Author's Note: Hello, fair Clexa shippers! I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been in a weird funk since Lexa's death on 'The 100', Here was this beautiful and wonderfully sexy lesbian pairing that I never realised I'd grow to care about so much and then it was just...over. It left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of Clexa fanfic-binging could fix. So I decided to take one of my original stories that I'm writing for my girlfriend and turned it into a Clexa fic instead. The setting's very different from the TV show, but with a few canon shout-outs here and there. Please read further and validate me :-P

Disclaimer: All images and TV-show references belong to 'The 100'.


The year was 1846 just a few miles shy of the booming capital of Washington The District. Where wagon wheels left faded tracks along the dusty roads of the wild prairie, there was a little town called Polis. That idyllic village running along the southern edges of the Potomac River bordering Southern Virginia was filled with enough gaiety to warm even the frostiest of hearts in America's great capital just a stone's throw away. Despite the many bloody battles between the European settlers and the Nacotchtank, heated discourse between the politicians of the day on whether to finally abolish slavery and continued interference from the British Empire, the inhabitants of Polis remained amiable in the ignorant fortitude of their ancestry and traditions.

While the rest of the great American nation were concerned with protecting their land against the natives and consumed with gold fever, Polis remained relatively unperturbed during these bewildering times where greed and national pride struggled to create an earnest alliance. The folk, while physically poor, abounded in the wealth of generosity when it came to helping their neighbours. Perhaps the townsfolk of Polis had reason to be hopeful in these times of great national uncertainty. For they had a notably rich benefactor who had taken great pains to ensure the prosperity of their sleepy town during these times of hardship. But there was something quite astounding about Polis' wealthy benefactor.

That noble character went against the grain in every single way: she frequently wore immaculate petticoats, dainty frocks which invoked the most vivid imaginative colours, twirled an umbrella with a black and gold oriental print imported from Japan in the rain and sunshine and greeted every stranger she met with a dazzling smile and piercing blue eyes which were sure to enslave even the most stubborn of souls.

The esteemed Miss Clarissa Griffin, otherwise known as 'Clark' or 'The Princess of Polis' in the absence of a true royal family, was a peculiar member of the fairer sex. While she lived in Arkadia, an impressive mansion which stretched for thousands of acres all the way to the tributaries of the Anacostia River, she was often seen mingling with the people of Polis at any given time. Her innate grace in receiving guests of a lower class than herself without the latter ever once feeling the condescension of money was one of her best and most dangerous qualities. While a great deal of the local population admired the young lady, there were a select few, particularly of the male and political persuasion, who resented her money and independence and the way that she advocated for the downtrodden, particularly women within the District of Columbia.

While Miss Griffin was always kind in her demeanour, one could not mistake her kindness for naivety. Like her father before her, Clark was quick to comfort the poor and destitute and even quicker with dismissing the crude and callous with a sharp dismissal from her tongue. Even while she dealt out bitter-tasting insults, one still couldn't help marvelling at her blondish-brown hair which fell in delicate, balayage curtains down her back when her hand maidens brushed out every wavy, silk-spun strand. Despite coming from unusual parentage (her late father had been an esteemed scientist in the community while her mother was renowned and infamous for being one of the first female doctors in the district), Miss Griffin was welcomed into the picturesque village from the moment she'd first arrived from the cobbled streets of Washington just a year before.

Her father's untimely passing from an experiment gone wrong in his laboratory had brought Clark Griffin back to half of her family heritage: a crumbling manor house with the family crest hung over the gate which was barely discernible from the rats and rubble which had made a home beneath the rotten wooden beams and weathered stones. With a lot of love and money, the ancestral Griffin home had been restored to its former glory and the Griffins' only daughter, with her unequivocal charm, had hosted many a dinner and dance that the townsfolk were invited to along with many of the district's most celebrated politicians and dignitaries of the time. Clark was an only child, but despite her seemingly lonely lifestyle, she smiled often and kept up her correspondences with fervour, attending any and every festival or event which Polis hosted, including the Local Artisans Market.

The marketplace was located atop a rickety harbour overlooking the Anacostia River known humorously as the Seafront. Its creaking wooden boards doubled as makeshift streets, the strong briny stench of fish and other livestock filling every orifice with nauseating freshness. The place was quite a sight to behold as the townsfolk flocked to the various stalls and amusements the market had to offer. The smells of wild turkey sizzling in the midday sun and fermented lager drifted through the nostrils of the residents of Polis as merchants in tattered clothing implored idle strollers to try their wares.

Wide-eyed children watched in awe as Jasper Jordan and Montgomery Green (known only as 'Monty' by the locals), Polis's very own hoodlum tricksters, balanced their skinny frames on matching unicycles while juggling potatoes and proceeding to throw them at one another for the crowd's amusement.

Young Macallan, the local organist at the Holy Trinity Church and The Shooting Star, a popular watering hole, danced up a spirited jig with his favourite bowler hat placed before him to encourage onlookers to help him pay his increasing bar tab.

With Indra, her hand maiden, walking close beside her and casting a dubious eye at the surrounding frivolity, Clark strolled gaily along, nibbling daintily on delectable Kettle Corn wrapped in newsprint which she had purchased from a farming entrepreneur named Finn just a minute before. She was stopped several times by the local folk, each of them thanking her for one thing or another that she had done to assist them with, whether it was donating money to various charities or offering her judicious advice to squabbling neighbours.

Two aged men, Dante and Sinclair, stood near a woman selling ripe peach-coloured apples, and watched with dispassionate intrigue as Miss Griffin stooped courteously to greet yet another passer-by. Only this time, this particular resident of Polis was a few head shorter than Clark and only 12 years old.

"I do declare, you've grown a head taller, Master Aden!" Clark greeted with affection. Despite only being a young boy, Aden was unlike other lads his age in Polis. He enjoyed rough-housing in the mud and playing a game of football with a leathered pig skin like any other, but unbeknown to his contemporaries, he was soft-spoken with polite manners. that Clark greatly admired. If she had a say in the matter, he would turn out to be a fine gentleman.

"You say that every time you see me, Miss Clark," Aden stammered, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink at the older woman's bewitching charm. If he only he were 10 years older, he might've dared to ask that beautiful creature to be hid waltz partner at the dance held every year in honour of the Harvest Moon.

"Because I mean it," Clark emphasised with firm earnestness. "You'll turn into a fine gentleman yet."

"I'd much rather have one of them fancy bicycles you told me about from your last visit to Washington."

"Oh, they are beautiful!" Clark exclaimed enviously. "And the new ones they've built have a wheel in front to help you steer too! Not at all like those dangerous contraptions that Jasper and Monty ride for a laugh." She added with a shudder just for comical effect.

"She must be touched in the head, talking all day to those gophers bothering her at every turn." Dante scoffed openly, chewing on tobacco as he spoke. He was of the older generation who believed that while children weren't made to be loved and cared for, adults should never treat children as their equals.

"You're a cynical gopher, Dante," Sinclair retorted, his heart warming at the earnest exchange between Clark and Aden. "Miss Griffin has a heart of gold," he added with deep admiration. He too had witnessed Clark's altruism up close when she had arranged for his sickly daughter to be transported to a newly built private hospital in Washington months before. The young lady had paid all of the hospital fees and beseeched the older man not to consider paying her back.

"Be that as it may, she's going to get herself into trouble shepherding this unruly flock." Dante tutted, sounding like he was deeply concerned about Clark's wellbeing.

"Aye, but she's a do-gooder to the core and loves helping our folk. It's not as though she has other lady-like whims to attend to."

"Mr. Emerson will soon see to that," Dante added with relish, bursting to spill the beans on a choice piece of gossip he'd heard in one of the local taverns yesterday.

Sinclair's whisker-filled ears pricked up at this titbit of new information. "Carlton Emerson eh? There's a fancy dandy if I ever saw one. What business does he have with Miss Griffin?"

"What other business of note is there besides the marrying kind?"

"Poor bastard. Doesn't he know that the lady isn't the marrying kind? She's turned down every suitor from here to Boston in half a year."

"Well this Emerson feller is a persistent bastard, I'll give him that."

Just then, Sinclair took off his faded cap and emitted a low whistle. "Speak of the devil too often and he'll soon appear!"

Dante followed his companion's gaze and emitted an amused chuckle. "Let's see if our duchess can avoid going to church after all…"

Clark was still in the midst of finishing her delectable kettle corn and chatting amiably to Aden when a man approached her. When she saw who it was, a shudder passed through her veins. She'd met Mr. Carlton Emerson just a month ago and she already detested the man. He was rumoured to be one of the richest men in the district, his people having earned their wealth and name from raising cattle in Indian country. He was also rumoured to be related to the English royal family, but no one, least of all the earnest and unimpressionable folk of Polis, believed that for an instant.

In addition to his various titles, Carlton Emerson was exceedingly good looking with his fashionable suits, an impressive looking cane tipped with silver which he could be seen walking with everywhere, neat golden blonde hair with an impressive handle-bar moustache and hazel brown eyes which reminded one of chestnuts in the fall. And yet, beneath all that grandeur, Clark sensed an austerity of heart and mind which spoke of untold cruelty and beastliness. But for the sake of appearances, she tolerated inviting him to her home for elegant dinners and laughing perfunctorily at his attempts at flattery when they met publicly like this.

Aden saw the man approaching too and scowled. Mr. Emerson never had time for anyone save Miss Clark. Aden gritted his teeth when he thought of all the times that the older man had yelled at the young children playing too close to his carriage, complaining that their scruffy shoes had sullied the wheels. The young lad felt that Miss Griffin had no business socialising with a brute like that.

"You'd better head home before your mother gets worried, Aden," Clark said in a dismissive tone, but with a meaningful glance at the boy to show that her words were only for show. "The next time we meet, I'm going to quiz you on your multiplication tables," she added with a furtive smile which Aden alone saw.

Aden grinned toothily at her. "Aye, Miss Griffin." He cast one final look of suspicion at Mr. Emerson, who ignored his presence completely. Then the young boy disappeared into the crowd of townsfolk.

"Miss Griffin! How lovely to see you on a fine day like this," Mr. Emerson greeted when they were finally alone, tipping his bowler hat to the fair maiden.

Clark inclined her head in greeting and smiled warmly despite having no feelings whatsoever for the man. "Mr. Emerson, I am pleasantly surprised to still find you among our fair folk of Polis. You do not have any immediate business in Washington?"

"Luckily not at present. And even if there was anything pressing to attend to back home, I'd find myself extremely reluctant to part with your vivacious company so soon, my lady." Mr. Emerson supplied in a simpering tone.

"That is very kind of you to say, Sir."

"Come now, Miss Griffin, there's no need for such formalities. We are well acquainted with each other now, aren't we?"

Clark gritted her teeth inwardly and kept her wide smile intact. "Certainly, we are. Would it suffice to say that we have become good friends, Mr. Emerson?"

"My dear lady, I think it suffice to say that it is not friendship which I desire from you. Have you given no more thought to my recent proposal?" Mr. Emerson inquired, his patience beginning to wear thin with the lady's coyness.

The young lady cleared her throat and put a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a cough. "I'm afraid I have not, Mr. Emerson. As I have said time and time again, I have no plans to marry any time soon. While I think that you are a remarkable man in every way, I still maintain that we would not be a good match."

"I respectfully disagree, Miss Griffin." Mr. Emerson argued, growing steadily more aggressive as he spoke. "What could possibly be keeping you in Polis when your dearest companions still remain in Washington the District? I have said it many times: you are a goddess that fell from the sky and graced the ground with her tender powers. While this village is enchanting in its own way, it is nevertheless dull and isolated, too much so for a woman of your class and temperament."

"Now I must respectfully disagree, Mr. Emerson," Clark countered in that same sweet tone, but with eyes as hard as flint. "While you may find Polis beneath your standards, it is my home and part of my ancestry. I belong here with my own people and any man who is willing to marry me would see that quite plainly."

Mr. Emerson smiled, but inside he was seething. He was determined to have the woman and everything that came with the grandeur of her wealth for himself and he refused to see any hindrance to his plans. "I see there is no convincing you at this time. Perhaps I should try my luck on another day."

"Perhaps," the lady agreed without any real conviction.

Despite his sour mood, Mr. Emerson was still a gentleman, if only in outward appearance. So he did the respectable thing and bowed cordially to Clark Griffin. The lady in turn inclined her head slightly and without an ounce of regret, watched the man take his leave.

Indra, Clark's hand maiden, shook her head and scowled disapprovingly after Mr. Emerson's haughty frame as he side-stepped a group of unruly children. "I don't like the look of that man at all, my lady. He will do anything to have you."

Even though Clark silently agreed with her maid, she smiled brightly nonetheless. "Nonsense, Indra, Mr. Emerson will soon find another woman who assuages his ego better than I ever could. Come on, Miller and the carriage are waiting for us."

The young lady retrieved her umbrella and she and her entourage made their way slowly through the crowd. Unbeknown to them, a figure with dark etchings around their eyes stood in the distance, having witnessed the conversation between Miss Griffin and Mr. Emerson. And that same figure remained there afterwards as it began to drizzle, pensive and making plans.


Clark took her leave of the festivities in Polis and made her way back to Arkadia with Miller, her valet, tightening the reins on her four stallions which pulled her carriage through the greying slops of mud decorating the hillocks. What had begun as a cheerful day soon became sombre with dark clouds filling the sky, pelting the exterior of the carriage with silver baubles of rain.

It was already dark when the carriage wheels stopped in front of the manor house where Gustus, Clark's butler, awaited their safe return. That aged and venerable employee had already laid out a velvet carpet for his ladyship to step on and a lantern at the ready so she wouldn't lose her balance on the slippery cobbled ground.

"Thank you, Gustus," Clark offered with a radiant smile as she hastened inside, glad to be rid of the cold seeping through her damp skin.

Soon, the young woman was deposited into her copper bathtub filled with piping hot water and aromatic oils to relieve her body of tension. But still, she could not relax while Indra and two of her other servant girls dried her naked body with a fluffy towel, dressed her in her nightly frock and combed her long blonde hair. Something about Mr. Emerson's words from the afternoon still bothered her intensely. She sincerely hoped that he was not going to make a nuisance of himself. Despite the kindly concern of the townsfolk who idolised her, she did not feel lonely or in desperate need of a husband. While she always welcomed companionship in any form, Clark was too much of a free spirit to reconcile herself to the idea of bartering away her independence for something as trivial as a permanent companion who sought to dominate over her.

She fell asleep with these troubling thoughts floating around in her head when she was rudely awoken hours later. The clock had struck three and her entire household was roused from sleep by the sound of pounding hooves and the doors of her ancestral home being broken down. Clark heard the unmistakable sound of Gustus rushing to the front door, crying out in alarm before he grew eerily silent. Indra and the other maids had ushered Clark out of bed and were about to herd her to safety when the door to her bedroom fell down with an almighty crash. Four men entered that private domain and rudely shoved the inferior maidens aside and grabbed Miss Griffin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Clark demanded heatedly, trying to wrestle her wrist out of the grip of one of her captors. "Who are you?!"

"You're to come with us, Miss Griffin. My master is waiting for you." the man holding her wrist sneered.

Clark reeled back in horror when lightning streaked across her bedroom window, illuminating the man's russet features, recognising him instantly as one of Mr. Emerson's henchmen. Her horror intensified when the man leered and surrounded her completely till all she saw and felt was an impregnable darkness.