Chapter Text
Arkadia
It was miles from camp when it happened.
Octavia Blake, Nathan Miller and Miller’s father, David Miller, had patrolled the area before, but never until this moment, since Clarke and Bellamy had pulled that lever in the mountain, had they experienced a Grounder attack.
Octavia saw the shapes in the trees first.
But it was already too late.
She yelled, reaching for the hilt of her sword, but the arrow struck her right shoulder hard, slicing right through, the arrow sticking out of the other side of her shoulder.
David Miller cried out and reached for his gun, but a figure shot out from between the trees, raising up a sword and bringing the long, broad blade downwards.
David Miller’s sliced off hand landed onto the forest floor.
David screamed this time, but didn’t even have time for his son to try to help him.
The sword struck up again, and the sword sliced into David Miller’s throat, hitting the bone, and pulled out, blood leaking right out of David Miller’s neck and he bled out quickly.
He collapsed as Nathan Miller screamed, tears in the young man’s eyes.
Two more arrows flew out, both of them striking Miller. One arrow in each leg.
Nathan Miller screamed again, collapsing as the tips of the arrows pierced right through the young man’s upper thighs.
As David Miller bled out and died a more or less quick death, that was when the others in the trees jumped forward.
The woman that had sliced off David Miller’s hand and then had slit the man’s throat, Rekar, had been one of Onya’s most trusted warriors.
The man and woman that leapt down from the trees? The brother and sister, Takra and Majro, moved fast.
Octavia, given her pain, wasn’t able to act fast enough.
She had always prided herself as being tough. And after becoming a Grounder, a Trikru, or deluding herself into thinking that she was one, she had deluded herself as well, into thinking that she knew more about the culture than the Trikru themselves.
And as a result, she had told herself that she could take any pain thrown at her.
She was wrong, though.
The pain of the arrow, right through her right shoulder, was agony.
She tried desperately to reach for the hilt of her sword, but she was in too much pain, she just couldn’t grasp the hilt in time.
Not in time to stop the two warriors from the trees from pulling out their long knives as the blades of those knives, hit home-home being Octavia’s left wrist and her right ankle.
Octavia’s left hand and right foot became dislodged from the rest of the brunette’s body and Octavia’s eyes widened, her scream caught in her throat, almost as if it was too painful to scream.
She landed onto her side on the forest floor, blood flowing out of her sliced wrist and sliced ankle.
One of the people from the trees, the man, stepped before her, raising his blades up, and sliced them down.
The blades hit Octavia’s stomach, puncturing over and over again. Finally, Octavia screamed.
Nathan Miller heard Octavia’s screams and was able to pull himself out of the stupor of agony that the arrows were causing him, enough to fat last, pull his gun from its holster.
But it was again, too late.
A sword sliced into his back, cutting right into one of his lungs.
He heard a woman’s voice by his left ear-the voice of a woman whose voice that Nathan Miller was certain he had heard before.
The woman’s voice said, “Nice try, Milla, but it’s too late. You, Oktevia, you think either of you will be granted mercy? You both are traitors. Do you know how traitors are treated among the Trikru, Milla? They are treated the way they deserve to be treated. Time to bleed out, natrona.”
The sword was twisted inside Miller, at the end of this sentence, and Miller gasped in agony, as blood flowed out.
He couldn’t even scream now, as the blade began to move upwards, carving through his lung and heading up to other organs.
Miller’s brain, though he knew in that moment that there was nothing he could do to save himself, as he dropped his gun to the ground, the safety still on it, tried to recall what organs were located in that particular part of his body.
But it mattered in no way now, did it? The blade sliced up into his lung, and sliced his lung up, then the rest of his body was carved into by his attacker.
Miller, as his mind began to fade, due to the pain, heard the woman who had stabbed him, laugh, and it hit him at last, whose voice it was.
Anya!
The commander’s most trusted general. She was the one attacking him!
He felt his body being sliced into with fervor as his mind and life left this world.
Octavia was having an even worse time, needless to say.
She had not yet died.
Her pain was ongoing.
The man, Majro, had been joined by his sister, Takra, and by the other woman, Rekar, as they towered over Oktevia and began hacking away.
Now, not only Oktevia’s foot and hand had been taken from her, but her bones were being sliced anew, her flesh was being torn, her face was being cut into.
As Oktevia died, her struggles at last, beginning to cease, she heard one last thing.
Onya’s voice.
Onya announced, as she moved close to Oktevia’s now blood-smeared head, “You and Milla did this to yourselves, Oktevia. When the two of you betrayed Klark, destroyed any trust she put in you, you brought this death on yourselves.”
That was all Oktevia heard, before her death.
When Oktevia held still, the light gone from her blue eyes, Onya leaned down and grabbed at Oktevia’s coat and began peeling it from the dead bitch’s body.
She had asked Wels if he wanted anything to remember Oktevia’s death by. Wels had looked mildly horrified at this question, but then had stated that he wanted Belomi to be mocked by Oktevia’s death, so, he had told her to get Oktevia’s jacket and her sword.
So, Onya now had Oktevia’s jacket pulled from her, and she ordered Rekar to take Oktevia’s sword from the corpse.
Rekar did as she was instructed and pulled Oktevia’s sword from her.
Majro and Takra picked up Oktevia’s corpse and tossed it over to Milla’s corpse and Oktevia’s body slammed into Milla’s body, with a sickening thunk.
Onya barked out an order.
That Milla and Oktevia’s bodies were to be left to decay. Not to burn, to be left to the elements and animals that wished to feed on those bodies.
Dayvyd Milla, on the other hand, was to be burned, as he had not offended Klark, nearly as much as his son or Oktevia had.
Dayvyd was set on a quickly made pyre and he was burned.
After the body became destroyed in the flames, leaving only bones, and the fire was put out with loads of dirt by Onya’s warriors, flies already began to accumulate around Oktevia and Milla’s bodies.
Wakuren began to approach from the woods, peering over the bodies, smirking at the sight.
She knew Oktevia and Milla, she had seen them before. And knew how they had treated the young man and young woman who she wished to adopt.
She had no pity for either of them.
She hoped their deaths had been slow and painful.
“Now, then,” she said, looking at Onya, “We lure Belomi and Kayne out?”
“Oh, we will,” Onya said, smirking, looking down at Oktevia’s bloody jacket, “And Belomi’s death will be even slower.”
That had been the specific demand that Wels had made, before Onya and Wakuren and their warriors had gone to the woods to pursue Oktevia and Milla.
That if Oktevia and Milla’s deaths were to be slow and brutal? That Belomi’s death was to be even slower and even more brutal. And that Wels was to have a hand in it.
(Page break)
Floukru territory
The Flou tribe were not well-known for archery.
Commonly, the Azgeda, the Tri, the Luwoda, the Trishana, they were the tribes that tended to excel at archery.
However, that didn’t change that the Flou had archery sessions, just as any of the tribes did.
Clarke had never, before staying with the Floukru, picked up a bow and arrow. She always had felt more comfortable with a gun.
While her aim usually was very good with a firearm, Luna insisted that she learned how to fire an arrow, at least, somewhat.
So, as Klark stood alongside several others, readying her bow, the arrow being pulled back, others around her in similar positions and Luna and Saija both, looking over those about to fire on the straw targets, Clarke admittedly felt mildly ridiculous.
The bow was a lot shorter than any of the bows she had seen wielded by the Tri, Luwoda, Trishana and Azgeda warriors in Polis.
She supposed that that was what came with being in a tribe that wasn’t very good at shooting arrows.
But fine, Luna and Saija wanted her to learn archery, fine with her.
She supposed it would be the same, no matter what tribe she was with right now, even if it was with the Poda, the Boudalan or the Ingranrona, who from what she had heard, you’d be hard pressed to find so much as one bow among their number.
The Boudalan were known for their spiked maces. The Poda for their short swords, the Ingranrona for their hatchets.
The Azgeda, the Tri, the Trishana and the Luwoda were known to have a bigger blend of weapons.
The Flou, as well, however, not so much with bows and arrows.
There were even some tribes, besides the Azgeda, that favored the battleax, like the Yujleda and the Ouskejon.
Clarke was suddenly envious of those practicing with those particular weapons, as she dreaded firing her first arrow and making herself look like a fool.
Still, she aimed right at the straw target ahead of her, round, with the white, red and blue circles painted on it, and she released the first arrow.
Now, to her relief, though the arrow by no means hit the bullseye, as she expected, it had hit within one of the circles.
The one furthest from the bullseye-big shocker, but it hit, nonetheless.
Clarke’s eyes widened when she saw that she hit the target, and couldn’t help a smile.
That wasn’t much, but it was something.
Her smile dropped from her face when she thought of Octavia.
(It’s just not good enough) Octavia’s voice sneering through her mind.
Miller’s voice joining Octavia’s voice, (Ungrateful ass)
She sucked in a deep breath, and after several seconds, exhaled, reaching for another arrow.
Saija narrowed her gaze as she watched Klark.
“You saw that, yes, Luna?” Saija asked, not turning to her leader.
“I did,” Luna confessed, “She just looked as if someone slapped her.”
Saija tried not to growl. She and Luna both knew, and so did Saija’s lover and wife, Jesor, that Klark was haunted. People had hurt her in the past. And the memories of those pains, stayed with her.
Saija, if she could? Would cut the flesh from the bones of whoever had treated Klark as if she were a pariah.
But for the moment, there was nothing she could do. Not until Klark began to speak about it.
When the archery sessions were over, Klark having hit the targets every time, and two out of the eighteen times, she had hit close to the bullseye.
And Saija made it clear after Klark put away the bow and arrow at the armory, that she felt that Klark did a good job.
Klark appeared startled at the praise, but nodded to Saija, thanking the older woman.
Klark watched Saija leave the armory and Saija couldn’t help but notice the caution in the young woman’s blue gaze.
As Klark sat down at the dinner table, as the sun set, and several of the people at the table happily greeted her, Saija looked to Jesor, who was approaching her table, and when the other woman sat across from Saija, Saija smiled lovingly at her wife, and then nodded to where Klark was seated.
She said, “She hit the target several times at the archery session. But looked troubled by something.”
Jesor nodded, not appearing surprised. Her emerald eyes glittered with anger as she said, “We know that someone mistreated Klark, before she came here. It’s more than just her trauma from what she experienced in the mountain. People betrayed her in some way. And I don’t believe that it was just the commander that betrayed her.”
Saija smiled appreciatively at the woman she loved.
Jesor knew what Saija knew, and like Saija, knew what Klark likely needed. A stable home and supportive parents.
Something that Klark likely hadn’t known in a long time.
Klark had mentioned her blood father many times, Jayke Gryffyn.
She talked about him as if she thought he was a mountain of a man. Clearly, she idolized him.
So, clearly, Klark’s father had not been a problem.
But then Klark’s birth mother, Abi, had gotten Jayke killed.
And Abi had decided that she would only give Klark love, if Klark did as Abi desired.
Which told Saija and Jesor, and really anyone with a working brain, that that meant that Abi had never loved Klark from the beginning.
If anything, it sounded like in a way, Abi had always used Klark, Klark just hadn’t realized it until Abi’s actions could no longer be ignored, now that Klark was on the ground and Abi had been vying for power, as long as Klark had any power at all.
“What do you think?” Jesor asked her lover, “We kill Abi?”
“Tempting,” Saija confessed, “But I am hesitant to slit Abi’s throat, without Klark’s approval.”
“If we await Klark’s approval,” Jesor said quietly, “We will never be able to have the blood of the people that crushed her spirit, on our hands. She would never tell us. We just know that people that she used to be with, hurt her. And it wasn’t just the commander. It’s something deeper than the commander’s incompetent betrayal.”
Saija nodded. She knew it too.
Which meant that it was very unlikely that Klark would willingly tell them who it was that had pierced her spirit, made her feel as if she was worth nothing.
But they would find a way. If they had to.
For Saija knew she loved Klark, wanted to be the young woman’s mother. And she was certain that Jesor felt the same way.
At the table where Klark was sitting, Luna began to slip down, seating herself next to the younger woman.
Klark smiled at Luna as she asked, “I imagine you want to talk to me about tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was the Flou tribe’s annual celebration for its founding.
Not all tribes had been founded around the same time.
The Flou tribe was one of the later tribes settled.
The “youngest” of the twelve tribes, were the San and the Poda.
The oldest were the Azgeda, the Ouskejon, the Luwoda and the Trishana.
The Tri, the Boudalan, the Ingranrona, the Yujleda, the Delfi and the Flou, were the middle ground.
And all of them had been founded on different dates.
The Flou’s anniversary was tomorrow.
“Indeed,” Luna said, smiling fondly at Klark, “It would be good for you if you joined. We all would be happy for you to join us tomorrow.”
Klark was able to give a small smile as she said cautiously, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be…………….getting in the way?”
“No, of course, not,” Luna assured Klark, “You wouldn’t be getting in the way, at all. And the children would be happy for you to be there, certainly.”
Clarke chuckled. Obviously, the children, Luna was using as an incentive.
In some way, Clarke was grateful for that, even if it was technically bribery.
It hadn’t been easy, at first, seeing children here.
She still was reminded of the mountain’s children, when she looked at the Flou’s children. But she was still happy for their presence.
“Well, I guess I’ll go, then,” Clarke said.
“Good to hear,” Luna answered, smiling more widely now.
Clarke honestly wasn’t sure what to make of Luna.
Or of Saija and Jesor, for that matter.
But she got different feels from Luna, than she did Saija and Jesor.
Saija and Jesor’s attention to her felt more…………familial, than anything else.
Luna, it was a bit more complicated than that.
And Clarke wasn’t sure if she could deal with more complicated right now.
(Page break)
Arkadia
Wells heard it, along with everyone else.
A crackling spark from the electric fence.
What brought it on? What caused the sparks to fly out of the fence?
An arrow, hitting the fence, making everyone yelp, as they stepped away from the dinner tables.
The arrow dropped down to the ground and Wells, Finn, Raven, Bellamy and some others went over, investigating the arrow.
“Grounders,” Bellamy whispered, dread in his voice. He then lifted his head and looked out at the forest, seeing that it was growing dark. “Octavia,” He whispered.
Wells almost smirked. Almost.
If this was Anya’s signal that everything was going according to plan? Then you could go ahead and label him as “impressed.”
Bellamy didn’t wait for anyone to ask him if they wanted him to take them along. He raced back to one of the buildings within the camps, and emerged, armed with a handgun.
“Bellamy-“ Kane started and Bellamy snapped at the other man, “Either help me or stay out of the way. But I’m going.”
Kane sighed and got up from the table and followed after Bellamy, nodding to Abby, as he did.
Bellamy threw Wells and Finn a disgusted look as he left, obviously more or less non-verbally saying, “neither of you want to help, anyway.”
Which was entirely true.
And Wells watched, fighting a smirk, as Bellamy and Kane exited the gates, and the gates closed behind them, and Wells knew that both men were heading towards their deaths.