It was dark outside, the leaves of trees howling in the dim moonlight that made its way through the mist. Torches flickered, it was the first sign of the grounder camp that Clarke could make out from where she was standing.
Her feet were tired but cold, and she curled her toes in an attempt to keep them warmer. The night air was cold enough to burn her nose and lungs every time she breathed in, which was often since the walk had been quite strenuous.

The tips of her ears were red because of the cold air, in sharp contrast to her pale face. Even though she couldn´t tell the color of her hair herself, it was somewhere in between red and brown - a mixture of mud and blood. It smelled of the forest; she smelled of the forest. It was enough to keep the predators off her scent.

She chuckled to herself in irony.

I have become earth.

It was cold, it was filthy and it was moist. She couldn't help but think of space, think of the Ark. It had been sterile, with a continuous artificial hum and the smell of metal all around. She could taste the very same metal right now in the blood from her cracked lips.

She looked up, towards the trees. The moonlight shone above them and she could clearly make out the branches.
But the Trikru warriors were too well trained for her to spot them, even though she knew they were watching her every step now. She knew they were out there, even in the middle of the night. She knew they could see her, were aware of her presence and the fact that she was heading straight for their encampment. They had their bows drawn and aimed at her, this she knew too.

"Chon yu bilaik?" a voice called out from above her.

She didn't slow her pace, didn't look up at the trees. Neither the question nor the sudden voice surprised her.

"Ai laik Wanheda."

That's all she said, that's all they needed to hear. She arrived at the border of camp. Guards were at their posts and they noticed her, but made no attempt to stop her once they recognized her.
Clarke found the camp surprisingly quiet - instead of warriors celebrating, she found that most of them had already retired to their tents. Her eyes were well adjusted to the dark and with the occasional torch to light the area, she could clearly recognize the war tent, where they had held their meetings. Where they had discussed plans, alliances, politics, armies and tactics.

The fact that the tent had been set up meant that the Commander still had things to discuss with her generals. Clarke couldn't help but grimace; as if the Commander still had anything left to discuss with them after she had taken down the Mountain and ended their war.

At the far side of the camp, she noticed the larger tent. The Commander's tent. Grasshoppers chirped in the dark, it almost would've been a perfectly beautiful night if the sky hadn't been so clouded. If the air hadn't been so foggy. If she hadn't been so broken.

Clarke was met by two large grounders standing guard at the Commander's tent. Once again, they did nothing more than glance at her.
She barely realized where her feet had led her, as if her consciousness hadn't quite caught up yet with what she was doing. But she couldn't find it in herself to care, for she had nothing more to lose, and so she pushed through the front flap of the tent's entrance.

Clarke stepped inside and didn't move. The Commander's back was to her, long, dark hair falling over her shoulder. She was still, too quiet. She stood near a table, where her dagger rested a few inches away from her hand.

Clarke knew Lexa knew she was there. Or at least, she would know someone had just entered her tent. But the way she stood still, not twirling around in anger with dagger in hand, shouting at her guards for letting someone enter, that's what made Clarke think Lexa knew it was her.
She saw Lexa's jaw move, saw her swallow.

And Lexa knew the moment had come. Clarke had come to claim her blood, to push that grounder rule back in her face. Jus drein jus daun, she recited to herself, and it atoned for everything that was about to happen. Clarke had the right to make her bleed.

And so she turned around. She was stripped of her armor, vulnerable in her black tank top. Once again she tried to swallow away the lump in her throat, tried to keep her breath steady as she met Clarke's eyes.

Clarke moved forward, bottom lip shaking in what Lexa couldn't tell was anger or grief.
Clarke's flat palm hit her cheek, hard, and she let her. She readied herself for the next one, accepted the anger Clarke would let out on her. She kept her eyes averted from Clarke's, ashamed of the pain she had caused reflecting in those blue orbs.

But Clarke's hand stroked the cheek she had just hit, her face so close that Lexa forced herself to turn her head to the side. Clarke inched closer still, her nose softly pressing into Lexa's cheek, her mouth too close to her ear. Her hand moved to the back of Lexa's neck, grabbed at her hair. Clarke breathed in the scent of the forest, of the earth, of deception and betrayal.

Lexa's face was as stoic as ever. Clarke kissed her lips, sensually. Her nails dug into the back of Lexa's neck, and Lexa fought the urge to kiss her back with greater passion.

"I hate you," Clarke murmured against her lips, anger seeping through every syllable.

The words sent a painful sensation through Lexa's heart and she felt it coil in her stomach. Her lips wanted to tremble and part in pain under Clarke's gaze, sorrow wanted to take over her face because Clarke hated her.
But instead, she kept her composure. Her breaking down would do Clarke no good, would it? It wouldn't be fair. She didn't have the right.

"I'm sorry," Lexa said. She meant the words, she really did, but Clarke heard the tone of her voice and knew that she was still holding up walls.

"No, you're not," Clarke growled. She moved her hand to the front of Lexa's neck, dug her nails in as she gripped her throat. "I had an alliance with you. I had a deal with you and you betrayed us. You have no regret for choosing your people over mine, Commander, you don't regret betraying us."

Lexa swallowed under Clarke's chocking grip which was painful but not enough to close off her airways. The part that was hidden behind the walls wanted to scream, wanted to cry at Clarke that she was sorry for leaving their people, for leaving her, for betraying all of them and especially for betraying Clarke's trust.
But she didn't, because Clarke was right. The Commander wasn't sorry for betraying them in order to save her people. She couldn't be.

Lexa averted her eyes once more, but Clarke forced her to face her. And Clarke saw the arrogant truth in those green eyes, that she had the right to be angry but could do nothing to ease her pain.

Her free hand gripped Lexa's shirt, shoved her against the framework of the tent. Her jaw was tense in anger, her whole body was tense and full of adrenaline in unrelieved rage as she claimed Lexa's mouth again, biting her lower lip.
A whimper started in Lexa's throat, but she cut it off there and tried not to gasp as Clarke breathed heavily against and into her mouth. She had no idea what was going on; Clarke was kissing her but for some reason it felt like pain, like torture, like punishment.

Clarke's hand scratched across Lexa's neck and jaw as she readjusted her grip.

"I hate you," she mumbled once again, this time the anger was accompanied by a tremble of pain and as Lexa felt the painful grip on her side she understood. Clarke was angry with the Commander. No matter her feelings for Lexa, this was pure resentment for the stoic face that had left her behind.

"I know," Lexa gulped. She pushed her inner self away and forced the mask of the Commander to take over her face, tried to push the sorrow out of her eyes while Clarke angrily started tearing at her clothes. If Clarke needed to release her anger onto the Commander, she would let her.

One of Clarke's hands was underneath Lexa's shirt, pressing against her stomach and keeping her pinned while the other was now pulling the shirt up. As she pulled the shirt over Lexa's head and looked into her eyes, she saw how her walls were up again, how there was no emotion, how it was exactly the same face that had left her at the mountain even with the absence of warpaint. Her anger boiled up again and she shoved Lexa towards the bed.

Lexa suddenly panicked, realizing she was way too close to enjoying this. This was all wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"Clarke-"

Whatever Lexa was about to say was caught off in her throat and turned into a soft growl as she felt Clarke's teeth bite into her neck, close to her pulse point. Her head fell back and Clarke leaned over her onto the bed, covering Lexa's bare chest with her own clothed one. Her hands moved to Lexa's belt, unclasping it and pulling it down aggressively.

Suddenly Lexa realized she was throbbing down there, as if she had known what was going to happen from the moment that Clarke had walked in. Clarke pulled back and briefly looked down at her. It did nothing to change the enraged state she was in and she pulled her own shirt and bra off. Lexa's breath caught at the sight of her.

"Clarke-" Lexa tried again. She didn't deserve this, Clarke should be punishing and hurting her, not giving her body for pleasure.

"Shof op," Clarke growled. She had taken off her own pants as well and dove back over Lexa's body. As their naked forms touched, both forgot to breathe. Lexa felt a weird sensation in her chest, one that radiated through her arms and made tears want to crawl out of her eyes, and even though Clarke tried to ignore it, she felt the same.

Suddenly Lexa wanted to kiss Clarke softly, full of love and laced with every emotion that transferred between them.
But Clarke didn't give her that chance as she quickly composed herself and moved her mouth to Lexa's collarbone. One of her hands slipped down over Lexa's abdomen, over her hips and to the inside of her thigh. There was a wetness already waiting for her, but she kept her hand still.
Her body tensed again in anger that she had been carrying for too long, and she bit down onto Lexa's shoulder, hard. Lexa could swear she felt the skin break, and as her fingers dug into Clarke's back, she understood.

This wasn't about punishing her.

It was about Clarke dealing with her anger.

And it did hurt.

Clarke wasted no time as she pressed her fingers upward, causing Lexa's hips to buckle up as she pressed against her opening. Lexa felt her breath hitch in her throat, and she managed to push down the whimper that threatened to escape from her lips. She tensed her jaw again and met Clarke's eyes with as much stolidity as she could muster.

It was all Clarke needed to start thrusting in and out of her, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood as her own emotions threatened to overtake her. She pulled at Lexa's lip, mingling their blood together, and marveling over the fact that they were so much alike now. Both with the blood of hundreds on their hands.

Lexa's hands shot up to Clarke's neck, but Clarke moved away from her. Withdrawing her hand, she took both of the Commander's wrists and kept them above her head. She moved to press on both of them with one hand as the other slipped down once more, roughly entering her again. She hovered over Lexa's face, barely noticing how her arm was tiring as she kept thrusting harder.

She grazed her teeth along Lexa's neck a couple more times, marking her, and then settled for simply watching Lexa's face. Watching how helpless the Commander seemed beneath her. Watching how her lips started trembling. Watching how her walls started to fall down.

"You're weak, Commander."

As her body tightened around Clarke's fingers, Lexa felt her chest tightening as well. Her walls crumbled down. The Commander seemed to disappear and all that was left was a young girl with the sorrow of a thousand deaths in her eyes.

All that was left was Lexa.

And Clarke just watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

The tent was filled with the soft sound of their heavy breathing.

Clarke looked at her, her anger replaced with an emptiness that would sooner or later probably turn into sorrow. She leaned down, and placed a soft kiss on the brunette's cheek.

"I think I could've loved you."

She moved to stand up, to pull on her clothes and walk back into the dark forest and find some sort of peaceful isolation among the cold unknown. But Lexa grabbed her wrist, forced her to turn back around.

Lexa moved slow, and Clarke did nothing to stop it. She felt her lips on her own, felt them on her neck, felt them across her stomach as Lexa pulled her back onto the bed.

She was soft, she was gentle and it felt too intimate, too close to both of their hearts. But Clarke let her, only gasping softly as Lexa made love to her.

If this was retribution for the guilt she was feeling, it would not suffice.

If this was her way of asking for forgiveness, it would not be enough.

But it wasn't either of those things. Lexa curled her fingers, and Clarke understood.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," Lexa whispered, staring at her as she came undone, her hands on Lexa's cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

Clarke looked into the emerald eyes of a young, innocent girl.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

Chon yu bilaik? - "Who are you?
Ai laik Wanheda. - "I am Wanheda."
Jus drein jus daun. - "Blood must have blood."
Shof op. - "Be quiet."