"When do you leave?"
"Now…I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You have to go back. They're your people. That's why I…that's why you're you."
"Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people."
"I hope so."
"May we meet again."
The words echoed in Clarke's mind as she committed them, and every moment that had occurred afterwards, to memory. She never wanted to forget the feel of Lexa's skin under her fingertips, the softness of her lips against hers, the unfettered look of adoration in her eyes as she'd looked up at Clarke. For one brief hour, they had not been slaves to duty, but followed the honest and fiercely fragile whispers of their hearts.
But the weight of duty could not be ignored, and pressed heavily upon them as the sun sank lower in the sky. Lexa and Clarke had risen from the bed, dressing quietly, exchanging a tender glance here, the occasional brush of fingers or lips there. It was reassuring, each touch an unspoken promise, a commitment to endure the coming conflict in order to return to one another.
It was only that promise that made Clarke able to face Lexa once she was ready to leave the room. Her eyes searched Lexa's, and suddenly she did not know what to say. "Lexa, I…"
"We will meet again, Clarke." Lexa's voice was gentle yet firm in its finality, but softened slightly at the edges with her next statement. "Be safe."
"I will. Leidon, Heda."
"Leidon…Bandrona."
And with that, mustering all of her courage, finding strength in the unspoken vow between them, Clarke turned, walking through the double doors into the hallway to face the coming storm.
She walked quickly down the hallway, winding her way down a stairwell to the floors reserved for ambassadors and visiting dignitaries. She entered the room reserved for her. It would only take her a moment to gather her few belongings that she had brought with her, and then she'd be off to reunite with Octavia and make the journey past the blockade. The sounds of Polis filtered up from the streets below, and it seemed louder than usual. She wrote it off as nerves, her senses strung tight under the pressing weight of the blockade deadline.
Her hand closed around the sketchbook lying on the table and she resisted the urge to thumb through it. The sketches of life in Polis, of the peaceful life before this madness, of Lexa…it would undo her resolve to leave if she looked at them now.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly shoved the sketchbook into her satchel. "Come in," she called out, turning her back to the door and scanning the room for her jacket. It was probably guards; it would have been so like Lexa to send her off with a full complement of warriors…
"Wanheda, we must speak," Titus' voice rang out behind her.
"Not now, Titus. I need-" Clarke froze in midsentence as she turned, her eyes taking in the scene in front of her.
The Fleimkepa was flanked by over a half dozen guards, all enormous men gripping spears tightly. Their faces were all firm masks, looking at her with cold eyes. Titus' expression was grave, his eyes just as hard as the guards'. Behind them, and from the streets below, Clarke could hear shouting echoing. Somewhere, a scream rang out. Clarke's eyes flickered from Titus' gaze to the nightstand beside the bed where she'd hidden her gun. It was well beyond reach, even if she was quick. And from the expression on the guards' faces and the way they gripped their spears, she was not certain they were in the mood for any fast movements.
"Titus, what's going on?" From behind the older man, Clarke could hear shouting, and the slap of many boots running down the hallways.
"You are needed in the throne room, Ambassador." He turned slightly, gesturing behind him, and the guards parted slightly to clear a path. "Come with us, please." The last word was more of a threat than an invitation.
Fear and alarm coiled tightly around Clarke's heart, which hammered in her chest. Her eyes flickered again to the nightstand, but there was no way she could reach the weapon in time. No, whatever was going on, she'd have to rely on her wits to survive it.
"Very well, Titus." Her voice was cold, and she squared her shoulders, stalking for the door, matching the intensity of the guards' glares with her own. Dropping her satchel onto the bed, Clarke embraced the air of Wanheda, cloaking herself in the protection of death.
The hallways of the tower-which normally would be full of advisors, guards, scouts, handmaidens, and others-were eerily empty. Occasionally, Clarke could hear shouting, and at one point, thought she smelled smoke. Something was very, very wrong…
That wrong feeling only increased as they ascended to the top of the tower. Focusing on the details, Clarke could see that the guards Titus had lead, who now surrounded her, were wearing the leaf symbols and colors of the Yujleda clan on their armor. Ordinarily, Lexa's elite bodyguards were mostly Trikru, with a diverse mix of warriors from the other clans among them. There was not a member of Trikru to be seen as they moved throughout the halls, worrying Clarke greatly.
Titus pushed open the double doors to the throne room and the small group swept inside. A quick glance around the room, and Clarke could feel panic begin to churn within her.
Clarke could see the ambassadors for ten of the clans gathered, standing at the center of the room before the intimidating specter of the empty throne. At the edge the room around them, warriors from the corresponding clans bristled with weapons, glaring at Clarke unflinchingly. Their faces were streaked with warpaint, and many had blood spattered on their armor and skin.
"What have you done? Where is Lexa?" Clarke stared at the ambassadors in turn. A few flinched under her gaze, turning their eyes to the Yujleda ambassador who, with a glance to the Azgeda ambassador, stepped forward.
"Oso edei nou na swich op nowe. Heda nou get daun-de in. Ai gaf seigeda klin hashta nou wichnes."
Titus' voice was solemn, unflinching as he repeated the last phrase, beholden to the ceremony.
"They call for a vote of no confidence."
Tridgedasleng:
Leidon, Heda = Goodbye, Commander.
Leidon, Bandrona = Goodbye, Ambassador
Yujleda= Broadleaf
Oso edei nou na swich op nowe. Heda nou get daun-de in. = Our ways can never change. The Commander does not understand this.
"Ai gaf seigeda klin hashta nou wichnes." = I call for a vote of no confidence