You startle awake, choking out her name even as consciousness starts to seep in. You move your shaking hands to your face, smearing tears across your cheeks. Their wet warmth feels far too much like her blood on your hands. It felt so real.
It’s dark out and you’re in a bed, but this isn’t Polis. There’s a body beside you.
It’s Niylah.
You couldn’t have been asleep for that long. Despite the length of the dream, it’s still dark out. So much happened, but it could have only been minutes. The fresh wound on your shoulder still aches. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. You try to gently untangle yourself from the sheets without waking your bedmate, trying equally hard to regain control of your breathing. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack. Not since your dad was floated, you think. Since you watched the stars envelop him. It’s a heavy, overwhelming weight on your chest that you hadn’t missed.
You need to hate her again. You try to conjure up images of her turned back as she and her army walked away, leaving you and your people to die. All you can picture is the way her hair looked, all untamed and thrown over one shoulder, how she cried when you kissed her, the feeling of her shuddering beneath you. She had bowed before you and swore her loyalty, said she’d never betray you again. It was just a dream. You stand up.
The dim light of the moon seeping in through the window guides you and you find a basin of clean water on the dresser across the room. You splash it on your face, get dressed, and then slip out of the shop without a second thought.
You still gasp when a rough hand grabs you and a cold blade is pushed to your throat, just like it happened before. The assailant wastes no time in dragging you into the forest. Your heart hammers in your chest, but not for the reason it had the first time around. When he finally drops the blade and lets you face him, the feeling that fills you is something like relief. You open your mouth to speak, but he quickly covers it with a dirt covered hand. “If you scream or call out for help, I will kill you.” You know he is bluffing but you nod and so he releases you.
“Roan.” It’s all you manage to say, but it’s enough to spook him. His eyes widen and and he pushes you against a tree. You wince when your shoulder hits it.
“How do you know this name? Did someone warn you I was coming?”
You do not answer him, so he begins to bind your hands, which you offer to him willingly.
He cocks his head to the side, obviously not expecting you to come so easily. Regardless, he starts to pull you along by your tied hands.
Later, as the sun is rising, Roan let’s you rinse out the red of your hair in a river. You can’t bear to be that Clarke anymore. He remains guarded, suspicious, waiting for you to try to escape.
The journey is quicker now that you’re not fighting, now that you’re arguably more eager to get to your destination than your captor is. It’s at least afternoon when Roan pulls you into some sort of hidden cove and sits down at the edge, preventing your exit.
“What are you doing?” It comes out panicked.
“We rest for now. We will keep moving soon.”
“There’s no time,” you insist. He rolls his eyes.
You have to get to Lexa. You have to warn her about Nia, about her disloyal ambassadors. You have to get her to send word to Arkadia to prevent the bombing of Mount Weather. More importantly, to prevent the vote for Pike. If he is stopped, the massacre of the grounders sent to help will be prevented and Lexa will have no need to order a blockade. And Titus. Titus . Your blood boils at the thought of him. If this is a second chance, you have to act quickly.
If this is a second chance, it has to end differently.
“Wanheda,” Roan snarls, drawing you back to the present. The name doesn’t affect you like it used to, though.
“Why do I get the feeling you know where I am taking you?”
“Because I do.”
He nods slowly. “And yet you are eager to get there?”
It is your turn to nod. He stands and shrugs. This time, when you start your trek, he doesn’t bother to keep a hold of you.
You don’t encounter those other grounders or Bellamy. It doesn’t worry you because you’re making good time. Things are already different, but you consider this a good thing. Maybe, just this once, no one has to die.
You stop only one time to eat a small amount of food Roan brought along, a bit of bread and fish for each of you. He scarfs his share down quickly and so you do the same.
The sun is high in the sky when you reach the outskirts of Polis. The guards remain stoic at your approach, but a few townspeople murmur as you pass by. The burlap sack pulled over your head when you reach the tower comes as no surprise. You must not look as murderous as you had the first time because they don’t re-tie your hands behind your back. Because you stay silent and do not put up a fight, they don’t bind your mouth either. They leave you as you are and Roan pulls you along.
You listen to the opening of doors and someone shoves you forward. When the lift lurches, your stomach doesn’t. You’re used to it. It’s a long ride to the top, so you start planning what you’re going to say, how you’re going to convince Lexa to do exactly as you say. When the lift stops suddenly with a loud creak, you stumble forward. Roan pulls you upright then guides you out.
All you can see is the shadows of several people and bright sunlight. When you are dropped down onto your knees, you know she’s seated right in front of you. That's what makes you hold your breath. “Wanheda, as promised,” Roan says in Trigedasleng. He pulls the sack off of your head and you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the light as quickly as possible.
Her sitting at her throne is the first image you see. She stands and you’re glad you’re already on your knees because you think your legs would’ve given out otherwise. “Hello, Clarke.” You let your eyes skim over her face, proud and unmarked. Heartbreakingly alive. Your eyes well up, but you angrily blink back tears.
Titus is still standing by Lexa’s side, like before, but this this time you notice him.
Just as Lexa steps forward and to speak with Roan, you make your move. It’s awkward and uncoordinated, but you manage to stand. Lexa looks to you, startled, and Indra steps in front of her to protect her. But it’s not her you move to.
Your hands are still bound before you, but you had pulled the small knife out from its hiding spot hours ago, keeping it tucked behind your hands. Waiting. You turn it outward and lunge at Titus before the guards at the door can even think to intervene. He doesn’t expect you and so you have the element of surprise, but you’re sluggish and your hold on the knife is awkward. In moments, he manages to knock the knife away. It clatters uselessly to the floor and he delivers a swift punch to your gut. You cry out.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lexa demands, stepping between you and Titus so that he cannot hit you again. “Clarke?” She says your name as gently as ever despite what you just tried to do and though the punch to your gut didn’t knock the wind out of you, this does. She was dead and now here she is, standing before you. You just stare at her, dumbly, letting yourself absorb the moment.
“Leave us,” Lexa commands, suddenly. Indra, Roan, and the guards at the door instantly heed her word.
“Heda--” Titus tries, but the glare she sends his way halts his argument. He nods and follows the others out.
Lexa picks up the knife from the floor and you don’t even flinch when she moves it toward you. She expertly slices at the knot tying your hands together, freeing you.
“Why did you attempt to kill my most trusted adviser? Was this an act of revenge?” You merely shake your head, eyes drawn to her full lips.
"Have you nothing to say, Clarke kom Skaikru?"
It's the reference to your people that gets your brain working again.
"Lexa, you need to listen to me. Your ambassadors are planning to overthrow you, under Nia's orders. I'm the only ambassador who votes against it--"
"You're not an ambassador, Clarke. You're speaking as if mad. Are you sick?"
She reaches to feel your forehead, but you knock her hand away, frustrated. You have to convince her. You don’t have time for this. You think for a minute before speaking again.
“Aden is your favorite Nightblood. You secretly hope it is him that is your successor. You have a symbol on your neck and beneath it is what made you the commander. In your dreams, the commanders before you give you counsel.” You pause for a moment and then add, “And your bed is very comfortable.”
She blushes, eyes wide, searching yours.
“There is no way for you to know these things.”
She takes a step closer and it makes you ache.
"You have to trust me. I had a dream and everything has come true. I don't know how or why, but you need to trust me. My people are in danger. You are in danger. Roan brought me here because you sent him to, just like it happened before. Titus is not to be trusted. You need to--"
"I believe you, Clarke." She interrupts, nodding earnestly.
You let out a breath that is half relief and half disbelief. "Why? Why do you believe me?"
She ignores your question and poses one of her own.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
She's quiet for a moment.
"Like you don't hate me."
And so you kiss her.
You don't mean to, but she sounds so small and uncertain and she's alive and so are you and so you kiss her. Hard.
Hard enough to make her need to take a step back to catch her balance, but you follow her, hands cupping her face desperately.
She remains frozen against you, but then slowly begins to move her lips against yours. Hesitant. Her hands hover near your hips, but are never daring enough to rest there.
You pull back far too soon because there is so much to be done. She is alive, but you have a future to fix.
You look at Lexa, who is heavy-lidded and fighting a smile.
"In your dream... you forgave me?" she asks, breathlessly.
Of all the things you warned her about, that is her question.
You choke out a laugh and she smiles wider.