Chapter 2
The next day was the first without rain in almost a week. Braziers burned in every corridor to dispel the lingering chill and Clarke shivered as she made her way to the infirmary. It was early and the halls were mostly empty, but she wasn’t surprised to find Nyko already at work, checking a sleeping patient. She stayed long enough to ask that a table with supplies be set up in the throne room for her afternoon lesson, then headed down to the courtyard. Angus trailed her as usual, and as they rode the elevator down, she noticed his curious looks. As always he made a point not to ask.
Outside their breath fogged in little white clouds, and freezing wind picked its way through Clarke’s layers of clothing making her teeth rattle. The sky was boiling with dark, menacing clouds and the blonde knew this was only the first taste of winter. The yard was still wet from a midnight drizzle and some men were scattering finely ground gravel mixed with salt to prevent ice from forming. Clarke hoped it would mean less broken limbs for her to fix.
The Nightbloods were already training, the older ones with live steel, while the youngest carried weapons with blunted edges. Clarke had expected them to use wooden ones, perhaps weighted, but she should have expected this. She knew from experience that Grounders were anything but soft. Following her gaze, Angus finally understood her intent.
“You want to learn the sword with them?” He knew her proficiency with melee weapons was practically non-existent. Clarke nodded, then eyed him questioningly. “You disapprove?”
He shook his head. “I would teach you gladly.”
She pointedly looked him up and down a few times and had to crane her neck to do so. He practically towered over her.
“I appreciate the offer, but you would break me.”
Angus snorted. “A broken bone never killed anyone.” He picked a blunted blade from a nearby rack and faked a thrust in her direction, a rare smirk playing along his lips.
Clarke raised her hands and took a step back.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“As Wanheda wishes,” he grunted, before reversing his hold on the weapon and handing it to her. The clang of metal on metal had faltered and as she focused back on the Nightbloods, Clarke realized most of them had stopped practicing and were watching the scene curiously.
She walked towards Aden and he hurried to meet her.
“Will you train with us Wanheda?” His eyes shone with barely suppressed excitement. He was almost bouncing with it.
Clarke lightly tapped the flat of the blade against her thigh. “I was hoping you would teach me actually.” She may as well have told the boy the sky was falling on his head. He lost all composure and his eyes widened in surprise.
“But… you are Wanheda! You defeated the Mountain singlehandedly! The Commander told us…” Clarke grimaced at the mention of Mount Weather and he trailed off.
Aden stuttered into silence as he saw Wanheda’s expression change, the small smile hovering at the corner of her lips turn into a frown. For a moment he thought he had offended her somehow, then he saw the great sadness that clouded her eyes. The usual sky blue of her irises slowly changed to the rainy grey of unshed tears and Aden watched her mask crack for an instant.
He felt out of his depth. The Commander always appeared to be in control, distant even if with them she was almost never cold. Clarke… Wanheda was different. Her presence was as awe inspiring and commanding as Heda’s, but there was a wilder undercurrent, like she wasn’t used to it. Or maybe he thought, Skaikru were just different.
He mentally shrugged - the first time Heda had had to leave Polis, when the Skaiprisa had still been hanging between life and death, he had promised the Commander he would take care of the blonde and he meant to stick to his word. He figured taking her mind off the things that hurt her would help. After a full day of training he never had the energy to think up dark thoughts, so they might as well try and see if it worked for her too.
He bowed formally and saluted with his sword. “I would be honored to teach you what I know, Wanheda.” He saw her smile return and grinned happily.
Clarke smiled at Aden, grateful he had dropped the subject of the Mountain so swiftly. She had seen the questions pile up in his eyes and the confusion, but he had definitely learned more from Lexa than sword fighting and leadership. Clarke saw the gentleness beneath his quiet strength and she hoped he’d never lose it as the years and life scarred him. She felt she should offer an explanation.
“Our weapons are different.” she lowered her gaze to the damp flagstones for a moment. She had never been ashamed that her people carried guns, but after seeing what the Mountain had done to the Grounders, Clarke wished the Guard would have gotten rid of them and let the Trikru warriors teach them their own way of fighting.
She didn’t blame the clans for being distrustful of people that were so similar to their oppressors.
Aden simply nodded his understanding then he started the lesson by showing her what he called the eight basic cuts and soon she was standing next to him as he called out the move’s corresponding number, trying to keep up as best as she could. The sword had not seemed that heavy when Angus had handed it to her, but now her shoulders burned and her neck grew stiff with the effort of not dropping it. Sweat gathered on her brow and more dripped down her back. She felt so hot she was tempted to shed her jacket. Her arms were shaking with each new swing of the sword and she found herself gasping for breath.
After about ten minutes Angus signalled to Aden and the boy interrupted the lesson, sneaking her a concerned look she didn’t miss.
“I think Wanheda needs a break,” the burly man called, trying to remain serious, “if she bursts a vessel you deal with Heda when she returns. yongon.”
Aden shuddered visibly at the idea of facing Lexa’s wrath and patted Clarke’s shoulder soothingly.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it was just as bad for all of us in the beginning.” Clarke’s throat felt rough like sandpaper and she barely managed to grunt and nod weakly. She used the practice sword like a stick and leaned on it, grinding the point into the flagstones. Sweat froze on her body as soon as she stopped moving and she shivered, hunching her shoulders to shield herself from the chill.
Just as the burning in her lungs was starting to disappear, her temporary crutch was kicked away from under her and Clarke had to whirl her arms desperately to keep her balance on the slippery stones.
“This is a training yard not a hospice!” Angus hissed in her face, then he winked and added more gently, “walk it off. It’s better that way.”
She glared at him, but did as he suggested grumbling under her breath. He clearly chose to defer to her when it suited him. As she walked a slow lap around the yard, working the soreness out of her shoulders, Clarke wondered if Angus and the others of her guard resented being her babysitters. Following her around Polis or on her occasional visits to the Trikru and Skaikru territories must have been a dull thing for warriors used to find themselves in the thick of battle.
Clarke picked up her practice sword and rejoined Aden, nodding in his direction.
“I think we can go on.”
The boy showed her the parries to counter each of the basic moves and called numbers out until she knew them by heart and her back was on fire. After another small break, and much teasing from Angus, they squared off to spar. Aden had exchanged sharp steel for a blunt sword similar to the one she gripped. Clarke’s cheeks reddened, even as she knew it was stupid to feel ashamed. It would be some time before she could use a real sword without cutting her hands off.
Aden shuffled into position and she mimicked his stance as best as she was able. He touched the flat of her sword with his and told her to always keep the point aimed at his face. Angus agreed and muttered something about “keeping line”, but Clarke had barely time to hear the words as the Nightblood’s blade parted the air in a downward cut that would have opened her from shoulder to hip if they were really fighting.
She deflected awkwardly and the shock of metal on metal made her teeth ache. Aden attacked again and she found herself pushed back step by step until her parries were too weak and his sword got through, hitting her in the stomach hard enough that she doubled over with a pained “oomph”.
Tears stung her eyes and the world turned hazy, as she dropped the sword and wrapped her arms around her midriff. She gasped for air and coughed, dry heaving.
“Wanheda!” Aden’s voice was full of concern.
Clarke managed to raise one hand and waved reassuringly. Her jacket was reinforced with metal inserts and it had absorbed most of the blow, but the flesh underneath was still new and tender. The wound itself had stopped being much of a problem when she moved around, but the direct blow pained her more than it normally would have.
She clenched her teeth and straightened her back with an effort.
“You move the sword around too much,” Angus retrieved her fallen weapon and demonstrated with great slashing motions, “when you parry only your wrists move. You ain’t reaping wheat, girl.”
He offered her the sword again and made her repeat the parries until he was satisfied. Then her bodyguard stepped away and she turned to face Aden again.
They spent the morning like that and each time the sword was knocked from her grasp Clarke recovered it and urged the Nightblood to continue. She was exhausted, bruised and aching but resolve hardened inside her heart. She needed to learn, she wanted to learn so that in time she may be able to fight alongside Lexa or go in her stead and know her love safe behind Polis’ walls.
Around noon the skies opened up again, a light rain that they could ignore in the beginning, then thunder boomed and a fork of lightning split the sky overhead. The rain increased abruptly, and they were forced to retreat inside the tower. The younger kids raced ahead, splashing into growing puddles. They laughed and shoved each other playfully and Clarke couldn’t hold back a fond smile. They hadn’t forgotten how to be carefree, even if they could not show it often. She and Angus hurried after the Nightbloods, but she found herself soaked through and trembling. A nasty wind had began to howl outside, making the rain that drenched her clothes and hair feel like a layer of hardening ice.
Clarke told the Nightbloods to meet her in the throne room in an hour, then hurried to Lexa’s apartments. She desired a bath but there wasn’t time, so she settled for changing into something dry and crowding close to the roaring fireplace as she wolfed down a bowl of stew. It was so hot the blonde burned her hands with the bowl and scalded her tongue with the first few bites, but she was too hungry to care.
Clarke had invited Angus to join her and share the food, and to her surprise the usually stoic warrior had accepted. He ate standing, as if he expected an attack at any moment, eyes never resting on one place for long. The blonde took some time to study him carefully between bites. Even leaning casually as he was against the wall, he looked like a wolf, still but never really at ease. His face was all scars and hard angles, and the tattoo that ran from his left temple to his jawline did nothing to soften it.
She shifted on her chair, trying to find a position that wouldn’t make her muscles hurt so badly, and grunted at the sting of the new bruises.
Angus put his bowl aside and walked to the door, opening it just long enough to talk to the guard outside. He came back holding a jar, as big as Clarke’s two fists together. He set it on the table next to her with a shrug.
“What is it?” She balanced her food bowl on her lap and picked up the jar. It was heavy and she struggled to twist off its seal. She sniffed at it curiously.
“A dandelion and sage poultice,” he offered a grin, “the way the boy thumped you around the yard Wanheda, I figured you could use it so I got one of the boys to fetch it while you were training. It will be handy, especially if you intend to keep this up.”
Clarke chuckled drily.
“You are just afraid the Commander will thump you around when she sees the bruises.” Her smile waned slowly as the worry she had managed to forget during the morning chewed at her heart.
Angus’ picked up his food and resumed eating, speaking again around a mouthful of meat.
“I wish she could see you,” his voice was softer, kind, “she will want to teach you herself once she finds out.”
Clarke toyed with her spoon, pushing the rest of her stew around the half-empty crock.
“So you don’t think I am wasting time? Today was pitiful.”
“You’re as green as they come,” he agreed and she lowered her eyes abashed, “but you picked up your weapon no matter how many times you were disarmed. We’ll make a competent warrior out of you yet.” As she was about to thank him for his words, he grinned and added, “at the very least you won’t cut your own foot off.”
She snorted, hearing the respect that hemmed his jibe, and could not help but strike with a playful retort of her own. “It looks like my title doesn’t frighten you anymore ai gona,” [my warrior].
“I don’t frighten easily,” Angus ripped a chunk off the loaf of bread that had been provided with their lunch, and set to clean his bowl, “besides someone needs to remind you that you’re still human, Skaiprisa.”
Clarke put down her empty bowl with a sigh of contentment, full and finally warm again, and weighed his words in her mind. It was hard for her to accept the awed reactions that seemed to accompany her everywhere these days, especially knowing what her title meant to these people. She had begun to understand in a way, they respected strength and not much else and she had destroyed something that had shadowed their lives for long, dark years. They looked to her and saw a saviour, death in human form. She had exacted a price of blood for those that couldn’t, people that lost a father, a mother, children, lovers and friends to the insatiable hunger of the Mountain Men. Clarke had taken their law, jus drein jus daun and made it her own. Still, she thought with a grimace, she didn’t have to like it and it felt good to have someone that treated her like she wasn’t an avatar of destruction. She was grateful for Angus’ words and his company.
“You should hurry or you’ll be late, “ the warrior’s voice jerked her back to the task she had set for herself. She stood and motioned him to the door, “I will be with you in a few minutes.”
“Sha, Wanheda.” He bowed, formality and respect firmly back in place, and leapt to obey. As he reached the door he paused, one hand on the handle.
“Thanks for the lunch.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Clarke stood slowly, carefully stretching her sore limbs. She eyed the jar of ointment with regret and sighed deeply. Her aches would have to wait a few more hours, but at least she would have something to tend to when she would be alone.
She gathered a few things she would need during her lesson and met her guards outside. Together they walked to the throne room, much like they had done the day before. She crossed paths with the Boat and Broadleaf clans’ Ambassadors and both greeted her warmly. Their tribes were peaceful in nature, voted to trading and crafts rather than warfare, and they mostly shared Clarke’s views during councils.
They had naturally aligned with Skaikru recognizing that along with Lexa’s own clan they were the ones that could offer more protection towards their more aggressive neighbors. Clarke had convinced her mother to take a few of the Floukru fishermen in to help the Arkadians restock for winter, and in turn Raven and Wick had fitted a few rickety boats with salvaged engines. The Boat people could make quicker trips to the fishing fields that way and all clan had benefitted. Even though some had been more than unwilling to admit it, she thought with a flash of amusement.
“May I help you Ambassadors?” she inquired politely after they had exchanged some pleasantries.
Edric, the Broadleaf clansman nodded. “We are sorry to bother you Wanheda, but with winter fast approaching we were wondering if it would be possible for our caravans to pass through Skaikru land. It would save our traders many days of travel.”
The Floukru Ambassador, a tall, reedy woman with a face tanned and roughened by the elements nodded enthusiastically, “the first snows won’t be long in coming. It would make things much faster.”
Clarke agreed, but also knew she’d have to consult her mother first. Impossible as it was for her to do it herself, she’d have to send a rider. She told them as much and all but promised she would put her own weight behind their proposal. They agreed to discuss the matter further after the messenger had returned with Chancellor’s Abi reply. It would probably take two or three days, considering the bad weather.
Clarke caught Angus’ eye and he beckoned one of his men over. They young warrior listened to the message they wished delivered and repeated it word for word, before bowing and running off to gather his gear and commandeer a fast horse.
“We appreciate your help, Wanheda.” Edric bowed again.
“Don’t mention it,” she offered her hand and they clasped forearms firmly, “we’re stronger together.”
He laughed and patted her shoulder, “well said! I wish some of our cousins could see the wisdom in that.” There was no need to mention which clans he was referring to.
The Floukru woman snorted, lips pulled back in a snarl, “they’ll want their own passage rights once they hear we’re negotiating.” Clarke knew she was right, the other clans would want to open their own caravan trails through her people’s territory - Arkadia would obviously benefit from more trade, and it also meant that the Grounders were slowly getting past their wariness. These were dangerous waters however, that Clarke needed to navigate carefully without appearing to favor one clan over the others.
“I am sure the Chancellor will consider every offer equally,” she murmured noncommittally and Edric nodded his agreement. He had met her mother a few times and held her in high regard. It didn’t hurt, Clarke knew, that they were both healers.
His companion opened her mouth for what would probably be a snide remark, but Edric touched her arm halting her.
“I think we have stolen enough of Wanheda’s time, Brigid,” he eyed the supplies Clarke was carrying and his smile widened, “if I am not mistaken she is on her way to impart a lesson.”
Clarke smiled back, “and running late at that.”
“Then we will take our leave,” he replied firmly as he moved aside, dragging Brigid along, “I have learned not to stand in the way of the women in Wanheda’s family.” The last was directed at the Floukru Ambassador and a slight breach of etiquette, but as they moved away Clarke couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle. She remembered the first time Edric had come face to face with her mom and was sure the resulting shouting match had been heard all the way to the Northern Wastes.
Then, when Edric had discovered Abby was a healer like himself, he had foregone hostilities and begun shamelessly courting her at every opportunity, much to Kane’s irritation and everyone else’s amusement.
As they reached their destination, Angus pushed past her and held the throne room’s doors open for her as she struggled through, arms full of supplies. Her healer’s satchel was slung across her chest and she carried two rolled up sheepskins. She had drawn on those when she had started to work with Nyko, the Grounders’ medicine surprisingly advanced in certain fields and grievously lacking in others. They depicted diagrams of a body - all the muscles, bones and organs carefully detailed and labelled.
The Nightbloods were already waiting, some of them seated much like the day before and a few standing near the table Nyko had set up for her as she requested. It held a collections of mismatched mortars and pestles and bundles of dried herbs, ready to be turned into powder.
Clarke had figured learning some basic first aid would not hurt the kids, and their work with the herbs would be a great help for the healers and by extension Polis’ denizens.
She set her satchel down with a sigh of relief as the strap stopped digging into her bruises and walked towards two empty easels. She unrolled the sheepskins and with the kids’ help secured them to the wooden supports.
She didn’t sit among the Natblida this time, but slightly above them on the dais that led up to Lexa’s throne. Clarke folded her hands on her lap and waited for the last, few excited whispers to die down.
“Healing,” she began when all eyes were trained on her, “is a blessing and a weapon as deadly as those you carry into a fight.” Someone snickered and her voice hardened. She had expected that reaction, most people didn’t realize a deep knowledge of the body and its functioning could kill as well as save. Some of the younger Natblida probably didn’t yet realize the connection between lifting a plague and creating one. She had tasted the bitter medicine herself when the Grounders had deliberately infected her and her friends in order to quench resistance. Nyko had admitted to Clarke he had been the one Anya had consulted to carry out that plan.
She stood and walked to the table, grabbing a fistful of delicate, purplish flowers.
“Anyone knows the name of this one?”
The small girl who had climbed into her arms so daringly, lifted her hand. “It’s foxglove. They’re so pretty! The older girls in my village used to make garlands with them.”
“Pretty yes,” Clarke set them down and dusted her hands, “and deadly.” She walked to the first easel, where the hand drawn diagram showed a man, front opened to show the organs underneath. She tapped two fingers on the heart.
“Foxglove leaves contain substances that will help a struggling heart, but slip a hearty dose in someone’s food, even the most healthy warrior, and their heart will stop.”
The silence in the room was absolute now and she turned their back to them and walked up the dais. Her hands traced the throne’s sinuous lines almost tenderly, and the ache she carried inside because of Lexa’s absence filled the spaces between her ribs until it was hard to breathe. She bit the inside of her cheek bloody and whirled around, blue gaze piercing theirs in turn.
“One day one of you will be Heda and sit on this throne. You need to know these things, for your own safety and that of others.”
A boy, dark haired and almost Aden’s age raised his hand and she nodded to him, inviting him to talk.
“What if Heda had someone to taste the food for them? Wouldn’t that solve the problem?”
Clarke nodded, unsurprised by the question. The kids learned tactics as well as combat. “True, but what about the warrior that tasted food for you? Or someone close to you that may become a target because of your position?” the ghost of a girl long dead, killed by Lexa’s enemies, tugged at her mind. “Wouldn’t you want to save them?”
He lowered his hand slowly, face pensive then nodded forcefully biting his lower lip.
“I will teach you how,” she murmured gently.
She stood again and gestured to the drawings, “what’s the quickest way to kill a man? The most quiet?” She clenched her hand into a fist, “You know how to wield a sword, but I will tell you where its strike is most effective and how to save a comrade on the battlefield even when your eyes tell you there’s nothing to be done.”
As her words died down, she walked among them and touched each one on a shoulder, dividing them into two groups, led by Aden and the dark-haired youth, Elyas. She set them to work, dividing the bundles of herbs in smaller fistfuls and teaching them the herbs’ names and what parts were of use.
Soon enough they were gathered in a circle around the table, grinding some herbs into powder, boiling others in water over the heat of a brazier Clarke’s guards had dragged inside for them.
The soothing scent of medicinal herbs filled every corner of the room, and the blonde felt tension leave her for a while. The kids asked more and more questions, told her stories of this or that time they had seen similar plants while training in the forest and time passed quickly, its touch light and gentle for a time.
When a servant was allowed inside to light some torches, she clapped her hands to attract their attention.
“Enough for today. Let’s gather the herbs we prepared and leave them in the infirmary for the healers. And everyone wash your hands very carefully before dinner or we’ll have to put your new knowledge to the test.” She scowled and the younger kids gasped at the implications.
She stopped Aden before he could leave with the others and squeezed his arm.
“You all did well,” he straightened proudly and gave her a bright smile, “I will see you to bed after dinner.”
Aden blushed and nodded, “thank you Clarke. It helps...we...she…” he faltered and before the blonde could stop and reconsider, she threw her arms around him, in a bone crushing hug. She felt his arms hug back, his hold softer, mindful of all her bruises.
Clarke pulled back and cleared her throat abashed, letting her arms fall to her sides. They both avoided looking at the other, comforted yet embarassed by the closeness.
In the end it was their stomachs that pushed them onwards. Clarke’s gave an impatient growl, echoed by Aden’s. He huffed out a strangled giggle and she followed, laughing with him.
“We better eat before our stomachs decide to gnaw through our bones,” she managed in between fits of laughter.
“I don’t think that’s medically possible, Wanheda.” Clarke only laughed harder and put a hand on his shoulder, walking alongside him.
The boy walked with her to the elevator where they parted, as he rejoined the waiting Nightbloods. Two of her Guards rode down with the children, while Angus and the rest trailed her to her rooms.
Once alone Clarke slumped against the wall and let out the tears that had threatened to spill down her cheeks all day. She knew it was stupid to feel this way, and that if something had happened to Lexa they would already know, but she could not push away the dread that had taken up residency inside her skull.
Food forgotten, she walked to the bed and let herself fall on it, gathering the shirt Lexa had slept in before leaving to herself. She curled around it and pressed her face into the fabric, letting her lover’s lingering scent fill her lungs. Small, quiet sobs rattled her chest and she allowed herself to be weak for a while, before she had to be strong for everyone else again.