Notes: Okay, sorry for the long wait. This chapter just would work the way I wanted it to.

Unfortunately, Clarke is not nearly as doped up as I wish she was BUT she is more than she appears do be from her POV. Like, you know when you're drunk and everything you say seems completely rational and understandable and your volume is fine...but none of that is true. That's sort of Clarke. She's also really good at seeming fine. SO unfortunately, not quite as fun as I wish I could do.

BUT! Anyone that wants to add doped up Clarke in the comments feel free.

Enjoy! Also my tumblr is Readwitch as well if anyone wants to hit me up.

Chapter Three

By Any Other Name

"Clarke of the sky people."

He stands head and shoulders above her, a bear of a man. Like most of the grounders she's seen, he's covered in scars and tattoos. His hair (and beard) is styled in braids. He also seems older than Anya, which meant…something.

When he looks at her, it is with intelligent, unimpressed eyes. They remind her of Anya the first time they met, not angry yet, but still hostile. He doesn't like her.

What else is new?

"Anya has told us about you… and your people. Reckless invaders, stomping around as if the land was yours. Crying like children when your actions have consequences." He says condescendingly, with no respect in his gaze. He expects excuses and begging, but she's already decided that's not happening.

Appearing weak wasn't an option. Would that first meeting with Anya would have gone differently if she'd been stronger and more aggressive? She'd acted like the weaker party, begging for scraps, and they treated her as such. What she needed now was a confidence, maybe even arrogance, in her words and actions.

She could do it. Arrogant and aggressive, she just needed to channel Bellamy…or even Raven. She sticks out her chin, puffs up her chest, and tries to adopt the stone face of the warriors around her.

"We're not invaders, we're refugees. Our home was dying; we're just trying to survive," she spits forcefully, not looking away from his accusing eyes.

They had no choice but to leave the Ark; she won't feel bad about surviving. She won't let herself.

"You burnt down an entire village with no provocation. You've yet to answer for that crime." That had caught her off guard last time, and Clarke feels herself deflate a little, but tries not to let it show. It hadn't made sense then and she still doesn't understand how it even happened. The flares had to be seen from the Ark, so yeah they were big… but they also had to travel far. They should have burnt up long before they fell from the sky, and certainly and incredible distance away.

That's not an answer that will help her. Despite her uncertainty, she doesn't drop her gaze.

"That was a mistake! I get that our apologies mean nothing. I get that we can't take it back. But you didn't come seeking reparations. You were just looking for an excuse for war." Clarke tried to keep her voice steady, but decided she needed a physical edge as well. She pushed herself to the edge of the bed and swings her legs over the side.

She's a little short for the move, so she has to inch closer to the edge until she can gently rest her toes against the ground.

Her shoes are missing. What did they do with her shoes? She looks up to see the commander staring at her. Maybe she should ask him about the boots.

No, wait, she was in the middle of something. He looks like he's about to start talking, so she cuts him off.

"Stop! Just…I keep hearing how we started this war. But we weren't on the ground for an entire day when one of my people were shot with a …javelin thing and used as bait. I spent days over his moaning body making sure he didn't die. Hearing the rest of my people wanting to put him out of his misery. That was you starting it."

Her words were roughly thrown together, but her tone was scathing. The anger was sudden, but violent.

Her people were underfed, malnourished, craftsmen who could barely hunt, and there were less than a hundred of them. The grounders sent three times that number to kill them. Three times as many skilled warriors who treated the woods as a second home. And then they were angry that, when backed in a corner, they fought back.

How dare they!

She just… needs to get up. She needs to get in his face and make him see. She struggles forward again, remembering what she was trying to do before, and pushes herself of the edge of the bed and to her feet. She wavers slightly, but there's no pain. She keeps her good hand on the edge of the bed to keep steady.

"I'm sick and tired of being told that we don't deserve to just survive. Or that we've done some sort of huge offense by not just lying down and dying once we got here. How dare we not just submit to slaughter from your 300 hundred warriors? How dare we fight back?"

He looks unimpressed with her words, and it just makes her angrier. She takes a couple of staggering steps towards him, trying to ignore the way the world shook with each step. It made it hard to focus on him, but it was easier the closer she got.

"If you want someone to blame, don't look at me. You sent 300 warriors to massacre us a bunch of kids. You can't blame us for fighting for our lives however we could. It's cause and effect. If you want someone to blame, look to who issued the order."

He stands up straighter at the words, angrier than she's seen, and she suddenly wants to sit down again. But her anger is still very strong…and she's sort of far away from the bed now. She can't turn her back on him and she'd probably trip over her own feet backing up.

She's aware that she's not thinking clearly, but she's not stupid. This is probably the stupidest thing she can do right now. Anya was very clear with her super vague meaningful look. This was Clarke's one chance.

But here she is, screaming at someone that grounders look to as a leader, frustrated tears burning her eyes. Yeah, Clarke is very disappointed in herself. But she just can't hold the words in, can't make herself act like a diplomat.

She feels like shit, and she's sick of being attacked. Sick of being misunderstood and demeaned and alone.

Sick of everything.

And none of her fancy rhetoric or logic makes a dent. They just don't seem to care. They're right and she's wrong but maybe, maybe, if she can just say it loud enough they'll eventually hear her and get it through their heads.

She's not the enemy. She never wanted to be, her people never wanted it, and the people from the Ark certainly aren't looking for a fight.

…Except, they shot her for absolutely no reason; maybe they are looking for a fight.

She clenches her jaw and maintains eye contact – she won't even blink if that's what it takes – but the grounder just looks at her with defensive anger. Like she's not speaking for the lives of probably hundreds of people. Like the idea of all those deaths – hers and theirs! – don't even matter to him.

Frustration swirls like an angry storm, and she worries that she can't seem to get a handle on herself. She can feel herself shaking, feels a hopeless knot growing in the pit of her stomach.

She takes a breath.

He steps towards her, eyes evaluating, and she's glad Anya left before Clarke opened her mouth and ruined everything.

"Anya said you were worth talking to, sky girl, but I see she was mistaken. She failed to destroy your kind, but we can still clean up her mess. What we sent after you before is nothing." He speaks slowly, it still sounds like he's talking to a child. She had been trying to calm herself down, but every word he spoke just riled her up.

The way he spoke of Anya, who was supposedly his mentor, just stunk of disdain. If this was their commander, Clarke's people had less luck than she'd thought. Because, when she imagined the person leading the grounders she'd imagined someone, well, smarter. Less thick headed, maybe.

Also, she kind of thought it was a woman.

Still, she needs to think before she speaks. Develop some measure of diplomacy, especially if the leader is as short-sighted as he appears.

"Bullshit!" …Whoops.

"What you sent after us was nothing? WE were nothing. We weren't soldiers; hell, we weren't even civilians. We were child prisoners. They sent us down here thinking we'd die. We were expendable to them, cannon fodder, and we destroyed a group of your warriors more than three times our size. Our leaders and engineers and actual warriors are here now; what do you think they're capable of."

She doesn't say how the hundred survived off luck. Or that she has no idea who or how many survived the Ark crash. After all, though he tries to hide it, she can see the tension spread and can tell she hit a nerve. She doesn't want to ruin that.

There's a sort of heady rush involved in shaking up a grown man three times your size, like the first time she shot a gun. She tries not to revel in it. He certainly doesn't let its stop him.

"Is that a threat, Clarke of the sky people?" Before, there had been clear disdain in every word. He spoke to her like she was a child and looked at her like she was vermin. But now there was definite hate edged into his words, and he looked at her with careful consideration. That look made her want to look away, take a step back. It made her wish, not for the first time, that somebody else were here with her. Instead of her.

He was looking at her like she was a threat.

She swallowed harshly, picking her words carefully. She actually looked away from him as she decided what to say, all to aware that it would make her appear weaker. Which might be necessary.

It was easier, in the beginning, to predict the actions of the 100. She knew what made them tick. These people were outside her understanding; she just didn't get them, and that made it almost impossible to pick the right move.

But one thing she knew for sure, she couldn't have them see her people first as a threat. They needed to be strong enough to earn their respect, but not their fear. Alliances based on fear never worked out well; someone always flinched first.

"I'm not threatening you," but she can't back down, "I'm answering you. We respect your strength and don't want to fight you. We've gone a long time without any conflict. We don't thirst for slaughter…we just happen to be very good at it."

She tries to keep her voice steady and calm, but can feel it waver. She clenches her eyes, briefly, and pushes the world away.

"I… hope you can understand. If you force it, we will fight. That doesn't mean we want to. Your people know so much more about this world…knowledge that we could use. Just as we have stuff we could share with you. Even if our presence is so offensive that you're willing to throw away our knowledge and resources, there can still be some sort of peaceful solution found."

The room starts to spin a little, but she grits her teeth and finds a fixed point to level her stare. She takes a couple of quick swallow breaths, trying to settle the sudden nausea. She has to get through this, though; her people need it.

He clenches his jaw, no doubt preparing some insulting rebuttal, and Clarke knows she has to finish quickly.

"If there must be bloodshed, then let it belong to who really deserves your hate. Let it belong to the mountain. If you've been talking to Anya, then you know they have your people. Whatever slights my people have accidently inflicted on yours, it pales in comparison to what the mountain has done. The mountain has held you hostage for too long, and my people can help."

She finishes, feeling oddly out of breath and totally drained. The room is still swaying gently, but she's fine. She's said her piece, put all her thoughts on the table, and now the ball was in their court.

She's fine.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking; the man who proclaimed himself leader even though she knows it's not possible. He was looking at her, and she could only hope he wasn't expecting more words.

What else was there to be said?

But everyone – her interrogator, Dover and his friend, and even the girl – was looking at her, waiting for her next move. And, in that moment, she suddenly knew what that move was…unfortunately.

The world blurred around her and the knot at the pit of her stomach she'd kept swallowing back decided enough was enough. She took a step backwards, stumbling, and looked around the room in panic. One step forward and she was on her knees, retching violently.

She doesn't know how long it takes to empty her stomach, but it feels like forever. The acid burns her already sore throat and she can feel the sharp sting of tears. Eventually there is nothing left and she's left dry heaving, choking and gasping for breath. She sits on her knees, crouched over her own mess with only one shaking hand stopping her from falling face first into it.

It's probably the worst first impression anyone has ever made in grounder history.

Nobody ever called Clarke Griffin a coward, though. She struggles to push herself to her feet, and is surprised when a strong grip roughly pulls her to her feet. She stumbles, but the hand keeps her steady. She turns her head just in time to see the girl walking away.

She orients herself again, feeling a bit more clearheaded. The room isn't spinning and her focus is back. She swallows nervously, grimacing at the less than pleasant aftertaste, and looks to the grounder commander.

She moved away from him the second she realized what was happening. As expected, his expression is one of extreme distaste… but he quickly turns his gaze on Dover, who inexplicably is about a foot closer. The man stomps over to him, keeping a good distance from Clarke, and begins speaking to him in rushed grounder-speak.

He's not yelling, but he is definitely angry. Unfortunately, he's not telling Dover to drein daun, so who knows what he's saying?

She feels a rough touch at her elbow, and visibly jerks. It's the girl again. She's holding out a cup with what looks like water, although Clarke notes that she's as far away as she can possibly be and is still managing to arch away from her. And her vomit.

Yep, a great first impression - Clarke kom skaikru, bringer of vomit.

She takes advantage of the moment to observe the girl. She probably around Clarke's age, which probably means she's an adult to the grounders. Clarke remembers Tris, Anya's second, who was much younger and already learning to kill. This girl, however, doesn't look anything like a warrior.

She's not wearing armor for one thing, and is lacking any sort of weapon. Her hair is not braided like most other warriors she's seen; instead pulled back with a raggedy cloth, and her face is bare of any war paint. In fact, the only thing that would separate her from looking like one of Clarke's people is the tattoo visible on her bicep.

And, while she might not be a warrior, she doesn't look mistreated or fearful of the others. She's not large, but Clarke can see some muscle definition, and there are no bruises or lacerations. Clarke's not going to call her harmless, not with eyes gleaming with a wary intelligence, but she does take the water. Her mouth is disgusting.

"Thank you," she says carefully as she takes the cup. The girl nods at her with none of the hesitation Dover had shown trying to interpret her words. Her eyes flit back and forth between Clarke and the commotion in the background, bringing it back to Clark's attention.

Dover is looking fearful, and Clarke needs to understand what is happening. She assumed he was just venting or telling Dover to clean it up, but it looks more serious. She inches closer to the girl.

The girl leans away but doesn't actually move when Clarke gets closer, eyes snapping to her warily…prepared. Still, there is hesitancy in her movement. Her head tilts downward and her shoulders hunch forward. Clarke doesn't quite know what to make of it.

There is a puzzle in front of her, but she can't quite convince the pieces to fit together.

"What's going on?" she questions, keeping her tone respectful and her voice soft. She doesn't actually know if she's allowed to speak to the girl, remembers Dover's fearful looks earlier, and doesn't want to get in even more trouble. "What are they saying?"

The girl doesn't move, but her eyes shift over to the action, but quickly move back to Clarke.

"If the Commander wanted you to understand, they would speak in your language." The words are quiet but curt. More importantly, they're in English. Another piece falls into place.

"Maybe, but whatever it's about, I'm sure I'm too blame somehow. And if Dover's getting yelled at because of me, then I need to help." The girl's eyes turn back to Clarke, suddenly intense.

Shit. She used his name, which meant he gave it to her. Which meant they'd been talking. Clarke ignores her mistake, pretending she didn't realize she'd made one, and looks pleadingly at the girl.

The girl stares at her, clearly considering her words. Though her eyes are hard, there is an unexpected softness to her face. The girl swallows and her eyes drift away for a second, looking at the men again, before settling back on Clarke with a certain amount of resolve. Clarke smiles amiably, trying to show she was trustworthy. She can tell she was winning her over.

"No."

Clarke blinks at the one word reply, her smile dropping. She opens her mouth to offer some sort of rebuttal, but snaps it shut. She's not looking at Clarke anymore, focused on the others, and Clarke snaps to attention when Dover suddenly has a sword pointed at his throat.

"This is not happening," she says forcefully. She carefully stalks over to them, heedless of the girl trailing behind her, and places herself between Dover and the sword.

"Move, sky girl, unless you want to be gutted along with him." The words are a sharp growl. The glint in his eyes tells her he's serious, but that just means she's the only thing standing between Dover and a blade. She should, for the sake of the alliance, stand aside and let this savagery happen. She doesn't know Dover, not really, and maybe he did do something wrong…

But he was nice to her when he didn't have to be.

"No." Proud of the way her voice didn't waver. "I'm not letting you hurt him." She feels a little bit steadier on her feet. Either the adrenaline pumping is having an effect or she got rid of some of the toxins in her system when she threw up. Probably a bit of both.

"This is none of your business, sky girl. Step away." He takes a slow step forward, his sword moving to gently rest on the right crook of her neck. She doesn't falter.

"Yeah, I losing my lunch and you immediately going after him is a complete coincidence." She can feel the sharp edge of the blade, but she's come to far now too give up.

"It is none of your business what my soldiers do or how I punish them when they disobey. You are lucky to be alive, but I could fix that for you." Briefly, Clarke focuses on the girl standing behind him, watching the scene. Her face is blank with maybe the slightest hint of curiosity. Before Clarke can make any sense of it, she moves out of Clarke's eye line.

It's unlucky. The way Clarke had originally placed herself, she could see all the grounders except Dover… now the girl is somewhere behind her, and Clarke is unsure of what she's doing back there. But, she wasn't carrying any weapons, and Clarke can only focus on one thing at a time.

"Well, that'd be a waste, since you worked so hard to keep me alive." He's gritting his teeth, and she can tell he wants to press just a bit harder. How is she not dead right now?

"That is exactly the point, sky girl. Exactly why he must be punished." His eyes focused behind her, just for a moment, and then he pulled away his sword, but didn't sheath it. "You would have never survived the trip here. Fate smiled upon you when Anya found our healer in the woods and patched you up. He was needed elsewhere, but said all you needed was rest and herbs. This boy's one job was to prevent you from hurting yourself, and instead he gave you enough drink to make you sick. I see little use in saving you, but when you die it will not be because of stupidity."

Clarke didn't know how to respond to that. I see little use in saving you… she wasn't winning them over so far, which wasn't great. Still, this was the most he's spoken, and it answered a lot of questions. But she didn't really have time to think any of it over, not considering the more pressing concern.

Okay, whatever Dover gave her made her sick, but she'd only had two cups of it. If the kid wasn't a healer but felt comfortable making the drink, then it probably was used often. Which, generally, meant it wasn't very potent. Her mind quickly went over the few facts she had, trying to make a solution out of nothing.

"That's not fair. You said you don't have a healer right now, how's he supposed to know what will hurt me or not?" She's fishing, and she knows he knows. But, for some reason, he's playing along so she'll see how far she can push it. From the clench in his jaw, probably not that long.

"He's in training. If he is ever to be of use to us, he should know by now how to make the drink and how much to give." She smiles…well, internally. It is probably best not to really smile right now.

"He probably does…for your people. Mine are different though. Maybe we metabolize it differently because of our different upbringing or maybe it just hits us harder because of a lack of tolerance to your pain medication. I can't testify to the strength or potency of the drink, but he only gave me one cup." She hopes Dover's wearing his poker face. Still, the little white lie is worth it as the man in front of her falters, just a bit. He may not have understood all the words she used, which was a bit intentional, but he understood that last bit.

"I'm a healer for my people. Some people are just sensitive to certain remedies. Some people are allergic. There are many different reasons I could've had a bad reaction – hell, it could even just be from my injuries. But, it's not fair to blame Dover."

He's angry. His eyes are boring holes into hers, his stance is tense, and his grip on his sword is turning white. But, he looks past her for a minute and then slowly nods. The sword returns to the scabbard and he calls out a couple words in their language.

He turns without sparing Clarke another look and marches out of the room. The two guys, Dover with a quick, tentative look in her direction, trail after him.

She lets out a sigh of relief; grateful the confrontation is over, even if she's unsure how it ended. She turns around and sees the girl, who really needs a name at this point, staring at her. Of course, they wouldn't leave her along. She's got to have some sort of babysitter.

Her babysitter, however, is much like Dover. She doesn't look like a warrior, doesn't have weapons, and walks with a limp. It's weird that she would be left in charge of her considering what happened with Dover…but maybe they don't want to waste a warrior on her.

She wonders if, in their culture, it is a bigger insult to be babysat by a non-warrior or to be babysitting a weak sky person.

Whatever the case, there is one huge difference between the girl and Dover. She was able and willing to speak to Clarke in English. And Clarke had a lot of questions.

However, she wasn't sure how much longer her legs would carry her, so she hobbles over to the bed. The girl followed her over and even helped her settle into the seat, though the look on her face was anything but pleasant.

"So, what did you do to get stuck babysitting me?" Clarke was ready to get some answers, especially now that some of the pressure was off. The girl gave her a cool look, stepping away from her as soon as she was settled in.

"You shouldn't have questioned The Commander. You embarrassed him in front of his people. The boy could very well be punished worse for your insolence." She deflects the question, chiding Clarke in a disapproving tone.

"Then he must not be a very good leader." Clarke mutters, taking pleasure in the way the girl's posture stiffens in offense.

"Why would we want to ally with the sky people if they insist on involving themselves with our leadership and insulting us when questioned." Clarke deflates a little, but doesn't completely back down. Maybe the pressure is less, but Clarke very quickly put together that not all is as it seems. This girl may not have the influence to back up her attitude, but Clarke doesn't either. Clarke is running on bluff and bluster, so she needs to be careful with her words, no matter the audience.

"I'm not –" she lets out a huff of air, organizing her thoughts, "I wasn't involving myself in your politics or your punishment. I wasn't trying to question him… I was trying to give the full story. He didn't have all the information, he's not a healer. I am. A good leader works with the information they have, but doesn't turn down information for the sake of pride. And any leader that punishes their own people because an…interloper embarrassed them? Not a good leader."

"But you lied to him, how can he believe the words of a liar?" For someone who didn't talk much before, this girl is awfully chatty now. And, honestly, despite her need for answers, Clarke's exhausted. Still, this is an accusation she can't let stand…not if she wants an alliance.

"I didn't lie. I am a healer and all that stuff I said was very possible. I'd need more information to figure out the cause -" The girl shakes her head, cutting off the stream of words.

"You said he gave you one cup. He'd already confessed to two. Your stories don't match, so one of you is lying. If it's him, then he deserves punishment. If it you, then The Commander cannot trust sky people." Her eyes are cold, a hardened green which would be very pretty under normal circumstances.

Right now they're just terrifying. Clarke swallows nervously. Stupid. That was what she was. Just…so stupid.

She takes a breath. She got caught in a lie. This isn't the first time this happened to her. She's just got to be smooth and use her words.

"I…" well, go big or go home, "I would say that he was probably telling the truth. Things have been fuzzy since I woke up and the drink made it worse. I don't even remember finishing the cup. I'm not exactly at the top of my game right now." She notices the eyebrows furrow. "I just mean – I'm not at my best. Two cups was too many."

"You've said much today, should we not take any of it to be true." There's a lilt to her voice; Clarke's pretty sure she's being mocked. But she's also running out of options. She huffs.

"You're being deliberately obtuse. There's a difference between making a bad judgment or hazy memories and deliberate, malicious lies. The cups thing wasn't important to me, so I didn't bother remembering…everything else I said was the truth. I probably didn't even have it in me to lie at the time, at least not so extravagantly." Angrily, she makes to cross her arms, forgetting that one of them was injured. It didn't really work out, and she aborted the graceless, painful gesture after a brief struggle.

Instead, Clarke just glared impotently at the girl, who tilted her head. With a considering look, she spoke.

"When children begin training, they are often given one or two cups at the end of the day. Adults, too, but only to relax. The drink is not potent enough to do much more than that. The commander was not questioning if you were given too much, but rather if you were slipped something."

Oh. That…is possible. Clarke doesn't know the normal effects of what she drank, but she doesn't think Dover drugged her. He didn't spend very long making the drink, didn't seem worried or excited as she drank, and was too open with her. Clarke doesn't imagine the grounders are the type to use subterfuge. And…wait.

"So you weren't giving me something for the pain?" She asked, a little offended. The girl blinked at her.

"That is what you are concerned about?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying," Clarke says, leaning back against pillow propped against the wall, "You guys didn't even put my arm in a sling."

She's feeling a little more relaxed now. The pain is returning, but she's feeling more grounded and it's manageable. Plus, she can talk to this girl; maybe get some answers, without worrying about dooming her people to a slaughter.

"You did have a sling, but it was hastily made. You pulled it apart when you first arrived. There was an attempt to construct a new one, but, as you said, we are not healers. You wouldn't let anyone near you without thrashing around and hurting yourself more." The girl looks unimpressed. Clarke doesn't remember any of this, but remembers the nightmares. She can imagine what she must've been like.

"Oh." Well, at least they tried a little. Having someone watch over her makes more sense now as well, if it was to make sure she didn't injure herself. "Well, if you give me some wrap, I can probably make myself one. I'm a healer, you know." The girl tenses her jaw, but moves over to a nearby bench to grab some materials.

"We do know, Anya informed us and you have told us multiple times. It is a valuable skill." She walks back over and drops the items on the bed. There is a look in her eye; Clarke can't place it but it makes her uncomfortable.

For now, though, she ignores it and starts to work on the sling.

"So, what's your name?" She asked as she struggled to tie everything together. Working with one hand was bad enough, but it was especially awkward with her non-dominant hand. But, now she had something to prove.

"You should worry less about me and more about what you can tell the Commander to obtain an alliance." Clarke rolls her eyes, but doesn't look up.

"Well, tell me your name and that will be one less thing on my mind." It's bothering her not to know, especially since this girl was apparently here when she arrived and has talked with Anya. It means she's probably a bit more important than she appears. Clarke assumed, the way she followed the man around, that she was a personal servant or the grounder equivalent of a secretary… but maybe she got it wrong.

Not a warrior, but maybe someone the Commander consults with on matters. Her age is confusing, but Clarke won't pretend she understands grounder culture. It would explain why she was still here; Clarke could tell when someone wanted information.

And considering the situation, it was probably best to roll with it.

The girl is quiet at first, just watching her fumble with her would-be sling, but eventually she answers.

"My name is Lexa," she says tersely, and Clarke smiles at the curt tone. She looks up and meets Lexa's eyes. The girl is outright glaring at her. Clarke chews her lip, thinking, and then smiles again.

"Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru," Clarke says, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar words. She hopes they're right. The girl, Lexa, drops the glare and furrows her brow uncertainly. Clarke figures she's wondering how much Clarke knows, if Clarke understood what they were saying before.

Like she'd give up that advantage know if that was the case. Still, Clarke figures it's better to put her mind at ease.

"Was that right?" she asks with a smile. Still uncertain, Lexa nods slowly.

"How much trigedasleng do you know?" she asks calmly. Clarke shrugs her shoulders, ignoring the twinge of pain.

"Pretty much that and drein daun." Lexa nods again, looking a little more comfortable.

"Tell me, Clarke kom Skaikru, what do hope to do here?" Clarke goes back to fiddling with the mess of fabric in her lap.

"I don't really want to do anything here. I want to go home." She doesn't look up.

"Do you not want to talk terms? Anya said you wanted an alliance with the Commander, was that not true?" Clarke sighs to herself, wondering how best to explain this.

"I do. Short term, we both want to take down the mountain. Long term, I want my people to live without constantly fearing attacks. But I can't do that yet. I need to get to my people first." She picks up the fabric mess and begins trying to settle it around her neck.

"Why? A strong leader must always be ready." And this moment right here is why she can't negotiate just yet. Talking to the man was almost entirely bluffs and posturing, and maybe she could get through with just that, but a strong alliance can't be built on that. And he was so ready for a fight, there was no way she could explain what the actual situation was like without losing ground. Lexa is asking calmly, looking somewhat uninterested – a front Clarke won't call her on – and Clarke is okay explaining.

"I know you were listening before; I wasn't lying. We were prisoners sent here, and, yeah, I became the leader of them. But they, my people, are all trapped in Mt Weather. The ones that just came down won't see me as a leader." Lexa watches her struggle with her sling, contemplating her words.

"Then what use are you to us," she finally says with a frigid tone. Clarke sighs; at least she's not talking to the Commander.

"Like I said, I need to get back to my people. Right now, I don't know how many or who made it down. I don't know what are resources are. I don't know what we have, exactly, to offer. But I know my people. I know how they react. And, while I don't know who survived, most of the people in power know me. They respect my family. They won't follow me, but they'll listen." She tries not to think of her mom, who's most likely dead.

Last she'd heard, her mom had been caught in some sort of explosion. If Jaha was still in charge, though, he'd listen to her. She couldn't stomach him, not after everything that had happened. Still, Jaha had always been close with her family. That, and his guilt, would at least get him to listen.

Lexa is still examining her, weighing her words. Finally, she steps closer into Clarke's space. She gazes down apathetically, but Clarke doesn't flinch or move away. Lexa reaches out and gently adjusts the sling, helping Clarke get it on.

Then she steps away, and only then does Clarke breath.

"The mountain men are a fearsome enemy. You are…wise to look for help. But your people reach out a hand while holding a knife in the other. They sent an emissary out to speak with us while shooting at Anya and you. I will see what he has to say, I will find out the answers to your questions, and we will see what happens. For now, you will stay here. I will have some food sent for you." Her words catch Clarke off guard.

"Wait, what do you mean by emissary?" It's not that they have one of her people here, but emissary implies that they know about the grounders, more than the garbled bits over the radio. The only people who could tell them that were her people, Finn or Bellamy or… It meant that someone survived!

Lexa doesn't answer her, turning to leave, and Clarke can't let her, not yet. She jumps to her feet, stumbling slightly, and staggers to the Commander. She needs to stop her from leaving, but knows better than to grab a grounder. Instead, she moves in front of her to block her exit.

"Wait! Please, what do you mean?" she asks desperately.

"Move." Lexa gazes at her dispassionately. Whatever game they were playing before, it's over now.

"No, you can't just say that and leave." Lexa takes a step closer. She could just step around her, but Clarke can tell Lexa would rather go through her. The air is heavy with tension, and Lexa looks at her with a challenge.

"Move." She says it again, cold as ice. Clarke swallows.

"Lexa, please. You don't have to tell me anything. Just ask him if any of my – if any of the dropship kids are with them. There were some who didn't make it inside and I…I just need to know if they're alive. Please." She knows she sounds weak. She spent so much effort trying to be strong in front of them, but strength would be a challenge. She has nothing to offer. There is no reason she can hide behind. She just needs to know, and if she has to debase herself, has to plead for it, then she will.

Lexa's expression flickers, just a bit, but she doesn't move away. She looks away and grinds her teeth before turning back to meet Clarke's pleading gaze. And just when it seems like she's going to answer (hopefully something other than move), her head jerks so she's looking over Clarke's shoulder.

Right afterward, Clarke can hear a flurry of stomping feet, and she turns around so that she is facing the doorway. Lexa brushes past her, moving to stand in front of her.

The man from before, the one calling himself the Commander, stomps in flanked by two guards. Their faces are lined with hate and they are practically shaking with fury. The two guards glare spitefully at the floor while the man starts spitting words in grounder at Lexa.

Clarke can't see Lexa's expression, but she can tell it's not a pleasant exchange. Lexa's hands tighten into fists as she starts talking back, just as quickly, and Clarke is completely lost. But she can feel the growing tension. The man glances at her, expression dripping with animosity, and turns and leaves.

The guards don't.

Lexa turns quickly, and Clarke almost shudders at her scowl. Without any warning, she clutches Clarke's good arm, tight enough to make her wince, and drags her out of the room and into a long stone tunnel.

The pace is too quick, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is Lexa's painfully rough grip pulling her along. She wants to ask what's going on, but her recent adventures took their toll, and she's already gasping for breath.

They pass by a bunch of rooms before Lexa is pulling her up a short flight of steps and into sunlight. She gets a second reprieve, just long enough to see a camp filled with warriors and tents, before Lexa is on the move again. In the openness of the area, she can see the man from before moving in front of her and the guards following at their side.

They stop outside of a tent identical to all the others, and Clarke finally gets a chance to catch her breath. Lexa lets go of her arm and marches inside with the big guy. Clarke moves to follow her, but one of the guards grab at her bad arm. Clarke pulls away with an embarrassing yelp, but gets the point. The guards stay with her.

It is only a moment later that Lexa exits the tent, while Clarke is rubbing her arm crossly.

"You have said you are a healer," she says, scowling at Clarke, "Now is your chance to prove it… and to repay a debt." Clarke stands frozen as she looks at Lexa. This feels like déjà vu. She remembers when Anya and Tris and failure.

But last time she could use both arms. Last time she didn't have any lingering fuzziness. Or pain. And she still failed.

"I don't know - " she starts.

"Quiet." Lexa cuts her off, voice little more than a growl. "I don't care what you know. Your people, the one you fight for so passionately, snuck into a peaceful village and massacred almost everyone. The few survivors are inside, including the healer who saved your life. I'm going to speak with your people's emissaries, and you are going in that tent." It is not a request, so Clarke nods.

"The guards will stay in with you. The tent is stocked, but they can get you whatever else you need. Nyko is conscious and can answer questions if necessary." She walks past Clarke without another glance, and the man from before who called himself the Commander falls in line behind her. She sighs as she watches them go, the final piece clicking into place.

She is pushed roughly in the back and almost falls forward, barely catching herself. She finds her balance and turns around, scowling fiercely at the guard who pushed her forward.

"I'm going, and I will do my damned best to keep everyone alive. But lets get one thing clear; I'm injured enough already. So use your words and be ready to help." Without another word, she turns and enters the tent, head held high.