Author's Note:

So I guess the first thing I want to do is express my sincere gratitude for all those who have favorited, subscribed and especially reviewed to this story. Honestly, I was nervous to even post this story in the first place, but you all have been so kind! It's really amazing of you. Thank you.

I also want to address something that several of you have commented on: the similarities of this fix and the popular cartoon Avatar. I admit that I have watched the show in the past and I can also see the similarities between that and this fic. We all draw for the same well, I suppose. Haha. I hope that as the story progresses, you will be able to see and appreciate the differences in the mythology I've created.

Without further ado, please enjoy! (:

. ... .

Clarke met John Murphy on the day his father died.

She was twelve, and had just begun to assist her mother in the medical bay. Her duties consisted of mostly cleaning. Occasionally she would greet and assist patients with minor issues, but for the most part it was sterilizing equipment, making beds and the like.

According to her mother, John Murphy had come into Medical two days before with a nasty bout of the flu. There had been nothing that could be done about it; the only thing they could do was wait for the fever to break. Her mother had sent him home with some aspirin and instructions of strict bedrest.

That hadn't been good enough for Murphy's father. He had snuck back into the medical bay that night, intent on finding some medicine to cure his son's sickness. He had been caught and quickly tried.

He was Floated the very next day.

It was that afternoon that John's mother came in screaming, covered in blood. In her arms was her son, his life's blood pouring out from deep, self inflicted gashes on his wrists.

"Clarke! Get over here. I need my kit, bring it with you," her mother had yelled. Clarke hastened to obey, though her heart was beating in her chest a mile a minute. They had laid the boy down, and Clarke could feel her stomach beginning to turn. There was more blood than she had ever seen in her life, pouring out of deep, angry vertical lines on his forearms.

"Apply pressure, Clarke," her mother commanded.

It was hours later, after the boy had been stitched and bandaged, that Clarke found herself hovering over him with a damp cloth. The boy still had a slight fever from the flu, and his face shone with a layer of sweat. Clarke wiped at his face gently, unable to fight the sadness that engulfed her at the sight of his condition.

He was so young and had lost so much already. How deep did the sadness have to go before you thought about killing yourself? How much pain did you have to feel before you gave up completely?

"You'll be alright," she whispered to him as she wiped his cheek with her cloth. "You'll be out of here in no time."

Clarke stayed long after her mother had returned home for the evening, only Jackson left to keep an eye on her. They had given Murphy a small dose of strong painkillers, and Clarke wanted to be here when he woke up.

Slowly, Murphy's eyes began to flutter. Clarke perked up, instantly alert. Murphy came back into consciousness with a burst of awareness, sitting straight up in his bed and jerking wildly. Clarke placed her hands on his shoulders, trying to gently push him back on the bed. Jackson came over but Clarke waved him off.

"John! John, look at me," Clarke demanded in the calmest, most soothing tone she could manage. He seemed to not hear her, his eyes roving the room with no purpose. "Hey, hey, John, look at me," she repeated and finally he seemed to see her. His pupil's contracted despite his eyes widening as he abruptly stilled.

"You need to lay back, John," she ordered softly, pushing lightly on his shoulders. He didn't resist her, laying back on the cot. He didn't take his eyes off of her. "There we go," Clarke praised. She grabbed the cloth she had been using to wipe his face and proceeded to continue. "I'm glad you're awake," she told him.

He said nothing.

. ... .

The first thing that Clarke was aware of was something being forcefully shoved into her mouth. A split second later, she registered a hot liquid scalding her tongue. She sputtered, swallowing on instinct, coughing as it went down the wrong way.

Her eyes flew open and despite her blurry vision she was immediately aware that she was in a different place. She was on a bed of soft fur in a room she had never seen before. There were burning torches on the walls to provide light and a fireplace that must be the cause of the sweltering heat that invaded the room.

Before her was a woman Clarke had never seen a day in her life, staring intently back at her. Her hair was covered by some sort of wrapping but it didn't obstruct her face. Clarke observed her dark skin, marred by a single, long pale scar that covered one whole side of her face. Her eyes were a dark brown.

Her observations were cut short as the woman raised her arm, bringing another spoonful of liquid to Clarke's lips. Now that she was somewhat awake, Clarke stiffened her mouth and refused the woman's entry. She pulled her head away, groaning at the pain the small movement caused.

"Drein daun," the woman spoke in the same, strange language she had heard the people before speak. Clarke was actually rather good with languages, it had been kind of a hobby before she had been imprisoned, but she wasn't quite sure which one these strange people were speaking. It sounded vaguely familiar–perhaps some sort of bastardization of English?–but Clarke didn't have enough of her wits about her to concentrate enough to be sure. Clarke looked around the room, searching for the woman she had spoken to in the forest. When she didn't find her, Clarke felt panic rise in her throat. "Yu souda drein daun," the woman continued, "Daunde yu ste kwelen."

The woman attempted to bring the spoon to Clarke's lips once more but Clarke wasn't having any of it. She turned her cheek again, raising her arm to push away the woman's. It sent the spoon the woman had been holding falling onto the bed. Clarke felt the hot broth the woman had been attempting to feed her land on her arm.

The woman sighed loudly before she placed the bowl she had been holding on the small table next to Clarke's bed. She then turned and exited the room without another word.

Several moments after she had left, Clarke found the strength to rip the furs off that had been covering her. To her surprise, she was almost naked under the sheets, minus odd wrappings that seemed to function as underwear. She had no idea where her own underwear and bra were, or who had been the one assigned to undressing her.

Clarke turned in the bed, tossing her legs over the side. Her feet came in contact with solid, firm wood. Marvelling at the room around her for just a moment, she saw that there was a window on the wall closest to her. She hadn't noticed it before because it was covered by a thick, red curtain that blended with the color of the wood panelling.

Clarke stood, making her way over to where the window was. As soon as she had her feet under her, she swayed dangerously before grabbing a nearby bedpost for support. Pushing past her dizziness, she took several slow steps over to the window, holding onto the post as long as she could. When she had to let go, she immediately reached for the wall.

Pushing the curtain back, Clarke took in the village with wide eyes. It was completely dark out, the night of the new moon. She was able to make out a couple of huts and some fires in the distance. Clarke saw no one moving about and she wondered how late it was. She hadn't thought about keeping time since she had left the Ark but now that there were apparently people on Earth, she had a strange desire to know.

Who were those people in the forest? Where were they now and why had they brought her here? Where was she? So many questions swirled around in Clarke's mind that she felt dizzy. A wave of exhaustion washed over her and Clarke became aware of how weak she really was; her very bones seemed to ache, every breath was an effort.

"Clarke."

Clarke jumped in alarm, spinning around to the source of the sound. Uncoordinated and weak, she stumbled slightly before she managed to correct herself. It was the woman from the forest, though she lacked the face paint that had streaked down her face like black tears. Despite herself, Clarke felt herself relax at the sight of the woman.

Clarke remembered seeing her when she woke up in the forest. The woman had been with others but immediately Clarke had felt drawn to her. It was something Clarke had struggled to articulate earlier when she had been questioned, but there had been a glow about her, almost like a shimmer under her skin. There was something else as well, a sort of kinship that Clarke had felt form the second the woman showed her the display with the water.

"Oh! It's you. Hey," Clarke sputtered, feeling abruptly awkward.

Clarke saw a ghost of a smirk grace the strange woman's lips. "Hello, Clarke," she greeted. "Emari told me that you would not eat," she continued, "and now I find you out of bed. You are not a good patient," she chastised.

"Where am I?" Clarke asked, ignoring the woman's words. "Who was that woman? Why did you bring me here?" she asked rapidly.

"I will answer your questions, Clarke of the Sky," the woman agreed lightly, "You only have to get back into bed," her motioned with her arm.

Clarke, who felt rather drained anyway, agreed wordlessly and made her way back to the large, fur covered surface. She pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. All of a sudden she felt rather exposed; the wrappings she wore covered her shoulders and breasts quite well and the bottoms felt more like extremely short shorts, but it still left a lot of herself on display. More than she was used to exposing, that is.

Clarke expected the woman to sit on the bed next to her, but she did not. She remained standing as she spoke, "You are in the village of TonDC," the woman informed. "The woman that was here is Emari. She is your caretaker. I brought you here because you are very sick, Clarke. You fainted in the forest."

"Why am I so ill?" Clarke asked, staring at the woman intently. "I've never felt like this before. Do I have a virus or something? Some sort of infection?" she asked.

The woman hesitated, her mouth tightening. She appeared to be considering something before she responded. "Clarke, do you remember the night before you awoke with us in the forest?" she asked lightly.

Pain ripped through her chest as Clarke realized what night she was talking about. The night that hundreds of souls had perished into the darkness of the universe, burning up right before her eyes.

"I remember," she murmured.

The woman was again quiet for a moment, looking away before she spoke. "You strained yourself against the kulag, Clarke. Your body is weak. It is not equipt to handle the power you have within."

Clarke fell quiet. She had not yet had time to think about what had happened that night. Clarke remembered falling into her Sight, but it was different than any other time it had overcome her. It had been stronger, deeper and brighter than ever before. The details of what happened were blurry, but she remembered that she had been attacked by some sort of savage beast. Clarke remembered she had fought back with the ocean of power that had somehow been at the tip of her fingers.

It had been exhilarating, thrilling beyond all belief. Clarke remembered the rush of adrenaline and the sense that she was invincible, beyond the power of any other living thing.

It was horrifying to think of now, as she sat in this too hot room, bare except for wrappings and so weak she could barely stand.

Clarke looked back to the woman who had found her in the forest, who was now standing at the foot of her bed staring at her intently. "You are like me," Clarke stated, but it came out as more of a question.

The woman rose a single eyebrow. "Yes," she agreed, seeming to understand what Clarke was getting at. "I have already told you, I am also Dhillarearën."

There was no annoyance in her tone, which gave Clarke the will to continue on. "I've never...met anyone else. I was the only one on the Ark that was...like this," she fought for words. The shame in her abilities was long embedded in the fiber of her soul and even the knowledge that she was not alone didn't do much to diminish the stain so many years had caused. Shaking herself, Clarke continued, "Is this affliction common in your culture? Is it something a lot of people can do?" she asked.

"No, Clarke," the woman replied swiftly. "It is not a common occurrence in my people, though it is not unknown. Though to my people, it is not considered a curse. It is a blessing bestowed upon us by the Great Mother."

"Is that your god?" Clarke asked, tilting her head in confusion. "You worship her?"

"She is our goddess. We observe her and respect her. There is no worship, as you say."

Clarke nodded but didn't respond, wrapped up in her thoughts. These people were spiritual, but not religious. According to this woman, her powers came from some sort of ethereal source. The Ark had been more of a secular community than anything, but the woman's explanation was as good as any other Clarke had come up with.

"You are very powerful, Clarke," the woman spoke again, interrupting Clarke's inner musings. "Dangerously so. You seem to have little knowledge of your abilities, which only increases the danger. You need to be taught, trained. And so you will be."

"By you?" Clarke found herself asking before she could stop herself, her voice hopeful. She closed her mouth quickly, embarrassed by her sudden outburst.

"In part. But that is for another day," the woman replied, and Clarke saw the corner of her mouth rise slightly. "Emari," the woman called over her shoulder.

As if she had been waiting just outside, the woman from before reentered the room. Emari glanced at the woman from the forest first, and then to Clarke before she walked around to Clarke's side and picked up the bowl she had been holding when Clarke had first awoken. She offered it to Clarke, her expression blank.

Clarke took the offered bowl, feeling a bit sheepish about her earlier behavior.

"You need to rest, Clarke. Training cannot begin until you are well. Take heed of what Emari commands you, she is a very talented healer," she nodded to the woman before looking back to Clarke. Clarke had an odd impression of being very small, like a child under her intense gaze. She nodded wordlessly.

The woman gave Emari another curt nod, before turning to leave the room. Clarke watched her go, trying to ignore the slight panic she had at being left alone with such a stern looking woman who she had probably already offended.

"Wait!" she called out, unable to stop herself. The woman hesitated, turning slightly to look at her. "Who are you?" Clarke asked. She had realized that she didn't even know the woman's name. Not only that, Clarke had a sense that this woman was an important person in this new world Clarke had found herself enveloped in. She had too strong of gravitas to be anything else.

The woman glanced briefly at Emari, who had kept her gaze trained firmly on Clarke, before looking back to Clarke. "I am Lexa," she said, with a slight nod. "Goodnight, Clarke of the Sky," she said quietly, before she raised the curtain to the room, stepping out.

Clarke looked back to Emari, who motioned to the bowl in Clarke's hands. Meekly, Clarke began to eat.

The broth was cold.

. ... .

Lexa exited the hut that housed Clarke, taking one moment to rub her eyes of the tiredness that had settled there. She had returned with Clarke to TonDC almost two days ago now, and had done much before the strange girl had awoken. She had slept maybe a handful of hours in that time.

Lexa's first task had been to send messengers to her teacher. What Lexa had seen the girl do with the kulag was something not seen in someone with no training. Even Lexa, having an affinity for all five brignsir, had not the power to do what the girl had with water. Fire and Air were her strongest affinities, Earth and Water following afterword.

Lexa didn't expect for the messengers to return for at least a full moon cycle. Her teacher was a great distance away. It was why she had sent more than one man; if one should fall, others could go on.

Her second task was much more difficult. Dealing with the people that opposed her decision to bring the Skygirl to TonDC was a challenge.

Lexa had brought the carcass of the kulag to be offered as proof. It was quite compelling, in Lexa's opinion. The body was still frozen solid and in the heat of day it emitted a kind of steam that was cold to the touch. It reminded her of something she had once seen in the very northern regions of the Ice Nation; ice that never melted, breathing and shifting and cracking like a real living thing.

Still, many were not convinced; they wanted to see a display of the girl's power. Of course, this could not be done until the girl was healed. Lexa had been there during the initial examination of the girl and she was in worse shape than Lexa had realized. The girl was obviously starved; almost every one of her ribs were visible when her clothes were removed. The fever had been so intense that her body quaked with tremors and the nosebleed she had started back at camp that day hadn't quite dissipated, leaving her face streaked with blood.

Shaking herself out of her recollection, Lexa made her way to the tent that was designated as hers, pulling back the flap and stepping inside. Unsurprisingly, Anya was waiting for her, looking relaxed as she rested on a makeshift chair. Lexa hesitated for a moment, raising a single eyebrow at the woman before beginning to remove her armor. "Hello, Onya," Lexa said, surprised at how tired her voice sounded.

"Hello, Heda," Anya replied, her voice sly, almost mocking. Lexa and Anya's relationship had always been the most relaxed of all her advisors. It had a lot to do with their history; Lexa had been Anya's Second long before she had been discovered as Commander. It granted the woman liberties that Lexa allowed no one else, but only in private.

"What do you want, Onya?" Lexa asked. She could tell that there was something else Anya was here to say, even from just two words. To be honest, Lexa was not in the mood. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and sleep for the next four hours, until the dawn signaled yet another day and she had to get up and do it all over again.

"I have heard your Skygirl has awoken from her slumber," the woman started without preamble. "I am sure that her return of awareness is comforting to you," she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.

Lexa was in the process of removing her clothing as Anya spoke and found herself stiffening at her use of possessive language. "Yes, she was very sick," Lexa agreed, keeping her voice purposely disinterested. "Now that she has woken up, she will be fine."

"And when will she begin her training?"

Lexa shrugged, "That will be up to Mari," she replied. "She will be able to tell us when Clarke is ready."

Lexa realized her mistake immediately and Anya's eyebrows rose. "I see," she said conversationally. "And when Clarke is well, who will train her?" Anya asked, looking at her sharply. "You?"

"Yes, Onya," Lexa gritted out between her teeth. She was quickly tiring of Anya's game of cat and mouse. "She will be trained by myself until Nalari arrives. Do you have any other questions, or may I get some rest?"

"Forgive me, Heda," Anya said, that same annoying corner of her mouth tilted upwards as she stood. "Do not let me impede upon your beauty sleep. I just meant to congratulate you on the status of your charge," she bowed her head slightly as she began walking towards the exit. She said nothing else as she walked out but made significant eye contact with Lexa before raising the flap that led from her tent.

Finally alone, Lexa allowed her stiff shoulders to droop, her Commander mask falling away. She sighed as she made her way over to her bed, dropping onto the soft surface with a groan.

Despite the fact that she was both mentally and physically exhausted, sleep did not seem interested her that night.

Instead Lexa found herself staring at the top of her tent, wide eyed and absolutely awake. The past two days had been an absolute nightmare. Bringing the Skygirl to the village had many of her village leaders angry. Confirming that she was Dhillarearën had them furious. Lexa supposed it had a lot to do with the fact that the abilities Clarke possessed were highly coveted in her culture; kids would play Dhillarearën warriors in the street, parents would take their kids to be tested at even the slightest inclination their children were gifted.

Of the two dozen or so leaders that objected to Clarke's presence, only one of them was also Dhillarearën. It served to further her theory that most of the opposition to Clarke's presence was bred from jealousy and fear. Still, knowing the source off the problem didn't help Lexa deal with it. If anything, it made things more difficult. Jealousy and fear were irrational emotions and there was no reasoning with them.

Lexa sighed, shifting in her bed. Clarke was too exposed here; she had too many enemies. She would have to be moved, sooner rather than later. Lexa knew that she could control her men but didn't like the idea of Clarke having to endure distrustful glances and snubs while undergoing training.

It was an odd emotion for Lexa to feel–why should she care about how the Skygirl felt? It shouldn't matter. The Skygirl was an outsider. An extraordinary one, yes, but an outsider all the same. Perhaps it had to do with Lexa's first two encounters with the girl. They had both been so emotional and raw; Lexa was not used to seeing such displays. From a young age, her people were taught to channel their negative emotions into more productive things.

Clarke reminded her off a tree sapling, small but brim with potential. Lexa could imagine what she could grow into, the shapes she could take. There were other reasons Lexa was so concerned about Clarke as well. Practical reasons. A Dhillarearën of her power could be either a great blessing or a terrible curse. If she were to fall into the care of an enemy, she could easily be transformed into a weapon.

Whatever it was, the undeniable fact was that she felt strongly compelled to train Clarke. It almost felt like she had no other choice than to do so. The first rays of sunlight began to leak into the fabric off her tent and Lexa closed her eyes for the first time, inhaling in a deep breath of forbearance.

She had a clear path. Now she must follow it.

. ... .