Her Weakness

Chapter 24

We walk into the battlefield together. Octavia is slashing her swords with deadly precision. Indra did well.

Clarke's hand touches mine briefly before I launch myself into the mess. I know that touch was not an accident. It was a plea for me to live, to survive another day. And I hope I will, if only to see her face one last time before she asks me to leave her life forever. It is a distinct possibility. It is my fault she is here, it is my fault she is injured.

Being a soldier and a Commander, I have been in and seen many battles. Yet the adrenaline, the urge to fight, never fails me. This time the urge to protect is stronger than usual. I will protect her, even if it kills me. I will die happily knowing she would be safe.

Clarke is not reckless, much to my relief. She stays back, killing the few soldiers that are foolish enough to approach her. Bodies litter the ground, but Octavia is still fighting, not taking down their communications. There are too many of them trying to attack her.

"Go! I will hold them off!" I yell, slashing my way closer to her and her many attackers. Some stand back, waiting for an opportunity to open up or for her to kill another so they can get in a swipe or a gunshot.

"Commander--"

"Go!"

I stab one through the back that is trying after her as she sprints away. He grunts and falls. I go through familiar and practiced motions, cutting through my enemies before they can get to me. This is a dance I learned when I was only a child. But there are more people to fight off with less people on my side.

A sword bounces off my armor after a hard swing I could not block. It stings and I know from personal experience that it will bruise.

"Lexa!" Clarke cries, "Are you alright?"

"I am fine, focus!" I yell back. I do not want to distract her. Distractions have caused many deaths of soldiers.

Blood flies around me, staining the ground where it falls. I know I am bathed in it, literally and figuratively. My actions and decisions have been at fault for too many of my people's deaths.

The sound of grunts and metal clashing fills the air, attempting to drown out the cries and screams of the wounded.

A man runs out of the tent Octavia went into, swearing. "They knocked out our fucking communications! The girl made them think we killed them! There's no backup coming."

Octavia is kind enough to let him finish his rant before she rams her sword through him. Blood bubbles from his lips and he falls as soon as she pulls out.

My mind is on three things at once. Octavia succeeded Clarke, and fighting. I am distracted. A sword goes through my stomach and I lurch backwards, eyes wide.

I have survived many wounds; my body is covered with scars. I have walked and fought through injuries that should have knocked me out or killed me. I guess I am more like Clarke than I think. Too stubborn to die.

I taste rust in my mouth and cough, red staining the stone cold face of the man that has stabbed me. He pulls his sword out with a triumphant grin and I fall to my knees.