you, Klarke."

Clarke huffed softly, the corners of her lips twitching into a wry smile. "You mean the one where I’m an imposter or the one where he thinks you should kill me to become Wanheda on top of Heda?"

Lexa’s expression hardened into a stern glare, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You shouldn’t be so flippant about that, Klarke. Just because I won’t do it doesn’t mean there aren’t others who would."

Clarke’s smile faded, her gaze dropping. "I know that, Leksa. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her breath catching in her throat as a memory surged to the surface. The suffocating darkness, the overwhelming fear, and the icy grip of Azgeda's cruelty. Clarke’s mind flooded with the faces of the people she had seen fall, the moments where death had loomed far too close. Her hands tightened around the cup, knuckles white. She could feel herself slipping back into that memory, drowning in it.

(„I’ll cover for you there are too many“
„They’ll kill you, they came here for me, for my power, I—“
„You’re injured and weakened. They can’t take your power“
„Please let me—„
„Run, Klarke. And don’t look back“
„Moba“
„Ai gomplei ste udon. Yours isn’t.“)

"Klarke?"

Lexa’s voice was soft, but it cut through the haze, pulling Clarke back to the present. Clarke blinked, her heart racing as she glanced at Lexa. The Commander’s eyes were filled with concern, her hand resting gently on Clarke’s shoulder, grounding her (terrifying her).

„Would you like to talk about it?“

"I’m fine," Clarke snapped, her voice shaky as she tried to pull herself together. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet Lexa’s gaze. "Moba. I… I’d rather talk about what you and Titus were speaking about.“ 

Lexa studied her for a long moment, eyes roaming over the scars on Clarkes face to her covered arms, down to her legs.

Since the vote for Nias trial, Clarke hadn’t shown her scars again, and Lexa had been scared to bring it up, not wanting the other girl to pull away again. Maybe that had been a mistake. She’d spoken to Clarkes friends and they had all been unsure. 

Even Roan, Ontari and Asa hadn’t known how to ask, as the blonde was famous for not taking help very well. She seemed to be doing better, seemed to be opening up. Yet somehow she seemed to have shut herself off as well.

Beyond their conversation the evening of the last meeting, all she had were vague hints from the Azgedan siblings and Clarke herself, basic explanations. She knew there had been torture - if she hadn’t known that before, the scars on the blondes back had proven that - she also knew that Clarke had seen people die in Azgeda and fought in the pits. But beyond that any information eluded her. 

(As if it wasn’t enough information already. As if it didn’t paint a picture she could fill, as if it didn’t make her wake up from horrific nightmares of Clarke screaming, of Clarke killing, of Clarke dying, never knowing just how close to the truth her dreams came).

She should ask. Not only for the sake of knowing but because as much as Clarke insisted she was getting help and talking about it, she really didn’t. And from the blondes behaviour - the jumpiness, the way her breathing picked up at times, her eyes darkened, or how she faded out of conversations and sank into memories, not even mentioning that breakdown when Niylah left - Lexa could only assume how badly the blonde was really coping.

But Lexa was scared. Did she really want to know? When Clarke had shown the scars, Lexas chest had already constricted. She had wanted to kiss each and every one of them, take the pain away and she had wanted to avert her eyes, not grasping the pain Clarke must’ve gone through.

Lexa was brave, fearless. But when it came to Clarke, she was also scared. So instead, she asked „Should you talk about it?“

Clarke seemed to ignore the comment for a second, eyes lowering to the floor. She looked nothing like the confident woman Lexa had gotten used to seeing. Not even like the gentle soul that simmered through when they were alone. 

She looked almost small. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her like that. Not even before the mountain where Clarke, at least physically speaking, had been small. She had always had the ability to draw in the people around her, command attention. She had always seemed so… big. That picture was gone when Clarke hunched over though, shrinking into the couch like she wanted it to hide her.

After a while — „Tell me about Titus first“.

Lexa didn’t push, though Clarke could tell she wanted to. Instead, Lexa her for a bit longer before sighing again, her eyes flicking briefly to the door as if considering her words carefully.

"Titus is concerned about what your presence means for my position as Heda," Lexa finally admitted, her voice low. "The ambassadors, some of the leaders… they still see your return from the mountain as a sign of my weakness."

Clarke nodded, unsurprised but irritated by the idea, especially after the last ambassadors meeting. „Even now they think you weak?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Lexa winced. "Yes. It’s certainly been… better since the vote for Nia’s trial. Your words have given them pause, but still—Titus believes I need to act decisively. He’s worried that doubt in my leadership could undermine the entire coalition.“ 

Clarke's heart sank, her irritation growing. She should find a way to attend more of those meetings. "What exactly does he want you to do about it?“ 

(Are you going to kill me? Have you thought about it? How honest were you when you said you regret betraying me?)

Lexa met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. (Her heart rate was spiking. When she had told Titus she’d bring it up with Clarke she hadn’t actually meant to do it. Would she be angry? Mad? Disappointed?).

So she hesitated, as if debating how much to say. There was that twisting anxiety again, in the way Lexa chewed on her lip, or how her fingers were itching to twirl her knife.

"He thinks you should swear fealty to me. Publicly.“ Lexa hadn’t looked at Clarke as she said it, not wanting to see the relationship they had rebuild crumble once more.

Clarke was certain that Wanheda swearing fealty wasn’t the mans first choice. She didn’t say that, because Lexa knew.

Still, the words hung in the air between them, heavy and fraught with implications. Clarke felt her chest tighten. Swearing fealty? Wanheda kneeling to Heda?

Clarke leaned back against the cushions, her expression conflicted. "Do you want that?" she asked quietly. The question felt colder than she intended, and the look on Lexa’s face—surprised, even a little hurt—made her stomach twist.

Lexa hesitated, her eyes darting away. For once, she looked unsure of herself. "Politically, sha," she admitted, her voice soft but steady. "It would help secure my position. It would silence those who doubt me." She paused, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her cup. "But… no. I don’t want you to swear fealty to me, Klarke. Not like that."

Clarke stared at her, her mind racing. She didn’t know what to say—she wasn’t even sure how she felt. Fealty was something Wanheda didn’t swear to anyone, a symbol of her independence and strength. Yet looking at Lexa now, the fear in her eyes, the vulnerability she rarely showed, Clarke realized something painfully, fearfully true.

It wasn’t about Wanheda swearing fealty to Heda. It was about Clarke and Lexa.

"You don’t?" Clarke asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her emotions pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Lexa didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze dropped to Clarke’s hands, where old scars lay hidden beneath her sleeves, scars Lexa had seen but never fully understood.

"I don’t deserve it," Lexa finally said, her voice breaking through the silence. "You swore nothing to me before, and I failed you then. I didn’t protect you. How could I ask for that now?“ 

Clarke’s heart ached at Lexa’s words, at Lexa showing the cracks in her armor. Clarke felt her own walls crumble a little in response.

"It’s not about deserving it," Clarke murmured. She could feel Lexa’s gaze on her, and it took every ounce of courage she had to look up. When their eyes met, the air between them seemed to shift, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. "Would you have wanted me to swear fealty… if you thought you deserved it?“ 

Please say no.

Lexa didn’t answer right away, her expression unreadable. But finally, she whispered, "Would you have?"

Clarke looked down at her hands, her fingers twitching with anxiety. Would she have? She wasn’t sure. Wanheda couldn’t kneel, couldn’t bow to anyone. Yet… Lexa wasn’t just Heda. Lexa was so much more.

"I don’t know," Clarke said honestly. Her voice cracked slightly as she admitted it, her eyes flicking back to Lexa’s. "But maybe… maybe I would have sworn fealty to you. Not to Heda. To you, Leksa.“ 

The confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable. Lexa’s breath hitched, her eyes softening as they filled with something Clarke couldn’t quite place—gratitude, maybe. Or something deeper, something far more dangerous.

A heavy silence settled between them, not awkward but thick with unspoken tension. It was the kind of silence that carried weight—meaningful and fragile, as though one wrong move could shatter the moment. 

Lexa reached out, gently taking Clarke’s hand in hers, her lips brushing against the rough skin on Clarke’s knuckles in a gesture of comfort.

Clarke stiffened.

She needn’t look at her knuckles to know just what the tingle meant. Didn’t need to check the scarred knuckles she had become so accustomed to. She had felt it once before—a warmth that spread like wildfire, erasing the physical scars that had marred her skin. And in just a single second, all warmth left her. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay.

But could she let go? Could she forgive herself for wanting that? Could she truly forgive and trust and stay?

Her chest tightened, and a familiar sensation of panic gripped her. Every nerve screamed at her to run. 

"Klarke," Lexa’s voice trembled, thick with emotion. "Moba, I—„ Clarke shook her head, didn’t know what to do, what to think.

(She loved it, hated it, needed it, despised it. But above all it broke her, shattered her, crushed her).

She couldn’t escape the crushing emotions flooding her system. She didn’t want to meet Lexa’s gaze because she already knew what she would see there: love, regret, hope. And the weight of that was unbearable.

And it was stupid.

Wasn’t this what she had been craving for so long? The soft touch, the tenderness, the comfort that Lexa always seemed to offer without even trying. But it was also what Clarke had been avoiding for so long. She had built walls around her heart, locking herself behind them to avoid the pain that came with intimacy, with trust.

Her mind flickered between past and present, between love and fear, between scars and the tingle that erased them. She thought of the mountain, of betrayal she thought had stopped hurting. She thought of how her scars had returned the day she felt Lexa had abandoned her, how the pain of her physical wounds had been nothing compared to the emotional scars left behind.

(Thought of standing in front of the mirror day after day, tracing her scars, wishing the reminders of Azgeda to be erased yet never granted the wish. Thought of fear and pain and tears.)

Her heart twisted painfully. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything felt too real, too raw.

“Maybe I would’ve sworn fealty to you,” Clarke had said. It now felt hollow, distant. She wasn’t sure she meant it now—not like she had before. The weight of what had just happened crushed her. "I—"

Lexa’s lips parted, as if she were about to speak, to offer some reassurance, but Clarke couldn’t bear to hear it. Not now.

“I need a moment,” Clarke muttered, her voice barely a whisper as she stood abruptly. She couldn’t stay in the room—couldn’t face Lexa’s grief-stricken expression, couldn’t handle the mixture of guilt and longing that was undoubtedly crossing Lexa’s face.

Clarke fled, her heart pounding in her chest, her footsteps quick as if running could somehow distance her from the storm swirling inside her. She didn’t hear Lexa’s soft cry behind her, didn’t feel the Heda’s heartbreak as she slipped through the door.

Instead, her mind spun with memories.

Watching the warriors (Lexa) at the mountain recede, the sorrowful apology hanging in the air between them. The tingling of her skin as her scars reappeared, a brutal reminder of everything she had lost. The feeling of Lexa’s lips before the mountain. Soft whispers of reassurance, warm arms that had kept her safe. Lexa had been the one person she trusted.

And yet she had been the person to betray her.

Clarke didn’t know what to do with the flood of emotions crashing through her. So Clarke did what she did best — she ran.

Chapter Text

„I do not care how you do it, she needs to be gone before the trial starts“, the cold voice hissed angrily, a hint of fear poorly concealed within. „She might as well be immortal“, a deeper voice growled back, the panic almost equal in measure, „I do not know who or what could kill her“.

The woman was pacing up and down the room, holding the old radio in a clenched hand. „I have an idea what might“

Elsewhere, a hidden radio cackled to life. The same cold voice from earlier spoke, this time answered by a slightly deeper, snarling tone. „We had a deal“, the woman told the angry man, „I’m calling in my end of the deal“. 

Brown eyes flashed angrily, yet he knew better than to argue against the queen. Besides, he thought with a disgusting amount of satisfaction, this was exactly what he’d wanted all along.

„We’ll handle our part“, he promised.

The fire crackled softly in front of them, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy tension twisting inside Clarke’s chest. The small room was dimly lit by the flickering light, casting dancing shadows over the stone walls. Beyond the thick walls, the city of Polis stirred, the distant hum of life and duty muffled by the stillness in the room.

Clarke sat cross-legged on the floor, staring into the flames as if they might offer her the answers she sought. The ache in her chest hadn’t faded since she’d fled Lexa’s quarters earlier. No matter how much she tried to push it down, it only grew stronger, more suffocating. 

Roan and Ontari sat to her sides, leaning back against the wall, observing her in quiet concern. And a Clarke of the past would’ve despised that, she had never been one for leaning on others, but right now, she needed them—her siblings in all but blood, the only ones who seemed to understand her without judgment.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Roan broke the silence, his voice low, gravelly but gentle. His sharp blue eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of emotion she couldn’t quite hide.

Clarke let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe I have.”

Her thoughts were a tangled mess, flickering between moments—tingling skin, disappearing scars, the mountain, the betrayal. Each memory stabbed at her like a knife, and no matter how much she tried to make sense of it, the pieces didn’t fit together. She had seen ghosts, in a way. Ghosts of herself, of Lexa, of the person she used to be before everything fell apart.

Ontari, usually so blunt and fierce, tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowed with concern. “What happened?” she asked softly, her hand finding Clarke’s shoulder. There was strength in her touch, the kind of steady, silent support Clarke had come to appreciate.

Clarke exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. She raised her hand, showing her knuckles, the skin now smooth, unmarked by the scars that had defined her for so long. Roan’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly, but he said nothing. Ontari’s grip on Clarke’s shoulder tightened in response, her eyes darkening with realization.

“Maybe that’s not so bad, strik pakstoka,” Ontari said cautiously, though Clarke could hear the edge of her words, could sense her wariness.

“It’s not that simple,” Clarke said, her voice sharp but brittle, breaking under her emotions. “She’s not supposed to be able to do this anymore. I don’t— she can’t have that power over me anymore, ‚Tari“.

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of Clarke’s words sinking into the room, her pain bleeding all around her.

“You’re afraid,” Roan said softly, cutting through the silence with his blunt but understanding tone. He shifted closer, his eyes softening as they held hers. “Afraid of what it means.”

Clarke clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white. Of course, I’m afraid, she wanted to say. She was terrified. After everything that had happened—after the mountain, after Azgeda, after every agonizing choice she’d had to make—what else could she be?