A/N: Edited and reformatted in 2020.

Clarke's grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger she was clutching. Her palms felt slick and sweaty. She felt convinced she might drop the knife if she didn't cling on to it for dear life.

Clarke had walked out on her people four weeks earlier. It had forced her to learn to survive on her own, to hunt and forage for food alone. She'd walked out of the camp with only the clothes on her back, the knife strapped to her calf, and her pistol in its holster at her hip.

She had four bullets left in the clip, and those were quickly spent by her first efforts to catch some food. The pistol still hung at her side, used to to scare off stray grounders, and to club any fish she caught from the river.

It was her dagger that kept Clarke alive, though. She used it to hunt, to keep herself fed and warm. It had become a lifeline for Clarke, an extension of her own arm. She gripped the handle so hard that her knuckles ached in protest, but Clarke would not relent.

"Do you really think you can do this, Clarke?" she stiffened as she heard Maya's voice right by her ear. The bodiless voice was nothing new. The dead had haunted Clarke ever since she'd pulled the lever and condemned the people of the mountain to their fates.

If she turned her head slightly to the left, she would catch sight of Maya, her skin burnt and mottled with blisters, just as it had been when Clarke last saw her in the flesh. If it wasn't Maya, then it would be Wells or her father.

They all looked at her with the same judgmental expressions, accusing her of atrocities that Clarke could never face. She killed them all - in one way or another - and they would not let her forget it.

The daughter of a doctor, Clarke was certain that hearing disembodied voices and seeing dead people were sure signs of instability - if not serious mental illness - but there wasn't much she could do about it; except maybe try to put her mind at ease by completing her task and claiming her kill.

Bent down low, hidden by the long grass, she moved with a fluid grace that she didn't remember possessing just a few weeks earlier. Life alone in the forest taught her to move swiftly and silently through the undergrowth; lest she go hungry.

Her latest prey was much bigger than the deer she'd caught the day before. It had been hard for the sky Princess to kill and cook her own food at first - which Clarke found ironic, considering just how many lives weighed down on her blighted soul - but it had been something she'd needed to learn. Hunger soon won out over her squeamishness.

She stalked her latest conquest as it moved to the edge of the clearing, dropping by the water's edge. It wasn't alone, but Clarke had her sights set on the proud head of the herd. The others that milled around the clearing became almost invisible compared to the majestic creature kneeling by the water.

This kill would be different. It would satiate a different hunger and would keep Clarke warm and satisfied for longer than any meal ever could. With an iron grip on the dagger in her hand, the whole of Clarke's body seemed to tense up as she prepared to strike.

The head of the herd finished taking a drink from the river and rose back up. It craned its long, slender neck this way and that way, as though picking up on the telltale signs of a nearby predator. It was a wonder Clarke's rapidly pounding heart hadn't already given her position away.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body. It fell from her brow and stung at her eyes, making her blink as her prey started moving back towards the tree line, bringing it feet away from where Clarke sat crouched over in the grass. Palms sweating, heart racing, she tensed the muscles in her calves.

Now or never. Clarke would only get one chance at this.

Springing up with the grace of a mountain lion, Clarke lunged forward, releasing a primal war-cry from deep within her chest. She held the dagger high above her head, ready to bring it crashing down with devastating effect.

"Heda!" A strangled cry sounded out from Clarke's left as the grounders closest to where she'd been hiding jumped at the sudden blur of movement. None of them were as close to Clarke as their commander was, though. There was nothing they could do but cry out and watch as Clarke's knife came slashing through the air.

It never hit its mark.

Blinded by white-hot anger, Clarke had forgotten just how deadly the commander of the grounders was in and of herself. Lexa didn't need the warning to know her life was in danger. She'd heard the soft snapping of twigs and dry crunching of leaves as she'd stooped by the water's edge and seen the few hard edges of Clarke's body that the grass had not covered.

She spun around to face her attacker - and former ally - but did not draw the sword that hung at her side. She didn't need the heavy weapon to take out the malnourished teen.

Grabbing the wrist holding the knife, Lexa twisted it hard enough to make the bones crunch, forcing Clarke to drop the offending blade. She then brought her knee up to slam in to the other girl's solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of her and dropping Clarke to the ground.

She bent over, gasping for air, as Lexa drew her sword. The Commander placed the icy steel tip to the back of Clarke's neck, but made no move to strike her down. She clearly intended for Clarke to suffer.

Lexa's warriors surrounded the Sky Princess as she dry heaved on to the forest floor. There were at least half a dozen of them. Even if Clarke found her breath again, there was no way her exhausted body could outrun the grounder warriors.

The trees were their domain. They'd catch her in an instant; and drag her right back to Lexa's feet.

Her death would be long and drawn out. Of that much Clarke was certain.

She deserved nothing less.

Perhaps that's why she'd followed Lexa and her people when she'd stumbled across their camp earlier that morning. Maybe she'd known all along that Lexa, or at least one of her people, would do what Clarke couldn't and put the teen out of her wretched misery.

"Do it." Clarke growled out, her voice rough and cracked. Those words were her first spoken out loud in weeks.

Clarke had first ventured alone in to the woods, with only the dead for company, and had tried answering their accusations and defending her actions. They had worn her down, though. She never could win an argument against Wells or her Dad.

They'd told her she was the one who deserved to be dead. Clarke agreed with them. Her actions, though well-meaning, had caused the deaths of countless lives. Some innocent, and some not; but that was beside the point.

Clarke Griffin was a cold-blooded murderer, and Lexa of the Trikru had driven her to it. It seemed fitting that the Commander should take Clarke's life.

Despite having caught her breath again, Clarke was still on her hands and knees on the ground. A curtain of dirty blond hair hung over her face. It fell in her eyes as she lifted them to glare up at Lexa, willing her to just get it over with her. "Do. It!" Clarke snapped again, her words holding more conviction as she growled them out.

Around her the other grounders shifted uneasily, their swords trained on Clarke. It was clear from the looks on their faces, and their anxious shuffling, that they felt eager to end the life of the woman who'd dared attempt to kill their leader. They took their cues from Lexa, though, and the Commander stood as still as stone as she glared at the pitiful sight before her.

Turning her back on the Sky People had been hard, but walking away from Clarke had been damn near impossible. The Commander did, though. For her people. Given the same choice again, she would do the same thing. Her people were her priority. They came first.

The young woman at her feet looked almost unrecognisable as Clarke. Her clothes torn and tattered, her face and arms covered in dirt and grime, and a murderous rage burning in her eyes, Clarke looked more animal than person.

She reminded Lexa of the mutant pauna that she and Clarke faced not so long ago; though it seemed like a lifetime.

"Heda?" One of the older men, his thick black beard speckled with grey, took a step towards Lexa.

"Kompf!" Lexa held up her free hand, the one not holding a long sword against the back of Clarke's neck, and ordered him to stop. Still staring down at Clarke, she barked out a quick succession of Trigedasleng.

Clarke was far from fluent in the grounder language, but she had picked up enough from her time in the alliance to recognise 'honon'. She was to be a prisoner.

Clarke felt her heart sink. She'd been counting on the Commander to give her a quick death. The only reason for Lexa to take her prisoner was so they could give her the 'Death of a Thousand Cuts'. The thought of the tortuously slow death made Clarke's mouth dry; though not out of fear.

Clarke was done.

Physically and mentally, she felt exhausted. She wasn't sure she even had the energy to stand again. Clarke just wanted it to be over. She'd reached the end of her journey and was ready to move on to whatever came next. Whether that be fiery judgment, or bleak nothingness, she'd welcome it with open arms.

"No…" Clarke shook her head. She clenched her eyes shut as tears welled up in them. They wouldn't take her alive. Lexa wouldn't get to turn her back on Clarke for a second time. Balling her fists, Clarke summoned what little strength she had left, knocked Lexa's sword aside, and pushed herself back up to her feet. Lexa didn't stop her.

Clarke's sudden movements unsettled the other grounders, but Lexa's expression remained blank and unreadable. "I'm not going anywhere! So just kill me already!" The words sliced in to the soft flesh of Clarke's tender throat. She had said more in the last minute than she had in a month.

Clarke's gaze dropped to the ground, where her knife lay in the dirt at Lexa's feet. Her movements were slow and clumsy as she tried to drop to her knees to retrieve the knife. Lexa beat her to it.

Planting her foot on the handle of the knife, Lexa dropped to her knees and brought the edge of her sword up to Clarke's throat. She grabbed a handful of Clarke's lank hair and gave it a hard yank. "Enough!" Stopping her warriors with a single look, Lexa was breathing hard as she barked in Clarke's ear. It was the only outward sign of the pressure she was under.

Her men were watching her, waiting to see what their Commander might do. If Clarke kept pushing it, then Lexa would have no choice but to give the girl her wish and end her life. "That is enough, Clarke." To the Commander's relief, Clarke stopped struggling. She fell limp against Lexa's firm body, her own body sagging forward and causing the blade at her throat to bite in to her skin. "Please…" A sob sounded from the exhausted teenager. "Just kill me."

"No." Lexa's voice was firm as she lowered her sword. "I will not kill you, Clarke of the Sky People. You will not force my hand." Lexa knew what the other girl was trying to do, and she wouldn't allow it. "Gunther!" Turning her attention back to the older warrior who had stepped towards her earlier, she gave him orders in Trigedasleng.

He gave a bow and turned to jog back over to their waiting horses. After rifling through one of the saddle packs, he came back with a length of rope and handed it over to Lexa. "Do not fight me, Clarke." Lexa warned as she yanked the struggling girl's arms back behind her. She bound her hands with the coarse rope, tying it tight enough to bite painfully in to the skin of her wrists.

"Where are you-" Clarke asked, but her question was cut short as Lexa brought the hilt of her long sword slamming against the back of Clarke's head. Fireworks exploded in front of her eyes, and the black spots on the peripheral of her vision closed in. The world went dark before she could even let out a groan of protest.

Lexa caught her before she could face-plant the forest floor. Scooping the teenager up, she threw her over her shoulder, shrugging off Gunther's offer to take the girl from her. Lexa stared Gunther and the rest of her men down, clarifying that Clarke's life was in her hands, and not theirs. "Clarke is my burden, and mine alone."

When Clarke came to again, the sun had long since set in the west. Draped sideways over a large black horse, her body slammed against it with every stride the powerful animal took.

To Clarke, it appeared her ribs were ready to cave in on themselves under the pressure. Her heart raced and her head was pounding. A dull, yet persistent, ache had settled itself behind her left eye, and she wasn't sure whether the nausea she felt came from the motion of the moving horse, or a concussion.

Clarke couldn't be sure what had happened, but she could hazard a guess that Lexa had struck her with something, knocking her clean out. The ground below her swam in and out of focus as her eyes opened and adjusted to the dim twilight.

Without thinking, or caring that they'd bound her hands behind her back, Clarke used her legs to kick out and push herself all the way over the saddle. She did a less than graceful forward roll, landing with a bump on her already fragile head, and rolled herself up in a ball; narrowly avoiding being trod on by the horse behind Lexa's.

Shouting and commotion came from the grounders as they brought their horses to a sudden stop. For all Clarke couldn't understand a word of what Lexa was saying as she dismounted and stalked towards her, she was sure it was a string of colourful profanities.

"Do you have any idea how foolish that was?" Lexa demanded. She stood over Clarke with her hands on her hips, scolding her like a child. "You might have been killed!" Clarke managed a half-hearted shrug. It sent a wave of pain shooting through her left shoulder, which had been the first part of her body to meet the ground and break the fall.

Lexa's lips pursed as something close to an emotion played across her youthful face. "We'll stop here for the night. Aramis, take first watch!" Lexa called out to the others, instructing them to set up camp for the night. The youngest of the group - a boy maybe a year or two younger than Clarke, with a closely shaved head - nodded in response and clambered up the closest tree.

"This is a suitable place to camp. You chose well." Lexa commented as she took a seat on the ground beside Clarke, resting her back against a tree. The offhand remark almost sounded like a compliment, but Lexa's tone was thick with sarcasm. Clarke ignored her, too tired to deal with the Commander's passive-aggressive sarcasm.

Her entire body ached. She was tired and hungry, and the bindings at her wrists were painfully tight. Clarke's pride refused to allow her to ask for Lexa to loosen them. So she lay where she was, curled up in a ball, focusing on breathing in and out, and trying not to move too much.

She heard the rustling of a canvas bag beside her. When she cracked open her eyes she saw Lexa drinking from a water canteen. "You should drink something." Lexa moved to offer the other girl the water, but Clarke struggled to sit up. With a haughty sigh, Lexa moved to help her, hooking her hands under Clarke's armpits to sit her up against the trunk of a tree.

Lexa had barely touched her when Clarke let out a guttural scream. Pain ripped through her shoulder and right up in to her collarbone. "You are hurt." Lexa frowned, like Clarke's injury was more of an irritation than a concern. Pulling out a knife from the holster at her ankle, Lexa cut the rope around the other girl's wrists, freeing her hand.

Clarke let out another strangled sob as she brought her hands back around in front of her. The intense pain in her shoulder was doing an excellent job of distracting her from the pounding of her head, but not in a good way.

She tried to focus on keeping from passing out as Lexa gingerly lifted her shirt. She clucked her tongue in distaste at the sight of the deep bruising on Clarke's pale skin. Her collarbone was protruding outward. She had dislocated it in the fall. "I need to reset this… It will hurt." Lexa gave her an earnest look, something close to concern marring her usually benign expression.

"Just do it." Clarke growled out, gritting her teeth. Lexa nodded, placing one hand on Clarke's good shoulder to steady herself, and the other at her elbow.

"On three… One. Two." She never made it to three. Two had barely left her lips when Lexa pushed Clarke's injured shoulder upwards, slamming in back in to the socket.

"Son of a bitch!" Clarke screamed at the top of her lungs, recoiling back from the Commander and using her good arm to cradle her injured shoulder. "Fuck, Lex! I thought you said on three?"

The affectionate nickname tumbled past her lips without Clarke's approval. She clamped them shut as she realised what she had called the Commander of the Grounders. If any of Lexa's people noticed they said nothing, just like Lexa herself. She picked up the water canteen, offering it to Clarke again.

The teenager drank hungrily, chugging the water back like Monty's moonshine. It spilled out over her chin, dropping on to her shirt. "Easy." Lexa admonished, once again chiding her. She set the canteen back on the ground and reached for the length of rope that she'd used before to bind Clarke's hands.

Clarke stiffened, expecting Lexa to tie her up again. Instead, Lexa moved to wrap it around her injured arm, creating a sling to help support it. Noticing Clarke's wary expression, Lexa managed a wry smile. "You may be my prisoner Clarke, but that does not mean I have to be unkind."

"Of course." Clarke snapped. "Treat your prisoners well and betray your allies. Makes perfect sense, Commander."

"You mock me." Lexa's eyes hardened, the green orbs like flawless emeralds. Clarke dropped her gaze, ashamed that she could still find the other woman attractive. That her body could still ache for Lexa after her betrayal.

"What the hell did you expect?" Clarke demanded, finding her voice again. "You left us, Lexa! You turned your back on us!" On me. The silent accusation lingers between them, just like the restless spirits of the dead that still haunt Clarke's every waking moment.

"Of course she did." Wells piped up, appearing on Lexa's left. He sat on a large rock, his knees drawn up to his chest. His skin was the colour of ash, and the gaping wound in his neck seeped a trickle of blood. Clarke hated seeing him like that. Maybe that's why he appeared to her like that more often than not.

"What were you expecting, Clarke? These people are savages! You knew she'd betray you. You knew it from the start, you were just too blinded by how pretty she is." Wells sneered, his expression contorting in to a look that he would never have worn when he was still alive.

"Shut up!" Clarke snapped, irritated at being called out on her lingering attraction to the grounder commander.

"I did not say anything." Lexa frowned. She noticed Clarke was looking right past her and turned to see what it was she was looking at. The ground beside her was empty.

"Sorry, Sky Princess, I'm just saying it how it is." Wells shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic. "You should have taken a leaf out of the Commander's book. Start thinking with your head for once. Instead of your-"

"That's enough!" Clarke snapped. She struggled to get to her feet, still cradling her injured shoulder. "You're not real! You're not Wells!"

"Clarke!" Lexa jumped up beside her, reaching out for the other girl. The other grounders had scattered around the clearing, setting about lighting a fire and seeing to dinner. They jumped to attention when they saw Lexa standing.

"Heda?"

"Just leave me alone! Go away!" Clarke screamed, lashing out at what seemed to be thin air. "You're dead! You're dead!"

"CLARKE!" The commander grabbed at the wrist of her good arm, spinning her around to face her. Her free hand cupped Clarke's cheek, forcing her to look her in the eye. "Whatever plagues you, it is not real… The dead are gone, Clarke. They trouble us no more."

Lexa spoke in a hushed tone. She ran the pad of her thumb over Clarke's cheek as she tried to get her to focus on her, and not at the apparition standing behind her. Her hands were rough and calloused, hardened from a lifetime of war and loss.

"They won't leave me alone…" Clarke sighed. Her eyes were wide and brimming with unshed tears as they focused on Lexa. "They won't… they… I…"

"Shhh." Lexa soothed, still cupping Clarke's cheek. "The dead are gone, Clarke. They may whisper in your ear, but you do not have to listen."

"Heda." Gunther approached his commander, eying Clarke warily. "She is troubled by the spirits of the forest, yes?"

"Yes." Lexa agreed, letting her hand drop back to her side. "Fetch Lustig, the healer, he will make her a draft to calm her nerves."

"Yes, Heda." Gunther gave another bow, and rushed over to the man tending to the fire. He must have been the healer, because he nodded and began scouring the forest floor for the herbs he needed.

"Sit." Lexa turned her attention back to Clarke and ordered her back to the ground. Clarke complied, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Wells had vanished from sight, giving Clarke a momentary reprieve from his hauntings. "You have been alone too long. The forest can play tricks on your mind."

Clarke said nothing, too absorbed in the empty spot where Wells had sat before. She had never made him leave before, yet Lexa had made him vanish on command. Clarke could not do that. Most days Clarke couldn't even get the voices of the dead to be quiet long enough to let her sleep.

She felt drained and the silence in her head was deafening. It was too quiet in there on her own. She sat quietly on the ground, staring at the rock beside Lexa's feet. The commander said nothing more, just took a seat beside her and waited for Lustig to return.

The healer didn't take very long in collecting the herbs he needed. After mashing them in to a paste, and boiling them in a canteen of water over the fire, he cautiously approached Clarke to hand it over. The teenager stared right past him, and Lustig glanced at his Heda for guidance.

Taking the canteen out of his hand, she ushered the healer away and brought the flask up to Clarke's lips. She waited for the other girl to drink. "It will help." She assured her. "Clarke?" However stubborn the sky girl might be, Lexa was certain she could outdo her.

She pursed her lips when Clarke carried on ignoring her. Patience wasn't Lexa's strong suit. As Heda of her people, she was used to being obeyed. "Clarke of the Sky People! Drink!" She commanded in a stern voice, as though directing troops in to battle, not ordering a teenager to take a drink.

Her people were watching Clarke's blatant disregard for the Commander's authority. She couldn't allow Clarke's insolence to stand. In a low growl, she said, "You will drink it. Now." It was easier to reconcile Lexa with her betrayal when she was addressing Clarke as the Commander; ordering her.

The teenager blinked, dragged out of her stupor by Lexa's low gravelly growl and stern expression. Snatching the canteen out of her hand, she brought it up to her lips and drank half of it in one long gulp. Her eyes were dark and stormy as they locked on to Lexa's.

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. The draft had tasted vile, like damp earth and mould. Clarke had seen the things the grounders used as medicine, and she didn't want to even think about what might have been in the flask. Still glaring at Lexa, she muttered petulantly, "Yes, Heda."

Lexa ignored the sarcasm in her voice. Rising back to her feet, she dusted off the knees of her pants and regarded Clarke with her usual candour. "Rest now. We ride at dawn."

"Ride where?" Clarke huffed.

That she had moved to lie on the grass had nothing to do with Lexa ordering her to. She was tired to begin with, and Lustig's draft had knocked her on her ass. Her eyelids felt far too heavy to keep open, so she let them close over instead.

"And shouldn't you be tying me up?" Clarke stifled a yawn as she curled up in a ball. "What if I try to run?"

"You won't get far." Lexa answered with a dismissive shrug. She took her post back over by the tree she'd been leaning on earlier. It was close enough to watch over Clarke, yet far enough away to give her space. She wasn't even sure if the other girl was still awake as she added, "We ride for Polis."

Thanks to Lustig's draft, Clarke slept the sleep of the dead. She didn't have a single dream or nightmare. She didn't toss or turn, or wake up screaming in the middle of the night. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Clarke Griffin slept soundly.

She woke to someone shaking her shoulder. "Five more minutes, Mom." She groaned and tried to raise her arm to cover her face. Her shoulder wouldn't comply. It felt stiff and sluggish. Pain radiated through the joint in time to the beat of her heart.

"Easy, Sky Heda." Gunther, the older grounder with the beard streaked with grey, pushed her back so she was lying flat. Clarke let out a slight groan. The pain in her shoulder had eased since Lexa reset the dislocation, but it still throbbed.

"Here. Drink this." Gunther shoved a cupful of something in front of her. Clarke took it without protest. Her throat felt as a dry as the desert.

"Ugh!" She almost spat it out. She would have, had Gunther not slapped his hand over her mouth to stop her. It tasted just as vile as the last draft.

"Drink, Sky Heda. It will numb the pain." Gunther instructed, keeping his beefy hand in place until Clarke made a show of swallowing.

The liquid in her mouth, if it could even be considered a liquid, had the consistency of oil. It tasted like ash and tar and stung Clarke's throat on the way down. Despite its horrendous taste, the draft started working right away. The pain in her head and in her shoulder dulled to a more tolerable ache.

"Thank you." Clarke rasped, her voice still raw and fragile. She glanced at her shoulder, straining her neck to take in the new sling that someone must have put on her while she slept. Cloth replaced the rope. They had wrapped it around her forearm, encasing it and holding it up against Clarke's uninjured shoulder. "But please don't call me that. I'm nobody's leader."

Gunther nodded. The grounders weren't ones to waste words. He offered his hand out to help Clarke up. She swallowed her pride and took it. Gunther had been nothing but kind to her. It wasn't his fault that his Commander was a backstabbing bitch.

Clarke followed the grounder over to where the others were busy packing up their saddlebags. Lexa stood with her back to Clarke. She was tending to her own horse, the big black beast that Clarke had thrown herself from the night before. Gunther cleared his throat to get her attention. "The prisoner is ready, Heda."

"Good." Lexa kept her back to them. "She can ride with you."

"I-" Clarke started, but Lexa didn't give her a chance to finish.

"If she refuses, tie her to your saddle and make her walk." Lexa turned around to face them. Despite her threat, her expression was blank.

She regarded Clarke carefully, as though waiting for her to argue. Clarke thrust her head up high in the air, refusing to back down, but knowing better than to call the Commander's bluff. Gunther helped her up on to the back of his horse.

Though, a more accurate description would be that he lifted her clear off the ground. Clarke only need to grab on to the front of the saddle and pull herself forward to get in to place.

She couldn't deny Lexa had surprised her by palming her off with Gunther. It had been fine for Clarke to ride with her when the teenager was unconscious and draped over her saddle. Now that she was awake, it was a different story.

Gunther climbed up behind her, settling himself in behind Clarke on the saddle and taking the reins of the horse. The grounders fell in to formation around Lexa and Gunther's horses, guarding their Commander and her prisoner. For all Lexa wasn't riding with Clarke, she kept her horse in stride with Gunther's.

The trek was monotonous. The forest passed by for mile after mile. Not so long ago, the ground seemed new and exciting to Clarke, but it had lost its appeal. Like Lexa, at first glance, the ground looked beautiful and enticing, but upon closer inspection it was cold and ruthless.

They rode through the morning without stopping until the sun towered high above them in the middle of the sky. Clarke, who'd only ridden a horse for the first time a couple of months earlier, felt like her thighs were on fire by the time they came to a stop.

Gunther dropped from the horse first, before reaching up to help lower Clarke down. She stumbled forward. Her legs were jelly and the mud beneath her feet was thick like sludge. She nearly fell face first in the dirt until Lexa reached out to steady her.

Her touch was barely there as she helped right Clarke, and then briskly stepped away. She barked orders at her men, having them tend to the horses and secure the clearing they had stopped in. Clarke felt like a spare part, just standing there watching everyone else doing something. She moved to a dry patch of ground and sat down, tucking her knees up to her chest.

The draft that Lustig had given her for the pain still buzzed around in her system. It made the colours of the forest sharp and yet fuzzy at the same time. Clarke was spacing in and out when Aramis, the young grounder whom Lexa had gotten to keep watch the night before, approached her. He held out a small bundle, wrapped up in cloth.

"Eat." He instructed, though his voice wasn't anywhere near as deep and gruff as the likes of Lustig's. He was a skinny slip of a boy. With wiry blond hair that fell in to his eyes. The smattering of stubble on his cheeks seemed less about growing an actual beard, as proving that he could.

"Thank you." Clarke took the bundle from him and unwrapped it, revealing a choice of strips of salted meat, a handful of nuts and berries and a chunk of bread. Despite trying to act a big brave grounder, the young man couldn't stop a smile from slipping on to his lips. Clarke managed a weak smile, and Aramis' cheeks burned before he ducked his head.

Clarke wasn't the only one to notice. "Aramis! Daun ste pleni! Gonot nau em." Lexa snapped at him, calling him back over to the other grounders.

"Brawnwoda." Gunther shook his head at the boy, clipping him around the ear. The grounders carried on speaking in Trigedasleng, the words coming out thick and fast. Clarke recognised a word or two, but she didn't know enough to understand what they were saying.

Clarke sat off to the side of the group, on her own, picking at her food. Lexa sat with her back to her, which seemed almost deliberate. The longer Clarke stared at the back of her head, the more angry she became at being ignored. Lexa had taken her prisoner, and the least she could do was acknowledge Clarke.

Clarke had barely finished eating before they were packing up again and moving on. Gunther approached Clarke, intending to help her up on to his horse again, but the teenager dug her heels in to the ground in protest. "No. I'm not getting back on that thing!"

"And I'm not walking either!" She snapped right as Lexa was about to comment. She rounded on the other girl, jabbing a finger in to her chest. Gunther and the others made to pull their weapons, but Lexa shook her head at them. Her eyes narrowed on Clarke.

"And how else do you intend to reach Polis? You may be of the sky people, Clarke, but I do not suppose you can fly."

"I'm riding with you!" Clarke answered defiantly, holding Lexa's stern gaze. "You want to take me prisoner? Then you damn well take responsibility for me yourself!" Clarke knew she was pushing it. Lexa could have her killed her for the attempt on her life.

She didn't need to take Clarke prisoner and take her to Polis for a trial, or whatever else the Commander planned to do with her. She'd spared Clarke's life, yet the other girl just kept pushing. Challenging Lexa's authority in front of her warriors.

Clarke worried she'd pushed the Commander too far, but Lexa finally nodded. "If you would like to ride with me Clarke, you need only have asked." Her expression remained stoic, but there was a smugness to her voice.

"I-" Clarke started but faltered. She felt her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. Lexa had played her, making Clarke ride with Gunther, ignoring her all morning, she had pushed Clarke in to demanding Lexa's attention.

Deciding not to dig herself in to any deeper of a hole, Clarke clenched her teeth and clamped her mouth shut. Gunther helped her up on to Lexa's horse, while the Commander climbed in to the saddle on her own. Holding the reins with one hand, she wrapped her free arm around Clarke's waist, pulling her flush against her.

Clarke swallowed twice, trying to get rid of the lump at the back of her throat. She hated herself for the involuntary effect Lexa's touch had on her body. It was hard to remember to hate Lexa when her palm was resting flat against Clarke's stomach, right at the spot where her shirt was riding up.

It was almost too much when Lexa leaned in by her ear and murmured, "Hold fast, Clarke. We have many miles to go."