I'm sorry this is a shorter update after a longer wait. I'm running into some creative bumps. But how could I not when I'm comparing my work to the beauty of season 3. It's so amazingly written. Thanks to everyone who is following and liking and reading and interacting with this story, I appreciate all of you. Please leave a comment if you have an opinion on this, I take all of them into account as I move forward. The more comments, the better my writing - hopefully. Enjoy!

"Heda."

Lexa looked up, pulling her distracted mind back to the present. Indra had entered her tent and now stood at attention some feet away from her, staring pointedly at the healer who was finishing up with the new bandaging for Lexa's injuries. Lexa had seen the disapproving look in the healer's eyes as she had taken out the old thread and replaced, taking plenty of time to smear disinfecting herbs on the slightly inflamed wound. She had also taken some time to look at Lexa's arm, although Clarke's work needed little improvement on that front. It would heal well and allow her full use the healer had assured her.

"Leave us." Lexa muttered to the woman, who inclined her head and quickly moved out of the tent, leaving it to the Commander to finish bandaging her fresh hand wound.

She stood once she had knotted it, turning her back on her general to clothe herself properly again. Indra waited in tense silence as she did, her eyes boring into the back of her neck. Watching her every move, analyzing her every decision, judging her strength.

"What is it, Indra?" Lexa finally snapped, swiveling around with her shoulder armor partially strapped on. She felt the blood rush to her face and immediately regretted the confrontational tone and stance she had taken.

"Nothing, Heda."

"Do not hide your thoughts from me. Speak freely."

Indra showed a flash of hesitation, her eyes falling to the floor for a second. However, she met the Commander's eyes again before continuing.

"Rumors keep spreading."

"About what?"

"About you. About Clarke. About the mountain. About your abilities…"

"I thought I put those rumors to rest when I killed the Fenrif alone and the Mother of Eyes spoke for my spirit." Lexa growled, her anger flashing as she tightened her hand around the hilt of her sword.

"This is not as simple as a lost battle. Your skills as a warrior were never questioned."

"Then what?"

Indra did not pause this time, but took a step forward, her own hand landing on her sword. Lexa's eyes narrowed and she shifted her feet as the tension between them spiked.

"That day on the mountain you went back on your word as the Commander. Every clan swore to go into battle for you, swore to uphold peace, and yet you broke your allegiance with the Sky People. You took the cowards route, making a pact with the mountain demons and leaving your supposed allies to fend for themselves. Your word means nothing. And as for Clarke…"

"Do not speak of her!" Lexa snarled, drawing her sword with sung with glee as it was unleashed, singing for blood with her own heart.

Indra drew her own a split second after Lexa, holding it defensively in front of herself as she continued. "I have defended you and stood by you. I have believed in you. And because of this I will tell you what you refuse to acknowledge yourself. The day you betrayed Clarke, you betrayed yourself. Your spirit has been poisoned by it, and not only your people are noticing."

"Clarke has nothing to do with this!"

"Clarke has everything to do with this! Clarke is who made the allegiance with the sky people possible, Clarke is the one you think of when you should be more worried about your own people, and Clarke is Wanheda."

The blood ran out of Lexa's face and her mouth went dry. The fire that had been soaring through her body before, begging her to unleash the emotional turmoil raging throughout her unto Indra died down just as quickly as it had flared. If Clarke was Wanheda…

"The allegiance of the clans is broken, and it is only a matter of time before the Ice Nation takes advantage of your current distraction. The scouts you sent out have returned: Our closest clans have disappeared deep into their territories, and the Ice Nation broils with singing metal. And as for Clarke…" Indra paused, raising her eyebrows as she stressed the words "the clans are hunting her."

Clarke awoke with a gasp and a pounding headache, sweat coating her entire body and her heart pounding wildly. For a moment, all she saw was blackness, her eyes struggling to find some type of structure in the dark. It took her a moment to realize that some sort of thick cloth was draped over her forehead, laying heavy on her feverish skin.

Lifting her arm up to her face to tear it up was much more painful than it should have been, electricity shooting up her nerves and jolting down her spine. She let out a hiss and let it fall back to her side still clutching the rag, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

For a while, she looked without comprehending at the ceiling above her, her sluggish mind fighting against webs to think of the words and memories to explain where she was and why she felt like her body was liquefying itself. The roof of the hut… or was it not a hut? Dark tree branches twisted and gnarled with time were side by side with metal slabs and tarps of various kind. Light filtered in through the air in small pockets, streaming to a ground made up of similar things, except for the addition of dirt and rock patches.

The place smelled of the forest, but also smelled of the ark: oils and metals mixing haphazardly with the purer smell of leaves and dirt. There were new, different smells as well, that tingled her nose and alternatingly made her mouth water and her stomach heave: spices - some sweet, some not – something that smelled of disinfectant, alcoholic, something else that smelt of rotting flesh. Jars and knick-knacks were stuffed into every nook and cranny, hanging from the ceiling, and half hidden amongst the braches, leaves, and stones. She couldn't identify what half of them were.

Sitting up slowly, she was surprised to find all of her injuries taken care of, some bandaged, some simply covered in a green paste; her ankle had a contraption around it that reminded her of a cast, but allowed for more movement, made of thin twigs and what looked to be vine. This would have put her more at ease if it was not for her other symptoms: fiery skin, dry mouth, nausea, pounding ache in her head and joints, dizziness – all things she had not had before.

For a moment, she sat still, staring at the tarp that hung an arm's length away from her, separating her small alcove from whatever lay beyond. Even past the ringing in her ears, she could hear the sounds of clinking, someone shuffling about, light muttering. It hit her suddenly, like lightning. Athena. She looked down at her hand, her left had that had been resting on fur, fur she thought to have been the pups until something registered in her head: It wasn't warm. It wasn't moving. It wasn't breathing.

Her hand was resting in the fur of a thick hide that lay on her small cot. This realization that she had not seen or heard the animal for who knows how long propelled her forward past the tarp and into a far larger room, but one still cramped full of odds and ends. Her firsts were balled and ready to fight, to find Athena and save her from the strange woman in the woods.

What she found however was Athena laying happily on a small table, her leg kicking in the air as the old crone scratched her soft belly. The floor let out an odd creak beneath her feet suddenly, and both Athena and the woman looked at her; Athena bounded upwards, knocking multiple things off of the table, one of which shattered on the floor. She ran towards the edge of the table – which took only two steps – before halting at the height and letting out a series of yips, her tail wagging happily.

"You are up. Good."

Clarke did not lower her fists, taking careful steps forward, she ran a quick glance over the animal to make sure it was uninjured, before glaring at the white globes of the crone. Her scars as black as ever, and her face impassive, she cocked her head to the side as if listening. Athena, suddenly impatient with Clarke's slow movements, leapt at her, trusting fully and completely that Clarke would catch her.

She did, but it took her by surprise, pushing her backward and demanding her full attention. In the time it took for Athena to leap off the table and settle safely in Clarke's arms, the crone had stood, rounded the table, and stood now directly in front of her. She had managed to do this elegantly, quietly, without a rustle of the cloak that veiled her body, and without Clarke having time to set up a defensive stance. Instead she stood frozen in the spot under the old woman's eyes, clutching Athena tighter to her and trying to take comfort in the rapid heartbeat.

"You are a…" The woman hesitated, her face contorting as if clawing at some escaping word. "..fool." She said the 'o's as though they were high 'u's.

Clarke did not answer. She just continued to stare at the endless wrinkles engraved on the woman's face. Unsure of what to do, of what was happening, of where she was – freezing seemed at that moment the only option she had left.

"You trust an old woman in the forest. A person you do not know. Fool."

The woman shook her head and swung around again, walking over to a small fireplace in surrounded by a knot of roots, where a small pot hung over a fire. Clarke took the moment to step around the other side of the table, putting it between them, her eyes swinging wildly around the room, trying to find the way out. It seemed like there wasn't one; the space she was in made up a rough circle, and everywhere she looked she saw roots, metal, or dirt.

"Eat." The woman suddenly said, placing a bowl of thick brew on the lopsided table.

Although Clarke's stomach let out a growl, she made no move to accept the food.

"You just told me not to trust you."

"No. It is foolish to trust a person you do not know. Not me."

"I don't know you. And last time I ate something you gave me, I passed out. What did you do to the food?" Clarke growled, her irritation flaring.

"This food? Nothing." The crone shrugged, pouring herself a bowl with an old discolored spoon before sitting at the table and taking a large bite of the stew.

Clarke was not buying it. "What about the other food in the forest then? What did you do to that?"

"Poison."

"What?" The blood drained from her face and she had to clutch the back of a chair with one hand. Athena whined and licked her chin, sensing her distress.

"I put sleeping poison on rabbit."

"Poison? You poisoned me?"

"Not dangerous poison; just to make you sleep. You need good sleep. Also, you are in danger – I had to bring you here. Here you are safe."

"What are you talking about? You poisoned me! How am I safe here? How am I in danger? Who are you?" Clarke's voice had raised a couple of pitches and she was trembling. She felt very small all of the sudden, like a little girl struggling to understand the urgent whispers of those around her. How did she always get swept up in other people's plans?

"If you sit and eat" She began "I answer all questions."

"I'm not eating anything you give me!" Clarke snapped.

Without hesitation, the woman grabbed Clarke's bowl and poured about a fourth of its contents into her own, mixing them together before taking an exaggerated bite, and then pointedly looking at Clarke with her white globes.

"Sit. Eat. You need strength."

Clarke did not move. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest, making the pounding in her head worse. There was glass scattered on the floor around her feet and somehow it made her afraid to move, lest she cut herself on it. This was irrational, she knew this, all she had to do was take a large step to her right and she'd be free, but she was frozen, desperately clutching Athena to her chest as though she were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She felt it in the back of her mind, rearing its head, surging forward into the center of her thoughts, tendrils flashing out and grabbing hold of everything, pulling them closer and strangling them in its darkness. Her breathing became shallow, she felt faint, she tried to clear her mind but it only made it worse, all of her fear and pain tumbling through her body. She couldn't breathe.

Panic tore through her, and she surged forward into the table, thrusting Athena on to it before clutching the sides, her knees buckling under her weight. Black and white spots danced in front of her eyes, and the back of her skull felt like it was on fire. Tears flooded her eyes, as she desperately attempted to gasp in air, her body shuddering as it felt itself drowning in space.

Suddenly she felt pressure on the base of her spine. She jumped, instinctively straightening herself, to find the crone standing close to her, one hand on the back, and the other placed over her chest which rose and fell rapidly beneath it.

"Focus on the pressure." The woman said quietly, strengthening her push against both spots, further straightening Clarke.

Clarke's mind automatically did as it was told, desperate for some sort of hold. She was surprised to feel warmth suddenly streaming from both spots, spreading out across her skin, fighting back the shudders that had only second before racked her body. Her chest loosened beneath the woman's touch, and she began breathing deeply, closing her eyes and focusing on the warmth, on every part of her still sore body that began to come undone.

After a while, she opened her eyes again, and the crone dropped her hands. She cocked her head to one side, as if evaluating something, before saying slowly: "Your spirit… it is… wrong. It does not move as it should."

"What?" Clarke said, her voice more of a torn croak than anything.

The crone sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Sit. Eat. We must talk."

Clarke's eyes slowly found the bowl on the table, but she also found Athena's face in it, licking the sides.

"Athena ate my food." Clarke muttered, taking a step over the glass and grabbing Athena from the table. She yipped happily and licked Clarke's face, making her smile.

"Get more. If the Fenrif does not die, you know it is not poisoned."

Clarke blinked at the woman. "In the same bowl?" Her eyes fell on the saliva bubbles trailing down the side of the rough ceramic.

The woman stopped eating for a moment to look in Clarke's general direction. "There is hot water over fire if you need."

Placing Athena back down, Clarke grabbed her bowl and slowly made her way over to the warmth of the fire, her body still sluggish from the sudden panic attack. She carefully grabbed the wooden hilt of the pot that hung at a higher point over the fire, pouring some steaming water in the bowl before quickly swishing it around and pouring it into the fire, which hissed and stuttered for a moment. Grabbing the ladle, she gave herself a large helping of the thick reddish stew before sitting down on the stool opposite the woman.

Picking up the small wooden spoon and stirring the stew, she looked up at the woman, who seemed to be absent-mindedly stroking Athena's spine, her brows furrowed.

"Are you going to tell me what all this is about?"

"There are many questions you have. Ask me and I shall answer."

"Okay." Clarke said, taking a hesitant bite of her food, stalling for time. She was surprised by how good it tasted, and her stomach let out a growl of approval. "Why do I feel like crap? I have an enormous headache, my entire body hurts, I feel like a have a fever-"

"Fever?" The woman interrupted with a confused look.

"Yes. Fever. My skin is hotter than it should be. I feel sick."

"You have a bad… feeling to the sleeping poison."

"A bad feeling? You mean a bad reaction?"

The crone shrugged, her head still facing off to the side of Clarke, her hand trailing Athena's fur who was stretched out on the table. "Maybe. You got sick. Your body does not act the way mine does. It was too much."

"So it was dangerous?" Clarke growled.

"The poison can be used to kill people, yes. But I did not want to kill you. Just let you sleep."

Clarke tried not to be too angry about this. The woman had taken care of all her wounds, and now seemed to be telling the truth, but it was hard to say for sure with nothing but pale white orbs staring back at her. The black scars shifted suddenly as the crone turned to face Clarke, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she suddenly felt like she was being watched.

Clearing her throat, she looked down at her stew as she took another bite, attempting to collect her thoughts.

"What is it with you and sleep?"

"What?"

"Why do you keep saying I need to sleep?"

"Your spirit is in pain. Sleep can help. But this sleep did not."

Now it was Clarke's turn to be confused. "What?"

The crone stopped petting Athena, instead folding both her hands together in front of her on the table and leaning forward, staring straight at Clarke.

"Your spirit does not move. It is frozen in place. This is painful. You do not deal with problems you need to. Sleep, dreams, give us time to deal with our pain, but poison was too much for you. You did not dream."

"Why do you think my spirit is frozen?" Clarke asked, confused by the whole idea. She had never been very spiritual, the ark had not had much room for that. Even though she had occasionally stopped by the spiritual leadings of Kane's mother, she had never bought in to it. It had always seem too far removed. But the longer she stayed on earth, the more she realized that the grounders, as brutal as they were, were also very spiritual.

"That is an answer for a different time. I will answer, but not today. Ask another."

"Why did you say I was in danger?"

"Because of the mountain."

Clarke swallowed wrong, the stew blocking her airway suddenly and forcing her to cough and heave loudly for a few minutes before she could respond to that answer.

"How do you know about the mountain?"

"Every clan will know about that mountain by the next moon. Word of you travels fast, Clarke kom Skaikru."

"Well, what about it? I saved my people, that's all that matters." Clarke growled, gripping her spoon tightly and staring back at the white orbs, refusing to flinch.

"You killed a mountain. A mountain that has ruled the clans for many moons. It is about more than just your people. You control death. You are Wanheda."

"The…commander of death?"

The crone nodded solemnly. "You have power. Power the clans want. If they kill you, they own you. You are being hunted."

Her chest began restricting again, but Clarke pushed through it, breathing in deeply. "But you apparently don't want to kill me. You say you want to help me. Why?"

"I know things the clans only dream of. I hear things in the wind. A greater war is coming, and without you we will all die."