Chapter 3
Clarke lifted her head, opening her eyes and slowly let go of Lexa’s shirt. The worn fabric was now darkened by her tears and she fisted the bed’s furs with her hands, gripping tightly to keep her arms from shaking. She coughed up the last sob, a wrenching, ugly sound that scratched at her throat on the way out, then slowly willed herself to relax her death-grip on the pelts.
She rolled on her flank, facing Lexa’s side of the bed, hands skimming the empty space. The sheets were cold under her touch, the impression of the Commander’s body on the mattress long gone. Still, Clarke revelled in fond memories that dulled the throbbing in her chest to a bearable beat. Usually Lexa would be the first one to wake, and Clarke knew from her lover’s own confession, that the brunette would spend some time staring at her sleeping companion, afraid to disentangle their knotted limbs and breathing ever so lightly. Clarke usually woke when she felt Lexa’s feathered touches trace the tattoo that wrapped around her shoulder and spilled onto her back. The Commander had designed it herself, a sign of the bond they shared, and Nyko had begun transferring it from the canvas to her pale skin.
The blonde snatched her hands back, before a fresh tide of tears crushed her, and sat up, wincing at the soreness of her body. Her muscles were leaden and aching, and as she pressed the heels of her hands to her cheeks, she felt her skin burn with a flash of fever. Clarke sighed, willing herself upright. As her feet touched the floor she swayed slightly, dizziness ringing bells inside her ears, and carefully made her way to the table where a servant had left food for her dinner.
A wooden tray had been placed on the polished surface, covered by a piece of cloth. Clarke twitched it aside and uncovered a plate heaped high with slices of cold beef. There were some tubers, similar to potatoes, and a smaller cup with a brownish sauce she knew from past experiences was spicy. A loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, completed the meal. Clarke shook her head and clicked her tongue slightly amused, mouth twisting wrily. She recognized Angus’ hand behind her dinner; he probably had it prepared with his own appetite in mind.
Next to the tray was a pitcher and when Clarke removed the cloth wrapped around its top to sniff at the contents, the sweet and tangy aroma of mulled wine hit her nose. She placed her palms against the container; it was still warm and she let the heat soak through her fingers for a moment. With a grateful sigh she poured herself a cup and absentmindedly began to nibble on the food. She rolled a slice of beef between her fingers and dipped it into the sauce, shuddering when its spiciness pricked her tongue. It was good though, and she cut the loaf of bread in half with the knife she had taken to carrying at her belt since Titus’ attack.
Clarke placed a few slices of beef on the bread, followed by chunks of potatoes and a sprinkling of sauce. She used the other part of the bread to close the sandwich and took a bite, chasing it down with a gulp of wine.
Warmth curled in her belly and she tilted her head back, draining the cup and pouring out a second one. She took her food and began to walk pensively around Lexa’s rooms. The chambers were dark, as the fire dancing in the hearth was the only source of light. Clarke’s eyes lingered on the worn couch. At this time of night Lexa would be sitting there, engrossed in a book or studying a map, a tankard of ale on the floor next to her within easy reach.
Clarke usually sat at the table, a few candles lit around her as she idly sketched out something that had captured her attention during the day, or more often Lexa herself.
It was a quiet time they both cherished, and Clarke turned her mind away from it with effort. The whole room felt emptier somehow, and Lexa’s aura which usually lingered even when the Commander wasn’t present, seemed washed out and waning. She rubbed her eyes irritably and went to take another bite of her sandwich, discovering there was none left. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized her hand was grasping nothing but empty air.
She moved back to the table, footsteps echoing loudly and dug into the remaining food. She was surprised at wiping the plate clean, but then again she wasn’t used to such a strenuous training. Furthermore her body was still healing from the wound and it craved the energy. As she speared the last of the potatoes and slowly chewed, she thought she’d eat even more if there was any.
She should go and stay with the Nightbloods a while, but she took a few more moments for herself and walked to the double windows that led out into Lexa’s private balcony. The casements were a bit warped and ill-fitting, but the glass panes the Arkadians had provided to the Commander kept part of the chill out. Still a few wicked drafts slithered inside and poked her sides with icy fingers.
Clarke trailed a hand along the glass, then rested her forehead against it. Glass had been something rare and sought after before they came to Earth, and it still was, but Skaikru had helped the Grounders increase production. It had been one of the things they had exchanged in return for winter supplies. The shadow of a smile crossed the blonde’s lips as her eyes peered intently at the darkness outside. They were slowly fitting the tower’s windows with glass and she had seen a few houses with new windows on her last trip to TonDC. For once change was not brought on by violence.
Outside it was night’s absolute dominion, the moon and distant stars hidden behind the cover of the clouds. It didn’t matter to Clarke, as she could conjure every detail of the view by sheer memory alone. From the houses crowding around the tower to the forest beyond the city’s gates and the mountains further away.
Her heart fluttered madly, a bird trying to escape the ivory cage of her ribs at the thought that Lexa was out there somewhere. Fighting certainly, maybe wounded. Perhaps dead.
She whirled around, cursing herself for her dark thoughts just as there was a soft knock at the door. It opened without prompting and Angus stuck his head inside. He took in what crumbs were left of the food and grinned, but satisfaction fled his face as their eyes met. He stepped inside and shut the door behind his back, holding her gaze captive with knowing eyes, dark as obsidian in the low light.
“It’s fine to not be ok, Clarke, “ his voice was slow and gentle. He spoke deliberately, like someone calming a wounded beast that could bolt at any moment, “it’s fine to miss her.” His next words were harsher and struck like a whip across her back, “you still have your duties and a promise to keep.”
Clarke blinked and straightened, puffing out her chest in one long huff of air. She breathed out her sorrow and her fear as his words hit home, and her mind refocused on her purpose.
Angus watched the transformation, eyes storing every detail. It was his duty to know the one he was bound to protect by blood oath, so that he could serve at the best of his abilities. Which sometimes included scolding her when she veered off course. He saw in Clarke the same resolve that animated the Commander, but the Skaiprisa was still growing into the leader he knew she could be. Heda had been trained to lead since childhood, while Clarke had been forced to do so by circumstances.
As his words washed over her, he saw her eyes harden to a bright sapphire that gathered the light. The low flames reflected into her irises, tiny specks of crimson like a scattering of embers coming to life among the blue.
Wanheda ’s mask flickered over her features as she fought with her emotions and as always Angus felt a small shiver run down his back at the presence that suddenly filled the space between them. Death stared back at him from across the room, cold and unyielding. He didn’t think Clarke knew how terrible and vengeful she truly looked when she wrapped herself in that mantle.
Then the girl blinked, shattering the spell that had settled like an itch right under his skin and walked up to him. She patted his shoulder as she passed him by, and his attentive eyes noticed the ill disguised grimace that soured her mouth as she lifted her arm to reach him.
“I will have someone bring water for a bath, while you are with the Nightbloods,” he mentioned casually and Clarke nodded gratefully.
“ Mochof ai gona ,”[thank you my warrior] Anticipation pebbled Clarke’s skin with goosebumps at the mention of a bath. Her thanks went beyond that though. Angus’ cutting words had been like a cold shower, washing away her inner darkness for a while. She hoped that their effect would last more than a few hours.
He accompanied her to the elevator, riding down with her to the Nightblood’s quarters. She watched him lean against the rickety metal cage and knew that he was tired, perhaps more than she was.
“You could have sent another and gotten some shut-eye,” Clarke kept her tone carefully neutral. She didn’t want Angus’ to think she was implying he was weak,
“I will sleep when Wanheda sleeps,” he rumbled. They had exited the elevator and as usual when others could be listening he was a picture of perfect formality. As they walked he crossed his arms across his chest and stared down at her daring her to say more. Clarke bit back a snarky reply, too exhausted to deal with a grumpy bodyguard.
Muted laughter and voices floated down the corridor, then a loud, sudden crash shattered the relative quiet. Before Angus could restrain her, Clarke sprinted forward, adrenaline igniting sparks along her bones. Her guard’s thumping footsteps thundered right behind her, as he cursed her and the slippery floor tiles with the same fervor.
She flung the door to the Nightbloods’ room open so hard it rebounded against the wall, then reflexes kicked in and she ducked, as a shadowy streak hurtled towards her face.
There was a surprised grunt and the sound of a blade ripping through cloth. Something white and weightless cascaded in a whirlwind around the blonde, blinding her momentarily. When she straightened and absorbed the scene, she burst out laughing, bracing against the doorjamb for support.
The children stood frozen in the midst of what appeared to be a heated pillow fight, some of them actually stilled mid-swing. Two had flipped over a table for cover, and Clarke guessed that was what had caused the noise they heard in the corridor.
Her bruised ribs hurt and her wound pulsed dully, but she could not hold herself back. She gulped, trying to draw even breaths as her eyes teared up. Angus was grumbling irritably behind her and she heard him sheathe his knife with an annoyed rattle.
“That was...it was...very valiant,” she managed to wheeze out, between a peal of laughter and the next.
He scoffed. “Next time it could be a knife thrown at your heart, I’m sure you’ll thank me then.”
Clarke glanced down at the torn pillowcase. A few stray feathers were still fluttering downward in lazy spirals. “I’m sure the pillow had it coming.”
Angus growled something under his breath that sounded rather uncomplimentary and her eyes flicked up, but when she scanned his face another set of giggles jiggled her bones.
“What?” He scowled down at her dangerously, a low rumble echoing inside his chest.
The blonde plucked a feather from his beard and grinned. Holding it up for him to see.
“You should see your hair, Wanheda ,” he shot back, laughing uproariously when she lifted her free hand automatically to run her fingers through her tresses,
They both turned to the kids, who had been watching the exchange in silence, not daring to move. Aden turned bright red when Clarke looked at him and she put on her most reassuring smile. Truth be told, it warmed her heart to see them act as regular kids sometimes.
The boy was standing atop his cot, and as he was the only one who had frozen facing the door, Clarke assumed it was him who had thrown the pillow in her direction.
She clapped her hands and they all emerged from their paralysis, the youngest ones giggling like they were sharing a big secret while the older Natblida looked slightly embarassed.
“Let’s all straighten this up, uh?” Clarke cheerfully gestured at the mess, “imagine the Commander’s face if she marched in here right now.” That had them scrambling over each other to collect the feathers and straighten the upturned table. Angus left them to it with a bemused shake of his head, and Clarke pitched in helping the children and gently reassuring the few ones that thought she was mad at them.
Once the room had returned to its normal tidiness the Nightbloods looked to her expectantly.
“Can we have a story now Clarke?” They chorused, eyes wide and pleading.
She rubbed at her temples tiredly, “what about I tuck you in and we all go to sleep instead? Even Wanheda gets tired sometimes.” Her proposal was met by cries of protest and an insistent tugging at the back of her shirt made her turn.
Ida, the same girl who had taken to sitting on her lap whenever possible gave her a teary look. Her lip was trembling slightly, and there was a touch of snot hanging from her nose. She sniffled and Clarke felt resolve crumble. She wondered briefly if they used the same tricks with Lexa but figured that Heda must be immune.
Clarke noticed that Ida had dumped the feathers she had collected onto her cot and was sitting on top of a frothy sea of white. She sat down next to her with a tired sigh and ruffled her hair.
“Everyone under the blankets.” her voice was gruff but affectionate. The kids complied, reassured by the fact she didn’t look like she was going anywhere soon. Once they were all settled and the rustling of covers had ceased, Clarke cleared her throat and began singing in a cracked, faltering voice.
Well I don't know how and I don't know why
But when something's living well you can't say die
You feel like laughing but you start to cry
I don't know how and I don't know why.
She wished she had her father’s old, scruffy guitar, but of course the Delinquents had not been allowed personal effects when they had been sent to Earth, and then the Ark had crashed down, destroying what little of her life had been left behind in space.
Well I don't have many and I don't have much
In fact I don't have any but I've got enough
'Cause I know those eyes and I know that touch
I don't have many and I don't have much.
The words came easier as she sang, even the ones she had thought forgotten. Her voice grew stronger and assured. It was throaty and warm, with a hint of scratchy breathiness at the edges.
Well I don't have many and I don't have much
In fact I don't have any but I've got enough
'Cause I know those eyes and I know that touch
I don't have many and I don't have much.
Oh darling my heart's on fire
Oh darling my heart's on fire
For you
Clarke lowered her voice as she sang the refrain and whispered the last two words, directing them at Lexa more than at the kids now slumbering around her. A single tear hung at the corner of her eye, trapped in long eyelashes like morning dew, then fell and made its way down her cheek and to her lips. Clarke’s tongue darted out and the bitter salt of loneliness spread inside her mouth.
Around her the children’s breathing has slowed to a quiet murmur and they slept huddled under the blankets. The blonde stood slowly, careful not to wake anyone and moved around the room snuffing out the candles. She kept the last one alight and took it with herself to the door, body heavy with fatigue.
Sleep tugged at her eyelids, but she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as her body pretended so she made her way back to Lexa’s chambers with a sort of shuffled resignation. Sensing her mood, Angus kept silent, only bowing when it was time to leave her at her door. As she shut herself in solitude, her thoughts were filled by her missing lover and Clarke knew it would be another long night of hoping.
On impulse she brought the still burning candle to the window, dragging a stool with her so she had somewhere to place it. She knew the notion was stupid, but could not shake the thought that the light would help Lexa find her way home safely.
Oddly calmed by that, she went about preparing herself a bath. The fire had been restocked and the burning wood crackled noisily in the hearth, filling the room with the scent of pine and resin. Still, shadows lingered in the far corners and pressed in on her, so she lit a scattering of candles. A warm, golden hue tinged the air, the wooden surfaces shining with shades of orange and red.
Clarke gathered her sleeping clothes and the jar of ointment Angus had procured for her and went to a smaller room that functioned as Lexa’s bathroom. The copper bathtub took up most of the space, big enough for two people, and she looked at it fondly, remembering all the times she had sat in it with Lexa.
Behind it was a small raised platform, on which a servant had left a few buckets of water for her. A flat brazier was tucked underneath, coals still glowing cherry red. Clarke placed the items she was carrying on a small table, where a bar of scented soap and soft towels were already laid out and went to test the water.
She dipped her fingers in the nearest bucket and hummed in pleasure as the water’s heat made them tingle. It was just what her muscles needed, she thought. She stripped off her clothes, dirtied by sweat and the day’s activities and dumped the contents of the buckets inside the tub. Steam spiralled up from the water’s sloshing surface and her head cleared instantly, the headache that had been lurking behind her eyes fading away.
Clarke grabbed the bar of soap and gingerly stepped over the tub’s rim, groaning at the heat. She lowered herself into the water slowly, the liquid quickly going from unbearably scalding to just the right temperature as her body adjusted. Clarke revelled in its embrace for a few minutes, before lathering herself up with the soap. The clean aroma of lavender spread like a balm on her senses, and she sighed happily as she felt her muscles loosen. Stretching carefully, she let out a low moan, eyes slit in pleasure as the water worked to relax her further.
The blonde let herself slide down into the tub until the water was lapping at her chin. Her hair floated around her like an underwater, golden mane and fatigue pulled her eyelids down. She blinked lazily, mind drifting, then surrendered to what her body wanted, resting the back of her head against the tub. It wasn’t like she could drown, she mused with a snort and she would only close her eyes for a few minutes. It wouldn’t hurt to rest in the water for a while, right?
Right.
Besides the warmth was a pleasant caress on her stomach, soothing the ache left behind by Aden’s sword. Just a few minutes. Just…
... Her hands tugged frantically at rusted chains that wouldn’t give, Murphy’s head lolling forward as his body shifted slightly. His face was caked in grime and drying blood, and fresh droplets marked a scarlet passage on his gaunt cheeks.
“Oh my God,” Clarke’s sweaty hands slipped and the chain rattled, “Murphy.” She hadn’t seen him since he left with Jaha on some sort of crazy quest. None of the people that went with the ex-Chancellor had been sighted again, despite Kane’s patrols and the identikits they had given out to the clans in the hope someone would have found the group of renegades. Jaha was still wanted for treason, as he had appropriated valuable resources, even though they all assumed his dead body was rotting somewhere. Good riddance too.
“He’s alive,” She wondered how Titus managed to make it look like he was emerging from the shadows in broad daylight. Then again the man always looked like he was lurking. Anger settled in her guts as the implications of his presence became clear inside her mind.
“What did you do to my friend?” Weird that she would call Murphy a friend after all he had put them through, yet he was one of the Hundred and that counted for something in Clarke’s book.
“Your friend was caught stealing from people on their way to the Polis market.” Yeah she could believe that, but her hands went to the gag that stuffed Murphy’s mouth regardless.
“Please don’t do that.” The familiar dull glint of a matted finish caught Clarke’s eye and she gaped as she saw Titus raise a gun, her own damn weapon and aim it straight at her.
“Titus,” she stood, moving away from Murphy and raising her hands slowly so that the Fleimkepa could see them, “what is this about?”
“I am sorry it had to come to this, Clarke.” The scary part was he truly sounded regretful. Then maybe he was just soothing his conscience, she thought, as she met eyes so hard they looked dead.
“Are you?” She nodded to the weapon, “thought you weren’t supposed to touch those. I’m kinda hoping you’ll self-combust in a second.” Snark wasn’t maybe the best way to approach someone that had you at gunpoint, but she just couldn’t help herself.
Titus didn’t laugh.
“You have too much influence Clarke,” he took a step forward and the gun’s muzzle trailed her as she shuffled further away from Murphy, “you have blinded Lexa to the truth!”
“And what is the truth?” she spat back.
“That it’s a matter of time before you turn into the next Mountain Men! What if Pike had managed to seize power? What would he have done with the guns and other things you took from the Mountain?”
“My own people foiled his plan and the Mountain is no more.” Clarke knew they had come dangerously close to annihilation, but couldn’t Titus see it had been the Arkadians themselves who had isolated the conspirators by deciding to support her mother’s decision to join Lexa’s Coalition? Nia had taken care of the Mountain and the deaths the Haiplana had caused still pained her, despite the Queen meeting her bloody end.
“Yet he is still alive.”
“In prison,” Clarke took a step forward, pleading with her eyes for him to stop and listen to her, “he isn’t a danger anymore.”
Pike had been a rabid wolf, crazed by a truth he believed absolute. She thought perhaps she was facing another of his kind. Unbridled, undiluted righteousness could be a dangerous poison, even for the strongest mind.
“I am truly sorry Clarke.”
“Lexa will know it was you!” she hated how desperate her voice was, “she will kill you for this Titus!”
“She will think it was him,” his words curdled with a veneer of contempt, “a Skaikru thief,” he waved the gun in Murphy’s direction, “a Skaikru weapon. Maybe it will be enough to convince her to declare war and kill you all!”
He pulled the trigger and the first shot buzzed next to her ear, ricocheting against the wall and shattering something fragile right behind her. Clarke functioned on survival, her body uncoiling into a frantic run and her mind barely able to keep up. More bullets followed, chipping the stone and wood around her as she instinctively went for the door. If she could get to the corridor and scream for the guards… Unless Titus had sent the guards away.
She didn’t know what made her turn to face him, if it was her ankle twisting awkwardly that jerked her around or if she heard the click of the door’s lock and instinctively knew who was behind it.
Time seemed to still, then sharp pain bloomed right beneath her diaphragm. She tottered, disbelieving hands instinctively reaching up to soothe the ache.
“Clarke?” Lexa’s gentle voice was coated with confusion. Clarke’s legs gave way.
“CLARKE!” Panic now, green eyes wide with fear locking with hers, arms catching her to cushion her fall. The thud of a spent gun hitting the floor.
She knew she should be afraid, but all she could think of was that she had never seen the wings of fear shadow the Commander before. Now that should give her pause, she assumed.
Clarke wanted to lift her head, wanted to look at the spot her shaky fingers were trying to cover. Was it really her hands, or Lexa’s? Her body felt disconnected, unreal and she couldn’t be sure.
“Cold,” she choked on the word, something wet and sticky bubbling at the corner of her mouth. Her tongue hurt; had she bitten into it?
“Stay with me,” the words were muffled as if Clarke’s head was underwater, “stay with me niron.”
A hand came into view, drenched with red. Lexa cradled her cheek then slapped it lightly. “Keep your eyes open Klark.”
Thunder crashed in the distance, then resolved into a rumbling avalanche of approaching feet. Someone was coming.
Whatever coated Lexa’s hand was hot against the blonde’s skin. She wanted to turn her head away. She craved sleep. Why wouldn’t Lexa let her rest for a while?
Blood. It was blood her mind screamed, and closing eyes popped open. It was her blood and there was an ocean of it.