A Future begins in the Present

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Footsteps all blurred into the incessant noise that kept on reminding Roan, that his people, the fellow so called 'Grounders' were pretty shit at compassion. They, the chipped ones, had dumped him out of sight, to die, probably. He was leaned against a wall, but he did not remain upright of his own doing, he was leaned against a chest next to him. That and the wall supported him. His hand was weakly pressed against the wound. Roans skin was pale, he could no longer focus on people as they walked passed the dying man. They were way too focused on themselves to care for someone dying. There was only one person they cared about in those moments, like their previous hedas: Themselves. So his best bet was Skaikru. They had compassion. They saw chances in preserving life rather than taking it - Roan was well aware that the initial impulse of bloodshed rarely came from Arkadia. He had been a neutral observer for so long. 


So Roan looked for some shape: Skaikru weren't bulky, Grounders were in full gear. Shadows, thin, unarmed, that were those he had to go by. He saw one, thin, without the padding he was used to and somehow bent, as if some weight was pushing him down, potentially guilt from what they all were made to do under the chip. He had seen horrors. All of them had. 
While Pride was there, he knew in this instance it had no place there, pride could kill him. And so he made himself grit his teeth, take deep breaths to gather what little strength he had left to call out to who he thought to be Skaikru.
"Help! Please."



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Jackson wanted to collapse. He wasn't sure how long he'd been acting under Alie's influence without rest, but he felt like he hadn't slept in months. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank water, but surely it couldn't have been longer than a couple of days. His body simply could not had climbed that tower without fuel, he knew. He would have been too weak. He would have fallen. But right now he was starving, thirsty, and exhausted. He was thankfully not injured, but his entire body ached, and he was sure the only reason he wasn't crying was that he was probably too dehydrated to produce tears. He'd hurt so many people, done so many horrific things...

But he kept moving, kept pushing his body. There were so many injured, and Jackson knew it would be a long while before he could let himself rest. He was moving in almost a haze when he heard another man's voice call for help. For a moment, he wondered if he imagined it, but when he turned, he saw a Grounder slumped against a wall, covered in blood and looking up at him. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the haze, and walked over to the other man, crouching in front of him. He could focus on this. He could get out of his own thought and help the man in front of him.

"Hey," he said, pressing the other man's hand more firmly against his wound as his other hand reached up to press his fingers against the other man's throat to feel for his pulse, just to give him some indication of how much blood had actually been lost. "You're going to be okay. I'm a doctor," he said. The other man's pulse was weak, thready. He'd lost quite a bit of blood. "Do you know where we might find any sort of medical supplies here?" he asked, as he took the other man's free hand and started to pull it over his shoulders so he could help him to his feet. Jackson had lost Abby in the crowd, and he hadn't brought a medical kit with him to Polis.

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Skaikru. Now that the person cam closer, he knew it was Skaikru. The clothing was too good, too thin, too well skaikru for another clan. He was right and that meant he had a chance to live. A small one, givne by his own experiences, but he had a chance none the less. Roan gasped as the man pressed his own hand on Roans. Now that was effective. It really did slow the bleeding a bit he felt, but damn it also hurt. The question was one he could answer relatively easily. He knew exactly where medical supplies were. 

"My pack." He said, not bothering to even try to raise his voice. he was close enough to hear anyway. He also knew that skaikru would probably suspect their sort of medical supplies, but he had skaikru supplies. After all the plan to get into Polis had been different. It had not included him hurt and it had included Wanheda to be able to use them herself. Now she was nowhere near those supplies, sadly. Though he didn't know if she wouldn't have just let him bleed out. Clarke was a very driven person, he learned that. "Clarke, you know, tiny blonde ball of rage and pointless death glares? She packed some, expecting she'd have to patch someone up. Guess she was right. What... happened up there? I was a bit busy... painting the floor red."



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Jackson's eyes widened a little as the other man described Clarke. How did he know Clarke? Either way, his surprise mostly just gave way to relief that this other man had medical supplies he would recognize. Jackson had been willing to work with whatever was available, but in his current mental state, what he was comfortable with was best. He lowered the other man's arm from around his shoulders. If he didn't have to move him, he wouldn't.

He reached for the pack the other man had indicated as he answered the other man's questions. "That tiny blonde ball of rage went into the City of Light. We all climbed the tower to try to stop her, but she got to the kill switch before I-- before we got to her. There actually weren't many causalities." He urged the other man onto his back and started to peel back layers of clothing to get to the wound. "Am I looking for a bullet, or was this something else?"

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She did it. She honestly did it. But what about Ontari? She was an equally intense ball of rage, but at least Clarke didn't... well no actually she did, he almost forgot about Mount Weather. Both deadly as they were gorgeous. The people were safe from this threat from inside. That was good. If he wanted to, he could close his eyes and let himself slip away, end the fight that was so hard on him for years. But he knew he couldn't. His people needed him. Without him there was no leader in Azgeda. He could smell civil war coming to them as multiple parties would fight over the throne. With that he knew he could not give up on his life. He had to fight so Azgeda could have peace. He needed to handle his damn succession. 

"Wanheda did it again." And he still needed to know about Ontari, but now was not the time. This man was trying to help him, so he had to reply. A bullet, that was what they called it, wasn't it? As prince he never really came into contact with the terms used about Mount Weather. As a exiled refugee even less as he was clever enough to avoid that area.

"Yes, a bullet." He confirmed. "I believe your leader - Kane is it? - put that one into me. Gotta say they hurt like a bitch. Oh... and there is one in my arm. That one reopened, Clarke treated it."


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Jackson's fingers froze for a moment on one word. Wanheda. He'd heard it before. He knew what it meant. He hated it. Yes, Clarke had killed a lot of people, but she hadn't been alone. Why was only Clarke blamed for what happened at Mount Weather? Jackson kept moving again quickly, though. That didn't matter now.

"I'm sorry if Kane shot you," Jackson said, briefly glancing at the wound on the other man's arm and deciding the one in his abdomen looked like it was bleeding more. He started inspecting it, trying to decide if it would be better to remove the bullet, or leave it in. "I'm sure he's sorry as well. Not all of us view your culture in black and whites." He started pulling items out of the other man's pack, and sorting through the medical supplies Clarke had brought. "I'm Jackson, by the way."

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"He was... chipped." Was that the right world? He thought so, it made sense to him, even if it strictly speaking didn't make any sense at all, but this man was clearly under the influence of something. That couldn't be said about Bellamy. But they were more than even, having met as enemies and that was what you did to an enemy. Roan understood that clearly. He had been in his fair share of war, even official fights, as staged as some of them were. He held no grudges against him.

"You have every reason to." Roan pointed out. "After what my mother did." That might even reveal him as the new king of Azgeda. "Or after what the former commander did. If I was in your position I wouldn't trust our kind as far as I could throw an army of us... and as a matter of fact I don't." He only trusted Azgeda because he was leading Azgeda. He would trust a commander if it was his girl. Other than that: Ten foot pole to another commander.  "I'd prefer for things to be... easier. But I doubt we're heading in that direction in the near future. A lot happened."

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Jackson listened carefully as he picked out the instruments he was going to needs to extract the bullet from the other man's body. He didn't think it was stemming any bleeding, and if left in, it could move too much and damage other organs. Jackson wasn't sure he'd ever heard a Grounder speak badly of their people. Lincoln and Nyko had turned their backs on certain parts of Grounder culture, but they'd never flat out said that Grounders shouldn't be trusted. Jackson wasn't sure who Roan's mother was, or what specifically he was referencing regarding the former commander. He knew of the things that had happened, but he tried to stay out of politics. He was too busy most of the time for it anyway. And what did it matter? Grounders had committed horrible acts, but so had their people. Jackson just hoped one day a ceasefire would hold.

I'd prefer for things to be... easier.

Jackson assumed by easier, the other man meant more peaceful. "I don't know," Jackson admitted, when Roan finished speaking. "Maybe now that so many of us have suffered under a common enemy, there'll be more understanding." Alie. Most of them had been chipped. Most of them had suffered from it in some way. Jackson's stomach knotted, thinking of his he was responsible for so much of it, but he kept working. "I'd like to hope. And if there is one good person in any clan, that person is worth saving. I don't care if they're 'my people.'"

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The man was right. A common enemy fought, Skaikru having saved all of them from this fate was a good ground to start on. And on top of that Roan knew for a fact good people were out there. it was just the work they would have to put into this that would make peace hard to achieve. Yet it might just be worth fighting for. "I believe you are one of those people." he had only seen a glimpse of who this Jackson was, but in this case a glimpse might just be enough. Sometimes that revealed more than years could.


"If the people stuck together and thought for a moment, they would realize that we could all cohabitate and all get something out of it. Azgeda can easily provide protection from harsh winters and durable food.  Your medicinal knowledge and the likes is valuable. It could all be so easy." And yet they made it hard. "In the end when my people destroyed Mount Weather, we destroyed something that might have benefitted us in the long run. We just chose to be short sighted once more. 



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