Chapter Text
When they first land on Earth, the soil is damp and the forest is so green and the sun so bright and warm that it blinds them.
Clarke forgets about Well's betrayal, her father's death, and her mother's final, tearful goodbye, if only for a moment.
As she stares into the never-ending trees and smells the scent of pine and humid air, she feels free.
She feels at home.
x-x-x-x
"We need food," Bellamy is the first to tell her, gruff and dominant as he prowls around the camp like a guard dog. "We need to leave the Drop Ship."
"We don't know what's out there," Clarke argues back, a bit miffed that he's being so brash when they've just landed. "We have to prepare."
"For what?" He asks, cocking his brow. Clarke feels a shiver tingle down her spine as the breeze carries through her body and flicks at her hair. She glances back to the forest, peering into the unknown that both calls to her and scares her to no-end. She takes a breath and steadies herself as she looks back at Bellamy.
"For anything."
x-x-x-x
That night, after going through some berries and nuts they'd scrounged up around the campsite, Clarke lays awake, sitting up on a log near the fire. She stares into the fire-pit and wonders about everything in her life. She thinks of her mother and if she'd be okay, if the Ark is still trying to solve the oxygen problem. She wonders if Thelonius has noticed his son's absence, or if somewhere in those vast band of stars and galaxies, her father's dead body still floats.
Wells sits next to her, his face a warm brown from the orange glow of the flames. His eyes are narrowed on the ground at his feet, his lips pursed into a straight line as he flickers his gaze from the embers of the fire to the bristling of the trees. Clarke feels so enclosed, so trapped despite the open space between them. All she can see is the calm smile on her father's face as he'd been floated, the defeated, sad expression in Well's eyes as she'd screamed at him for betraying her. It's too much to take, and the fact that Well's had somehow snuck onto the Drop Ship to 'protect her'? Clarke almost snorts at the words.
"Clarke?" Well's chokes on her name as he frowns in worry. "You alright?"
"Just swell," Clarke mutters back before standing and grabbing her jacket from the log. "I need to pee."
"You shouldn't--"
"I don't take orders from you," Clarke interrupts coldly, her eyes glaring into his with a fierce shake of her head. "I'll be back in five."
"Clarke," Well's sighs, like he wants to say more, but he admits defeat and nods, his eyes going back to the dirt with a focused stare. Clarke rolls her eyes.
"Go to sleep," she says in exasperation, as if speaking to a petulant child, "I'll be back soon."
x-x-x-x
Clarke doesn't wander too far from camp to conduct her business, but she still finds herself drawn into the lull of the calm green leaves of the trees.
The low, whistling-like hum is soothing and enchanting as she stalks through the blades of grass, smiling as they tickle her exposed ankles. She sighs and extends her arms, her fingers palming along the grooves of some of the trees, feeling the ridges and cracks in the wood and stickiness of the sap as it clings to her digits. It feels really calming, like it's a habit of second-nature, something that makes her feel like this was where she has always meant to be.
It's a few steps in that Clarke hears the soft crunch of leaves and her head whips up so fast she's unsure of how she'd not received whiplash.
There, just a few feet in front of her, stands a massive wolf with stormy green eyes and sharp, white teeth.
Clarke gulps as the creature stands, tail swishing against the forest floor as each breath exhaled from its muzzle creates a misty in front of its teeth. Clarke freezes, unsure of what to do. Part of her screams to run, but the logical part of her brain urges her to remember that wolves are faster and stronger.
Either way, Clarke deduces, she's a dead woman.
Deciding to accept her fate so sullenly, Clarke closes her eyes and whispers a final farewell to her mother under her breath. She grips the bark of the tree tightly and flinches, as if preparing for the stinging of claws or puncture of teeth against her skin. She counts backwards in her head to try and calm her anxiety, but nothing comes to ail her of the tense misery she's facing. Resigning against the suspense, Clarke blinks open her eyes again in confusion to see the wolf still waiting, now with its head cocked ever-so-slightly to the left and ears raised up. Its nose quivers and twitches, probably drinking in her scent.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Clarke growls as she steps forward, "just get it over with, will you?"
The wolf doesn't move, those piercing green eyes unblinking and steady.
Clarke rolls her eyes and grunts. "Fuck, just… just do something."
And what would you have me do? Eat you?
Clarke coughs on her own saliva at the sound of words leaving the wolf's lips, a raspy and feminine chuckle. She stares at the wolf, who's jaw parts and those teeth flash a Cheshire grin at the sight of her so surprised. At this point, Clarke contemplates her own sanity. Maybe it was those nuts, she thinks lucidly.
The wolf chuckles and pads forwards, and now Clarke can appreciate the size and beauty of the creature. The animal (thing?) is roughly six feet tall on all-fours, has a jet black pelt a distinct red streak of fur that starts at the top of its head, between its silver-furred ears, and ends in the small of its back. Its muscles are flexing cautiously, but remain relaxed as the creature comes forwards again. Again, another low rumble of a chuckle leaves its lips as it pants lightly.
I don't particularly crave the taste of humans, the wolf's voice resonates in her head as it stands before her with its head ducked, especially not your kind.
"My kind?" Am I really talking to a wolf now? Come on, Clarke. "Are you not going to kill me?"
What would I gain with taking your life? The wolf responds sagely, taking a seat on its haunches to stare at her with an almost pensive expression.
"I…," Clarke stumbles over the words, frowning. "I don't know."
Then your question seems to be palpable nonsense, the wolf responds with a mirthful cock of its head. And yet… you don't fear death?
"Not my own," Clarke finds herself answering with a nonchalant shrug. Great, now I'm talking to a wolf in the middle of nowhere. It must be the nuts.
Or I'm going nuts, she thinks to herself with a snort. The wolf's muscles bristle and tense, a low growl emanating from its throat. Clarke flinches involuntarily and finds herself shiver in both fear and unwarranted arousal from the noise. The wolf turns, its tail swishing as it turns so it faces the opposite direction. Its tail is ramrod straight, no longer swishing back and forth, and its head is held high with its muscles tense, ready to pounce at any given moment.
Clarke gulps as the growling beast bares its teeth and unsheathes its long, black claws into the dirt.
And then suddenly, the wolf turns and narrows its green gaze into slivers. It crouches low enough for its belly fur to brush the ground. Its head nods to its back, motioning for Clarke to climb on. The blonde woman's brows raise in shock and she splutters, shaking her head incessantly as she holds her hands out.
"You're kidding," she huffs as she notes the sound of something approaching, "I've read Little Red Riding Hood, you know. I know how this'll end."
The wolf growls, like she's annoyed at her response, but does not move. You join me, or you die. Your choice.
The sounds of thundering footsteps (or paw-steps) grow louder, and Clarke doesn't miss the impatient whine that leaves the wolf's lips as one of its ears flick. Growls and snarls sound in the distance, followed by shouting, and the wolf nudges her harshly with its muzzle. Get on. If you do not, they will take you.
It's the blanched tone of fear that gets Clarke to move from her spot. Before she knows it, her fingers are curling into the softest fur she's ever felt, and she's hoisting herself up onto the creature's back. She gasps as she feels the wolf rise when she's finished straddling its muscled and rigid back. And then, the wolf's head is cocking over its shoulder to stare at her with a firm nod, before it turns back to face the forest with a low, but still intimidating, growl.
Good, it says to her, before mirthfully adding, but now you'd best cover your ears.
"Cover my--"
Before Clarke can complete the question, the wolf throws its head back and a mighty howl echoes through the forest, causing the ground to vibrate and Clarke's ears to ring. She manages to clamp her palms over the shells of her ears before a deep growl follows, before the wolf barks menacingly at the blackness before them. The wolf's body is rigid still, its ears twitching as it closes its mouth and tries to hone in on the location of their supposed enemy.
Hold on tightly, the wolf commands in a low growl, we must go. You are not safe here.
Clarke doesn't argue this time as she clamps onto the beast's fur. The wolf rockets forward and Clarke gasps at the sensation of the chilly wind nipping at her face. She buries her head into the soft fur and closes her eyes, clenching her teeth as she feels the wolf's muscles churn and flex as they thunder through the forest. It goes on for what seems like hours, until the wolf finally slows to a trot and leads them towards a rocky cliff, surrounded by a waterfall and lakebed.
As the wolf comes to a slow, barely panting with the exerted effort of running so quickly, Clarke feels back in control of her body.
"What the actual fuck," she mutters as she raises her head and looks around. "Where are we?"
Away from the beast, the wolf answers back cryptically before lowering itself back to the ground so Clarke may get off. Your friends are in danger.
"And how do you know about my friends?" Clarke asks as she looks to the wolf, who paces back and forth before her. It pauses and nods its head up.
I have been watching you since you landed. I have predicted your arrival for years.
Clarke is about to nod in response when the words crash into her. She double-takes and cocks her head, jaw open wide in shock.
"What do you mean, for years?"
I know of the people in the sky, of those who are still waiting to come down. The wolf continues to spew mystic, trivial responses back at her. Your people are facing an epidemic beyond their control. They sent children down to wage their wars, and in their place, many continue to lose their lives as a result of their pettiness. Those who have crucial knowledge are silenced, and those who have power wield it unwisely. You have now brought that same power here.
Clarke can't speak for a moment. But then, she finds her voice, hoarse and strangled.
"H-How…"
The wolf sighs before bowing its head. Instead of responding, it walks forward, its gait changing as it seems to shift before her eyes.
Clarke watches in awe and shock as the wolf crunches into itself, letting out a low moan of pain as its bones shift and realign until the fur is receding into pale skin, and the canine fangs curl back into a normal set of human teeth. It doesn't take long before the wolf before her has transformed into… a woman?
And as Clarke looks closer, she blushes when she realizes that this woman is naked. And… has a pair of wings?
"You humans are always so prude," the woman grins as she flashes her a knowing smirk. "It seems as though nothing much has changed."
"W-Who are you?" Clarke stumbles on the words as she furiously avoids looking anywhere else but those viridescent eyes. "What are you?"
"Your people have many names for me," the woman shrugs as she straightens out one of her wings and stretches her arms. "Angel, demon, creature, beast…"
"What is your name, then?" Clarke asks in a low rasp, still not able to believe the sight before her. The woman arches a brow and smiles.
"Aleksandria," she announces with a low purr. Clarke shivers at the sound and can't help but inch a little closer to the woman, her mind in a daze.
"And what are you, Aleksandria?" Clarke finds herself unable to refrain from asking. Aleksandria smiles and preens her wings outwards, revealing their sleek black feathers as the woman stands straight, chest puffed out and eyes narrowed in a firm stare filled with equal parts intimidation and mirth.
"I am my namesake," she says as she points to the ground around her, "I am the guardian of the Earth."
"And how do you have wings?" Clarke splutters. "Just… what the fuck?"
"I am not human," the woman says almost salaciously. "I am the universe's creation. I am… special."
"You definitely do not lack modesty," Clarke adds with a bit of a snort. "And just so you know, I don't know how to get back to camp, universal creation."
Aleksandria frowns and crosses her arms across her chest, her wings flapping in annoyance. "Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke."
At that, Clarke's brows raise. "How do you know my name?"
As Aleksandria goes to answer, another low howl sounds through the trees. The woman tenses and shakes her head, lips curling in a low snarl.
"I must take you back to your camp," she mutters as she looks up at Clarke with a firm nod. "You must prepare your friends."
"For what?" Clarke asks, mouth agape with how the woman shifts back into her wolf form within minutes. Those green eyes stare into her own, firm and raw.
For war, Clarke.
Before she can choke out a response, the wolf bounds forward and latches onto the scruff of her neck, biting gently.
And then, all that comes is darkness.
x-x-x-x
Clarke wakes up at the sound of Well's anxiously fretting over her, his long fingers prodding against her side.
"What?" Clarke demands with a grouchy mutter. "Leave me alone."
"What happened to you?" Wells asks with a shocked tone. "You look like you fell through a mud-pit."
"I'm fine, I just met this…," Clarke fumbles to explain just exactly what Aleksandria had been. She looks up to see Wells waiting patiently for an answer.
"Nothing," Clarke chooses to grumble instead, figuring Well's wouldn't believe her anyways. I don't even believe myself, she thinks. She blinks up into the blaring sun before crawling up to stand, brushing off the streaks of dirt that cake the side of her jacket. The back of her neck is sore, but as she goes to cup her palm around where the wolf had bitten her, she's surprised to not find a trace of dried or fresh blood. Instead, there are two raised welts that ache lightly.
"I think I must've fallen," Clarke cooks up as a response as she shrugs at Wells. "I was tired last night."
Wells nods and looks away, eyes glazing over guilty. He swallows before choking out, "look Clarke, I'm… I'm sorry…"
"Don't," Clarke coldly stops him. "I already told you that I don't forgive you."
Wells' eyes burn with tears, but he still nods. He doesn't speak to her again, and instead mumbles a faint farewell. Clarke doesn't watch him go, for her mind is still caught up on the mysterious creature that had taken her last night. She finds herself questioning whether it all happened, but as she looks past the poorly built walls and into the vast abyss of the forest, she knows that it couldn't have been a confabulation. Aleksandria, no matter what she'd been, was real.
And so, she hastily goes off to find the one person whom she knows she must talk with, even if she dreads it.
x-x-x-x
Bellamy looks unamused when Clarke's done explaining the events of the previous night. His silence is perturbing and it makes Clarke's stomach churn.
Finally, he speaks. "You're sure you weren't just dreaming, Princess?"
Clarke fights the urge to groan, and instead she shakes her head and turns around so Bellamy can see the welts on the back of her neck. "Look at this."
"You could've just gotten stung by something."
"It wasn't that!" Clarke snaps angrily as she rounds on the man. "I know what I saw, and she knows about us, Bellamy. She knows about the Ark."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know," Clarke agrees, and Bellamy frowns, taken aback by her agreement. Clarke sighs and rubs her the bridge of her nose. "I know, Bell. That's what makes this all the more unbelievable. I thought that same thing last night, but she knows about the oxygen problem on the Ark. She knows about our location, The Hundred, the politics being waged in space. She knows all these things and I swear to you on my life, she wasn't a figment of my imagination. She was real."
"Okay fine," Bellamy mutters, "let's imagine that she was real. What if there are more like her out there? What if they want to kill us?"
"Then why would she warn us?" Clarke asks him, confused by her own question as well. "Why would she tell us to prepare for war?"
"They're just a bunch of kids," Bellamy shakes his head as he runs a hand through his messy hair. "We can't fight a war, Clarke."
Before Clarke can answer, the curtain to Bellamy's tent is drawn backwards and Finn's distressed brown eyes meet theirs. Clarke sighs, not wanting to deal with the space-walker's bullshit today, but Bellamy flicks his wrist and silently demands Finn to speak up. The man takes a gulp before looking between them both.
"There's someone at the gate," Finn chokes out in a rasp. "A woman. She's asking for… for Clarke."
Clarke freezes and Bellamy tenses up. The blonde cocks her head towards the older man, gulping nervously.
"She's here."
x-x-x-x
Hushed whispers surround her as Clarke walks through the camp.
We're not alone?
Who is she?
Why is she wearing a cape?
Where did she come from?
Clarke steels herself as she stands in front of the gate where Aleksandria is waiting. She's dressed in a long black coat, her eyes darkened by the heavy pattern of kohl around her cheeks and brows. Her hands are cloaked in silver-studded gloves and she wears tight, equally obsidian pants that hug her skin tightly. A ceremonial sword hangs by her waist and a pauldron is swung over her left shoulder, giving way to a cascading red drape that flows down to her feet. She holds herself with a seemingly regal manner, her eyes set with determination and a fire that leaves Clarke's mouth dry and her heart beating erratically.
"Clarke," the woman drawls with a curt nod, before nodding her head at the camp. "We meet again."
"What are you doing here?" Clarke coughs out as soon as the heat in her belly has calmed. Aleksandria's lips curl upwards only slightly.
"Your people face a great danger outside your walls," she remarks as she looks to the flimsy, make-shift gate. "Your defences are poor and you are few."
"Are you here to kill us?" Clarke asks, peering over the woman's shoulders to look for an army. The woman doesn't react to the slight jab.
"Clarke," she drawls out her name slowly, seemingly bored with the conversation. "I do not come as a harbinger of death. I come in peace."
"Are there more like you?" Clarke finds herself asking, thinking about Bellamy's previous point. "Are we being threatened by them?"
This causes Aleksandria to pause for a moment. She bites her lip, thinking furtively about her next response. It's a still silence, but then she speaks.
"Yes and no."
"Yes and no?" Clarke repeats, baffled. "What kind of answer is that?"
"I do not have time to explain," the woman tells her briskly. "We must move your people out of here and into my city's walls for safekeeping."
"You say that like we're sheep being herded into a slaughterhouse."
"I already told you that I do not eat humans."
"Just what is going on here, Lexa?" Clarke demands, unsure of how she'd managed to get a shortened name from the woman. It surprises her as much as it surprises the brunette standing before her. Blushing, Clarke looks away and mumbles to herself about how strange it had felt to feel comfortable with that name. Lexa, she thinks, it's such a familiar taste on her tongue. She glances back up and tries to decipher the guarded look in those stormy green eyes.
"You landed in hostile territory, who's habitants have noted your arrival." Lexa's words are sharp and to the point. "You do not have time to linger. I can offer you protection, but once they arrive, a retaliation will prove difficult. I do not wish to spill unnecessary blood amongst my people, Clarke. My peace will hold."
"What do you mean, your people?" Clarke asks with raised brow. "You have control over the region that threatens us?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you call them off?"
"They are free to reign however they please, Clarke. My jurisdiction does not dictate their every move. Their land is their own. All they owe me is their allegiance during times of war, and to not cause altercations between neighbouring clans. You will find that our people live their lives routinely. Your addition is… hindering. You are on the prime area that grows rich with grain and borders the local water source. You have fallen into dangerous territory." Clarke chews her lip and contemplates Lexa's response. She paces back and forth a few times before she comes to stand before the woman with her hands on her hips.
"And what would happen should we come with you?" She asks, glancing back at her camp. "What becomes of my people?"
"That is something that will be discussed in Polis. We will summon a court that will decide upon the reallocation of your people in a safe manner."
"Polis?" Clarke asks, confused. Lexa's lips curl upwards slightly, almost in a proud gesture as her chest puffs out a bit.
"Yes," she replies with mirth, "it is the capital. I will take you and the delinquents there until a decision can be reached. It is the safest route."
As Lexa goes to turn away, Clarke reaches out and yanks on the crook of her elbow, her brows narrowed suspiciously. "How can you promise that?"
Lexa pauses, before her eyes grow playful and her grin becomes salaciously wide with confidence.
"Because," she answers in a low, rumbling purr. "I command all of them. My word is law, as is my coalition. Ai laik Heda kom Kongeda."
And with that Lexa pulls back and jerks her chin up, her wings unfurling from behind her back in a grand display of obsidian feathers.
Without another word, she flies off into the sky, leaving Clarke in a dusty heap on the ground.
x-x-x-x
It takes a total of four hours, and some convincing mixed in with cajoling from Bellamy, for The Hundred to finally pack up their things.
Lexa's terrifying-looking warriors arrive that night with some horses and carriages. Those who'd been injured on the way down -- namely the ark's prodigal mechanic Raven, who'd arrived the evening before with news from her mother about the oxygen problem -- were riding in the carriage near the middle of the convoy, while the others walked alongside the parade of guards the Commander had enlisted to protect them on their journey to Polis. Clarke walks with Bellamy near the front with one of the grouchy-looking guards atop the brown mare, who's cheekbones look sharp enough to kill a man. Beside her is a dark-skinned woman with a star-shaped scar blooming around her left eye, who snorts incredulously each time one of the kids falls out of line.
"So…," Bellamy attempts to break the silence as he looks down at Clarke, "this Commander… she's not human?"
"Not in the slightest bit," Clarke replies as she stares ahead at the looming shade of the forest. "She's… well, I'm not sure what she is."
"How did she know about us?" Bellamy murmurs as he looks to the line of people behind him. "And more importantly, how can we trust her?"
"I don't know," Clarke answers honestly, "but it's better than being unprepared in case of an attack."
"What if this is a trap?"
"What if it isn't?" Clarke challenges back, brows furrowed. Why am I defending her? I barely know her.
And yet, something in the pit of her heart tells her otherwise.
"Enough," the woman on the horse growls impatiently. "You Skaïkru talk too much."
"Sky-what?" Bellamy asks, cocking his brow. The warrior looks about ready to run her sword through his gut when the ground rumbles lightly. The guard looks upwards, her hazel eyes darkening as she notices something moving up ahead. Spurring her horse, she barks out something to a few of the guards before a group of them speed off to whatever approaches in the distance. The other warriors close in around the remaining children protectively, their swords raised.
They wait in a heavy, tense formation as howls and growls erupt in the distance. There's some shouting and screaming, followed by more beastly noises, before there is a loud thump and the sounds of heavy footsteps. The guards beside the convoy tense and grumble amongst themselves in preparation for an attack. Clarke presses herself next to Bellamy's side and the man protectively stands his ground, his head cocking over his shoulder to seek out his younger sister in worry. Luckily, he finds Octavia pressed up beside a tall, dark Grounder (they'd taken to calling these foreign people) guard that wields a bow and arrow.
It feels like forever until a horse comes trotting back towards the convoy, and Clarke finds herself relieved at the sight of the stoic guard with the fierce cheekbones riding back to her. The splash of blood splattered across her face is daunting, and Clarke's stomach flips when she sees the deep score that cuts through the midsection of her tunic. The scar-faced warrior with dark skin follows behind her, and both of them look royally pissed off, rather than pained.
"Come," the dark-skinned guard barks out roughly, "we are here."
The group quickly shuffles with the order, trying to stifle the whispering about the three missing guards that had accompanied the warriors. They trudge forward until the forest clears and a blinding light spills over their shoulders. The warriors push forward and, not wanting to be left to the fate of those who'd not returned, The Hundred follow quickly and quietly, grateful for the protection that they'd doubted initially. They're lead into the light, unaware of their surroundings until the harsh rays slowly let up, flanked by an intimidating and grandiose shadow that blankets them almost protectively.
Finally, Clarke allows herself to blink and look upwards, her jaw hinging open upon the site.
Before her is a grand city, with walls raised as high as sky-scrapers she'd only seen in books during their history classes. The fortified city is upon the peak of a hill, heavily guarded and littered with archers and catapults at the tops. In the centre stands a tower that makes the massive shell of the city look like a toothpick. It's rickety and old-looking, but still somehow holding despite the many cracks and holes in the concrete. The entire place is enormous, and Clarke can't imagine how many people reside within those protective barriers, let alone the monstrous tower that sits in the middle of it all.
"Clarke."
The blonde cocks her head upwards to see Lexa hovering in, blood coating the underside of her jaw and her fingers. Her wings flap lazily as she descends with the grace of an angel. Clarke notices that her canines are elongated and coated in the crimson liquid, hanging just past the curve of her bottom lip as they slowly rescind into her mouth. Instantly, Clarke knows that she must've been apart of whatever scuffle had taken place before they'd arrived at the city walls.
"Commander," Clarke says with a nervous smile. Lexa lands and crosses her arms behind her, back stiffening as she narrows her gaze at Bellamy. A low, rumbling growl sounds from her chest as she curls her lip menacingly at the boy, but Bellamy does his best to remain as unaffected as possible. Even then, he can't resist but to lower his gaze and tilt his neck unwillingly. Lexa doesn't smile at the result, but she doesn't growl anymore as she snorts, turning to Clarke.
As soon as those stormy green eyes lay upon hers, the woman relaxes and smiles lazily, nodding back to the city behind her.
"This is it, Clarke." Lexa's words are raspy and sweet as she nods her head upwards. "This is Polis, the capital of the twelve clans."
"It's… beautiful," Clarke offers in response, still in awe. Lexa grins at her response like she'd been patted on the back. Her chest puffs up again and Clarke can't help but inwardly find it adorable as hell. She finds herself inching towards the winged-woman, ignoring the indignant mutter of disapproval from Bellamy.
Lexa notices her movement and that Cheshire smirk grows wider within seconds. She purses her lips and dips her head politely.
And then, with a soft rasp and a twinge of saccharine sweetness to her voice, she speaks.
"Welcome home, Clarke."