#eldcstson

Almost everyone she cared about was gone. Everyone she relied on was gone. Bellamy had left to find Raven. Clarke had tagged along. They’d let Murphy and his grounder girlfriend go with them. Jasper had chosen death alongside Monty and Harper. Octavia and Miller were the only familiar faces and they’d both long since become unfamiliar to her over the past few months.

She was essentially alone, trapped within a bunker with skaikru adults she didn’t like nor trust, and 12 clans’ worth of grounders that she trusted even less. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with herself ( wasn’t even sure why she was here, honestly, suspected someone helped it happen ) so she wandered, trying to stay out of people’s ways, keep to the background, try to navigate this new life under the ground.

When she stumbled upon a man she recognized from the conclave alone, she should have left him alone, she knew that. He wasn’t her people, she wasn’t his, he’d probably not appreciate her concern. But he looked so… mad, and defeated. She couldn’t help herself.

“Are you okay?” Of course he wasn’t; he, like the other leaders of the clans in the bunker, had lost most of his people, culled clans of sizes she couldn’t even imagine into 100 people. But no other ways to break the silence he sat in came to mind, so she went with the stupid question.

     “God damn it, Ro. I don’t want to kill you.” She didn’t put down the knife. She was still pissed. He could be so reckless, so stupid. It has always gotten them into trouble when they were younger and still nothing had changed. But it wasn’t like when they were kids, they had people counting on them now. If he wanted to throw that all away, fine. She couldn’t let him take her down with him. The knife had broken skin, she starred at the blood. They hadn’t gone through so much together just for her to be the one to end it all. She dropped her arm and stepped away. “Fuck you. I don’t care if you have a death wish, but I don’t want your blood on my hands. Next time you try to go get yourself killed, leave me out of it.”

         she had gotten used to the looks, the ones that changed depending on what they could gain or lose by her presence. the looks of appraisal, the ones filled with distrust and suspicion though that was only if she showed up unannounced or on the battlefield. no one knew where she stood, she bore no markings of clan and lacked the regalia that would identify her to an alliance. her clothes were simple, bought and traded as she traveled in different territories. her horse held packs of her both supplies and spoils, the unknown was far more fearsome than any marks on her back. yet when a village needed something, when a clan sent word to the commander of disease or destruction, she was welcomed with open arms, exalted and gifted. it was all a part of the game, she supposed. the moment she took the commander to bed, she became a player on the board. being both watched and alone was an odd feeling to get used to.

       the healer dipped the metal instrument, bent at the ends and bloodied into the stream. the sun was setting and washing out blood in the dark was fruitless. a leather sleeve of like tools, all different shapes passed for in her family for generations. the dirtied ones that needed to be cleaned and sterilized were left out in the dirt to await her attention. a sizable trishana village was not far, where she had brought back some warriors back from death after an attack. it was easy, but painful. she needed to harvest more poppy when she had the chance. the faint sound of boots made her glance behind her, her horse did not lift its head from the grass which means it could only be one person.

     “ kill anyone today? ” she asked, the tilt in her voice was teasing as she ran her finger over dried blood, rubbing it away to fade into the water. “ obviously i need a new horse, trikova doesnt even know a mad man when he is near. ” that, and he pops up enough that her animal has gotten too used to him. useless.

     The life of a door guard was one of privilege at times, and one of those specific privileges was overhearing the conversations inside the room one was ordered to guard. Now, it goes without saying that as a general rule of thumb, that which is overheard is never to be repeated.

Usually.

     There were some that could not help but gossip about what they witnessed. Zosime was not one of those people. She found no honor or glory in spreading about the dirty laundry of those she's been sworn to protect.

However.

     This particular day was a tense one, and words exchanged between Roan and Echo behind the door she stood outside were impossible to not overhear. More specifically, the fact that Roan - Azgeda's last hope - insisted on taking part in the Conclave. Once Echo had left, Zosime found herself staring at the floor instead of the hall to either side. Every passing moment causing her temper to rise another degree until she could no longer take it. Finally, she shoves her spear into the hands of the guard opposite her and pushes through the door, tugging her mask down off the lower half of her face as long strides carry her across toward her king.

     It's an impressive sight, the figure she cuts as she bursts in. Patched black armor reinforced by the occasional salvaged metal plate squaring her shoulders, and though her height was above average for a woman at five-foot seven, most of her male brothers in arms stood taller. But it didn't seem to matter now because she was angry, and when angry she may as well be ten feet tall for the aura around her. Hell hath no fury, and Azgeda no mercy.

     "Yu laik branwoda, Roan kom Azgeda." She barks as the door slams shut behind her. Almost anyone else trying this would get themselves thrown into a cell, and she knows it. In fact, she's not even sure that it won't happen to her. But it doesn't matter; Roan getting himself killed means she's failed. Again. And she couldn't save Nia, which still weighs heavily on her.

     He had been late. He had been held back because he had wanted to try ONE more time. One more time to get Raven to come with them. His whispered 'I don't want to die alone' still clear in his mind.  He couldn't rightly leave her behind without having tried a last time. But when finally he arrived at Polis... This was the LAST thing he had expected to be met with. The fuckery. A part of him had been SO done. A part of him wanted to throw his arms up and walk away with Emori in tow. If he were to die, he'd fucking die on his own terms. With the one girl that had stuck to him. Clarke could go float herself. Along with fucking Jaha.

     But when he heard of the condition Roan was in. When he heard Luna was D E A D ... The youth couldn't rightly walk off... So he had remained. Had helped tend to the wounded. ( all had EXPECTED Roan to have been dead. He proved to be tougher than that. )

      And when Roan finally opened his eyes, Murphy had grasped the bottle of radiation pills, taking two out. " Welcome back to the living, Roan. Seems like you were in for some ass-kicking, huh? Suppose that wasn't one of the nicer rides you've had in your lifetime. " spoke the youth, grasping a cup of water and leaning forward.