Title: "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Raven, Raven/Roan
Spoiler: "Thirteen"
Length: one-shot
Summary: An alliance between the Skaikru and Azgeda must be sealed by marriage. Raven volunteers, expecting to be rejected, but the odds have never been in her favor. Somehow it's not the worst thing to ever happen to her.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note:
Here goes:
1. I apologize for going MIA the past few months. New job + lots of work travel + apartment hunting + life = very little time to write. But, the new chapter of "Hunger of the Pine" is half written and will be posted after this fic.
2. Which brings me to my second point: a week or so ago, I was doing research for HotP, and saw a reference to a Raven/Roan fic. Then another. And while I didn't have time to read those stories, the idea lodged in my brain and wouldn't let go. Whoever thought of this pairing? I bow down to you, lady. Well done. If only they'd interact n in canon.
3. This fic was written during repeated listenings of Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk" and "The Chain." Just in case you were wondering where my head was at. Lot of slow, slinky 70s tunes.
4. This season has been…kind of terrible. I'm only through episode seven, so this fic takes place in a vague future after Lexa's death.
5. I've been watching a lot of "Vikings" and reading Viking romance novels and those interests have manifested in a Norse-flavored Ice Nation. Cool, right?
Title courtesy of Smashing Pumpkins. Enjoy.
They put her in a line with the other girls, standing shoulder to shoulder while they await their fate.
There are twelve of them, each wearing a smile braver than the next, clad in their cleanest if not best clothes. After all, most of them have only one set. But Raven's hair is brushed and neatly pulled back from her face, and she's gotten most of the wrinkles out of her shirt. There's little she can do about the brace, but it's a part of her, like her brown eyes and long dark hair. It sucks, but she's dealing. It's what she tells herself, because really, there is no other choice.
They all have scars but she's one of the few that can't hide hers. It lives on her in worn leather and tarnished metal. It's what she is now – who she is – and if she's going to sell her soul to the enemy, he'll take her as she is.
It's a necessary step in finalizing the peace treaty, a marriage between the two clans, but there are many that wanted something different. Abby in particular is upset by this plan, likely because she thinks Clarke will be chosen. Raven thinks so too, but she needs to try. ALIE tried to end the world and she helped her. Securing a lasting peace for her people is the least she can do.
She doesn't expect much. She stands with Clarke to her left and Harper to her right, caught between two able-bodied girls whose names mean something. Warriors, fighters, saviors. Raven knows she wouldn't be standing in the weak winter sunshine if not for these girls and the sacrifices they made. She bites her lip to hide her grimace, to mask the disgust she feels for herself. After Finn, she swore she'd never fall for pretty words and empty promises. She blinks to keep the tears from falling. She failed, failed over and over again. ALIE is gone but Raven knows she'll never forget the things she would have done.
A hush falls over the yard and then he's there, two older men trailing behind. Raven guesses them to be advisors from the way they study the assembled women and mutter to themselves.
She's heard stories of the Ice King, but she isn't prepared for what she sees in person. He's tall and well-muscled, but so are most grounder men. It's the look in his pale blue eyes that unnerves her. Like he can see right through her. Like he can see inside her.
She holds her head high as he inspects the line of potential brides, those sharp eyes lingering over each face. One of the advisors strokes Bree's hair and the other forces open Harper's mouth to look at her teeth. She hisses at him and he says something too low for Raven to hear. Both men give Clarke a wide berth, but there's no mistaking the reverence in their voices as they spot Wanheda. Clarke's already fair skin pales a shade lighter. There's power in names and Clarke will carry hers for the rest of her life.
"This one."
Raven doesn't react, assumes the king is talking about pretty Mel a few paces down, but then she feels the heat of many sets of eyes – they're staring at her.
The taller of the advisors unleashes a string of rapid Trigedasleng and the other shakes his head furiously, his gaze dropping to Raven's bum leg. She gets the message loud and clear, fights to keep her cheeks from burning, her eyes from tearing. She won't be ashamed of what she is. She won't let this stupid, strange man make her feel small.
"Enough." Roan's voice is like gravel under the wheels of the rover, rough but strangely musical. "I want her," he says and the bottom drops out of her world.
"What?" Her voice is high-pitched and slightly strangled, but she doesn't think anyone would judge her reaction. Raven Reyes was the last Skaikru plana anyone thought the Ice King would pick.
"You are called Raven, yes?" She nods an affirmation and he smiles, all teeth and cunning. "Then you are the one I want."
She opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, to tell him that she isn't a thing to be bought or traded, but then, without warning, he sinks to his knees at her feet. She assumes he'll want her to kneel beside him in some weird Azgedan ritual. She resists the urge to kick him. He's seen her leg, knows she can't. It takes a special kind of asshole to openly mock a disabled person.
Except he doesn't gesture for her to join him, but takes her hand instead. The laughter disappears from his eyes and his color is high. He looks a little nervous. Raven stares at him, trying to figure out what inspired the change in behavior. Both their peoples need this marriage. He knows she won't turn him down.
"Raven kom Skaikru," he says in that low rumble. "Will you marry me?"
She's dimly aware of the sounds surrounding her, the gasps and sighs and Abby's cry of protest, but it's hard to hear them over the roaring in her ears.
Marriage. She understood the implications when she volunteered, but she never thought she'd be chosen. None of them had. But here they are and she's the one Roan wants. If she says yes, she'll marry this man – she'll marry the enemy. There's still time to back out. She can walk away and let another girl bear this burden. They all have so much to carry. No one will blame the disabled girl for refusing to take on more.
A challenge glints in Roan's eyes, daring her to turn him down, and Raven's reminded of something she said to Clarke at the dropship, when she thought she'd die in a rusty tin can with Murphy's bullet in her spine. It doesn't matter how she ended up here – someone is picking her first. She can't say no to that.
"I – " It's harder to say the words than she'd thought.
A hush falls over the crowd and Roan calmly rises to his feet, presses a kiss to the back of her hand. There's dirt under her nails and oil on her wrist, but she isn't ashamed. This is who she is and he can take it or leave it. If he notices, he doesn't comment, but his lips linger a moment longer than necessary. She again resists the urge to kick him.
He keeps holding her hand while he waits for her response, a challenge lurking in his icy eyes.
She doesn't blink when she gives him her answer. "I accept."
"You don't have to do this." Abby wrings Raven's spare shirt in her hands as she watches her pack her meager possessions: Finn's necklace, a diagram of the brace Wick built for her, the cork from the first bottle of wine she shared with Gina. There's a bracelet too that Octavia helped her make from the sad remnants of her battered red jacket, bits of her old life woven into a thin band she wears on her left wrist. She takes in Abby's distressed expression, Clarke hovering behind her mother and refusing to meet Raven's eyes. Sometimes it feels like that bracelet is all she has of the girl she used to be.
"You don't have to do this," Abby says again, more emphatically this time, and Raven manages a small smile for the closest thing she has to a mother.
"Yes, I do. I got into that line knowing what it meant." She pauses, remembering the destruction she tried to bring upon her already broken people. "He chose me." She grips a nearby chair for support, her bad leg suddenly unable to bear any weight. It's pressing in on her, the force of the choice she freely made.
"He's a good man," Clarke says suddenly. She still won't look at Raven, but her voice is firm. She's telling the truth to her estranged friend. "The things he does, they're to protect his people." She glances at Raven, a quick flick of her eyes that lasts half a second. "He'll treat you well."
Abby has mercy on Raven's shirt and grasps her friend's hands. "You always have a place here." Raven recognizes the look in her eyes. It's the same one she wore three months back when she sent Bellamy to bring her daughter home. It says that she'll fight for Raven the way she fought for Clarke, consequences be damned. It's almost enough for Raven to stay.
Almost but not enough and Raven lets go of Abby's hands. "Thank you for everything." When Abby hugs her goodbye, she keeps her eyes closed so the tears won't fall. She didn't think it would be this hard, saying farewell. It was hard when her mama died but the hurt quickly faded and it's rarely more than a dull ache. Leaving Arkadia feels like a wound that will never fully heal.
It only gets harder when she says goodbye to Monty and Bellamy and Harper and Jasper and all the people she didn't realize were her family. It's hardest of all to say goodbye to Clarke.
"You say the word and I'll get you out of there." She finally raises her head to meet Raven's eyes. Hers are bloodshot and anguished but Raven sees a hint of the girl she met in the rain. She believes her. The Clarke she remembers always kept her promises.
"Appreciate it."
Clarke wraps her in a fierce hug. "I'm sorry it had to be you."
Raven almost laughs. Bit by bit her friend is coming back to the girl she was – she wouldn't be Clarke if she didn't make Raven's sacrifice all about herself.
"I got this," Raven says, channeling Bellamy during every inspirational speech he's ever given. Clarke looks doubtful, likely remembering how terribly most of Bellamy's plans turned out, but lets Raven go.
She treks towards her future husband with as much dignity as she can muster. It rained the day before and the yard is sticky with mud that clings to her boots and threatens what little relief her brace provides. Roan watches her progress, his expression blank. If he's ashamed of his broken bride, he isn't letting it show.
"Are you ready?" His tone is flat, devoid of emotion, like he's asking her thoughts on the weather rather than if she's ready to leave her people behind.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
He chuckles and rests his hands on her hips. She's a small woman – those lean years of her early childhood kept her from gaining weight – but until this moment, she didn't realize how much larger Roan is. His hands span her entire waist and his long, tapered fingers dig into the divots of her hips in a way that makes her want to squirm. She bites her lip to keep from moving, raises her eyebrows to question why he's touching her.
"We ride to Azgeda."
She starts to explain that she can't ride, not really, but those big hands tighten around her waist and deposit her on his horse. He swings up behind her before she can react and shifts until she's firmly in his lap, her back pressed to his chest while her legs dangle uselessly over the horse's right flank. He twines their fingers together and raises their joined hands over their heads.
"To peace."
"To peace," the Skaikru roar and he nods, lets go of Raven's hand so he can take the reins.
She looks forward as he steers the horse through the gate. She made her choice and there's no going back.
It's a five day ride to Azgeda lands over rough terrain, and for the first time in many weeks, Raven is grateful to ALIE. Not the trying to end the world thing, but for taking away her pain. Her leg is still relatively useless, but it doesn't hurt anymore. She doesn't wake up each morning gasping for breath, blinking away nightmares that are mostly real, just drags about her lame leg as a constant reminder of the choices she made.
She thinks about it with each bump and jostle of the horse's plodding progress, how much worse this journey could have been. It doesn't feel right but she can't remember the last time anything did. She settles back against Roan's broad chest and watches the scenery pass.
It's a good distraction, the trees and sky and even a family of deer drinking from a small stream, all these new things that will make up her life. They help her forget about the people she left behind.
Roan shifts beneath her. He hasn't complained but she knows it can't be comfortable, riding all day with one hundred plus pounds of deadweight in his lap. She could make it easier for him, sit up straighter or move her body to the even clip of the horse's hooves, but she doesn't. He knew what he was getting into when he chose her. She'll let him experience it in full.
He's quiet, even when the day grows long and he stops to make camp for the night. He helps her down from the horse and sets her on a blanket with the advisors for company, slings a bow over his back and disappears into the forest. The advisors glower at her and she glares right back. She's about to be a king's wife – they can treat her with the respect that she deserves.
It's then that she realizes the full impact of the choice she made. She's gaining more than a husband – she's gaining a kingdom. She'll be a queen. She doesn't know what to make of it or if she really wants it, but there's no walking away from it.
Roan reappears with a pair of dead rabbits on his belt. "Dinner," he explains, like it's not the most obvious thing in the world.
"No shit," she scoffs and his mouth quirks with the slightest hint of amusement. She scowls in return. She isn't here to be his entertainment.
Still, she watches, fascinated, as he quickly divests the rabbits of their fur. A low hum of panic settles in her chest. She knows nothing of making it on her own. At the dropship, she was always locked away in the radio room, testing bullets or making bombs. She never gave much thought to what the meat group was doing. But now she's on her own and all her Zero-G Mech training won't keep her alive. If something goes wrong, if she has to run…she needs to know these things.
She takes a breath for courage, already hates herself for asking Roan for anything. "Show me."
He glances up, a lock of brown hair falling around his face. His hands are coated in blood and guts but she doesn't offer to tuck it behind his ear. He created this problem. It's not up to her to solve it. He swings his head slightly but the piece of hair stays glued to his cheek. Raven takes a perverse satisfaction in watching him suffer. This is the man whose people killed her friends. She might marry him but she doesn't have to like him.
"Show you what?" He gives up on the wayward hair and turns back to his work.
"How to butcher meat. I don't know how and I want to."
His hands never stop moving and she keeps her gaze focused on that errant lock of hair rather than the motions of those long, tapered fingers. "I wouldn't worry about it."
He doesn't look at her leg, but she knows his true meaning all the same, and she sees red, a thin film of it clouding her vision as the anger curls into a knot in her chest. She doesn't have a weapon but his arrows are within arms reach. She grabs one before he can react, holds it very near where the jugular pulses in his throat.
"Don't tell me what I can't do."
He calmly puts down the knife and meets her gaze. It's too dark to see his eyes clearly but she doesn't think she'd find amusement lurking there. From the set of his jaw, she thinks he'd look impressed.
"I only meant that you are about to be queen." He cocks his head towards the advisors talking quietly across the fire. "You will never have to cook for yourself again."
"Oh." She wasn't expecting that response and she feels a little guilty for threatening him, but not enough to keep from saving face. She puts down the arrow. "Well, I still want to learn."
He meets her gaze evenly, his expression surprisingly neutral for a man that just had an arrow to his throat. "Tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow."
The rest of the meal prep is spent in silence, although Raven never stops watching her future husband, not when he puts the rabbits on a spit over the fire and especially not when he confers with his advisors. They gesture furiously in her direction but they're talking Trigedasleng and she can't understand them. Not that she needs a translation. They're annoyed that their king's future wife started their engagement with an assassination attempt.
Dinner is roasted rabbit and wilted greens and Raven won't admit it, but it's the best thing she's eaten on the ground. The meat is perfectly cooked and there's some kind of spice to cut the bitterness of the greens. She's seen restaurants in old movies they'd watch on the Ark – she imagines this is what it would be like to eat in one.
"I wanted your brain."
Raven stops chewing and stares, acutely aware that her mouth is hanging open. She knows the Azgeda are brutal and ruthless but cannibalism seems like a bridge too far.
Roan watches her from a reclining position and there's no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. Her surprise shifts into a scowl and he laughs, his gaze shifting to her leg. "I don't care that about that." He leans in and taps her forehead. "What's in here, it's why I chose you."
He's looking at her in that way again, like he can see inside her, and she turns away before he sees too much. She puts her armor back on. "Then you chose wrong. I'm not helping you."
"We're at peace," he reminds her. "The Nightbloods are gone and the coalition is broken. Trikru outnumber Skaikru ten to one. You'll need Azgeda's help."
He's right of course. Even before she died, the Trikru were furious, disgusted with Lexa for putting her lover's people before her own. The fighting after her death was angry and bloody and when it finally ended, no Nightbloods were left standing. Aden had lasted three days before his head was sliced cleanly from his neck. ALIE had only made things worse, shattering the Trikru's belief in everything they'd ever known. They'd fought amongst themselves but the one thing they could agree on was the cause of their suffering – nothing had been the same since Wanheda and her people fell from the sky.
"You could have chosen any of the girls in that line and secured the same deal. You don't need me."
"Yes, I do." His voice is soft, but firm, his expression serious. "My people take great pride in surviving at all costs, but survival shouldn't come at such a high price." He meets her eyes, his glittering like ice in the firelight. "We need to do more than just survive. It won't be possible without you."
It's an early fall evening with a cool breeze but the air stills between them, the clearing silent except for the crackle of the fire. Even the advisors have stopped their chattering.
She swallows hard, locks her jaw to keep from breaking his gaze. "I'm no savior." She tried that once and brought the world to its knees. She won't go back there.
"No," he says. "You'll be more."
Raven looks at him skeptically and he smiles in a way that should be mocking but feels more like he's sharing the most intimate of secrets. "Yu laik haiplana. Queen."
She thought it earlier today, but the word sounds different coming from him, the way he twists it on his tongue, like music riding the wind.
Queen Raven – it has a nice ring to it.
She's the first to wake the next morning.
It's barely dawn, the sky painted milky shades of purple and blue, but she's awake, no thanks to something hard and long pressed firmly into her backside. They're tangled together in something called a hudfat. According to Roan, Norse warriors would bring them on long sea voyages and sleep in pairs to conserve body heat.
"You may choose another partner," he'd said, head cocked at the still unnamed, glowering advisors.
"No thanks."
There'd been an awkward pause where she wasn't sure what to do next – strip down in front of everyone? struggle out of her clothes inside a boiled leather bag? – but Roan had sensed the change in mood and left her alone while he talked with his advisors. She'd watched as he'd rested one large hand on each man's shoulders, steered them towards the fire so she could have some privacy.
She'd been grateful, even if she'd never admit it. She wouldn't have minded those grumpy old men getting a peek at her boobs, but seeing her take off the brace would have been another reminder of all the reasons they'd thought Roan chose wrong. When he'd joined her in the sleeping bag, her boots were neatly lined up on her side, her brace tucked away inside the left one.
She wakes because the temperature is rising with the approaching dawn and Roan's heat that she'd welcomed the night before is almost too much. Sweat beads on her temples and her shirt clings to her back. And then there's the issue of what's happening below the waist. She knows it's a nothing more than a physiological response but it does something to her. It's been a long time since a man has shown any interest in her, not since she kicked Wick out of her life and fell under ALIE's spell. She shifts restlessly, feels him twitch against her. It's all the reminder she needs of what she's doing here, why their peoples needed an alliance, and without a care for his sleep, she climbs out of the bag and reaches for her boots.
He doesn't mention it when he helps her on the horse after breakfast, but she's aware of every place their bodies touch: the wide expanse of his chest, the hard flanks of his thighs, the corded muscles in his forearms as he holds her close while the horse fords a stream. Her cheeks feel hot and she can't sit still, not when she knows what's hiding under those fitted pants.
"That's pussy willow." His voice rumbles in her ear and she glances up sharply, almost knocking his chin with the crown of her head. He has that way of looking through her, but he can't read her mind, right?"
"What?" She can't believe such a lame response came out of her mouth, but there was her train of thought and that word and really, she can't blame herself for that reaction. She just wishes he wasn't there to witness it.
He points towards a cluster of fluffy white plants growing on the side of the path. "Pussy willow. Good for pain management."
"And your point is?" She tries, and mostly succeeds, at keeping her voice from squeaking.
"You wanted to learn. I'm doing my part." He points to another plant. "That's common yarrow. It cures nearly everything. To survive out here, you need to live off the land."
Raven stares out at the pretty white flowers, memorizes the shape of their petals and the bright green of their stems. She feels that flash of guilt again. She only asked him to teach her how to skin a rabbit, and he's giving her more. He's giving her what she needs to be free of him and she's done nothing but lash out. She doesn't have to like him, but she can get along with him. She can make the best of this situation.
Before she loses her nerve, she lays a hand over his. His fingers jerk slightly and tighten around the reins. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She settles back against his chest and listens to the even cadence of his voice, fills her brain with so much knowledge that it feels ready to burst. It's not a bad way to spend an afternoon.
Their days take on a familiar routine. They ride together and Raven mentally catalogues local plants and their uses while Roan talks in low, even tones. At dusk he shows her how to separate an animal's fur from its flesh and butcher the meat into edible pieces. She goes with him on his hunting expeditions, longingly watching him work the bow. In her old life, she could have stood at his side and let her own arrows fly, but she can't manage the footwork with her bad leg. She watches and she learns and she files the new skills away into the vast recesses of her mind.
Each morning, she wakes tangled in Roan. Each morning greets her the same way, hot and hard and aching. Each morning, she spends a little longer in his arms before facing the day.
Azgeda isn't what she expected.
Raven doesn't know what she expected but not this place. Like most Trikru villages, the buildings are made of wood but they're laid out in orderly rows. There are stone chimneys and neatly maintained gardens and the square is filled with a vibrant market. If not for the inhabitants, it would appear like a village from the fairytale book they read on the Ark. For a time, she'd wanted to live in one of those stories. It had been appealing, letting someone rescue her rather than always having to save herself. She takes in the fierce, aloof faces. If she wants a happy ending here, she'll have to fight for it.
She hadn't given much thought to the long, thin scars that frame Roan's face, but she sees them everywhere in the crowd. They fan across cheekbones and creep across foreheads. For one girl in particular, a tall girl with long dark hair, they only enhance her beauty. The girl's lip curls as her king and his bride ride through the gates, and Raven doesn't like the look she shares with the still nameless advisors. It's been annoying enough ignoring their glares on the ride north. She doesn't need them openly plotting against her now.
The horse comes to a stop and panic fills Raven's chest. She knows what comes next. It will be like the day Abby had to help her off Helios. Her cheeks burn. It's her first interaction with these people – her weakness can't be on display.
But Roan doesn't dismount. He lets go of the reins and laces his fingers with hers, raises their joined hands like the morning they left Arkadia.
"Ai houmon," he roars and cheers erupt. Raven has a limited knowledge of Trigedasleng, but she understands those two words. My wife. On the road, it was easy to forget the true reason for this journey, but here, surrounded by strange people with strange ways, it's impossible to avoid what's to come. Marriage is more than words. Marriage means spending her life – sharing her life – with another person. She clings to Roan as he steers the horse out of the yard, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed and like it's hard to breathe.
"Are you alright?" He watches her closely as helps her off the horse. They're in a private stable and free from prying eyes, but she still puts distance between them.
"My ass is numb. How do you think I feel?"
Roan's mouth quirks with amusement. "I can help with that."
Involuntarily, her gaze drops to those to the big hands hanging at his sides. She's sure they could do a lot of things to ease the tension in her limbs.
His slight smile curves into a full-blown smirk. He's seen the path her eyes took. "I meant steam heat. I'll have a hangada draw you a bath." She raises her eyebrows. "A handmaiden."
She'd laugh if she didn't think it would amuse him. Raven Reyes, scrappy, underfed orphan, has servants. Even in her most ridiculous fantasies, she never saw her life taking this course.
"Come," he says, long fingers curling around her elbow. "I'll show you inside."
She twists out of his grip. "I can walk on my own."
His voice is vaguely menacing as he takes her arm again. "There are eyes everywhere here. You'd do well to play the blushing bride."
She flushes again, guilt making her face hot. He's trying to help and she keeps fighting back. It's better to meet halfway. "I'll play the bride but don't expect me to blush."
He looks at her, eyes lingering over the faint hint of pink staining her cheeks. She stares back, dares him to make a comment. He chuckles to himself and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, trapping her fingers between thick, hard muscles. She follows his lead, lets him guide her into her new life.
Siggy has a propensity for inane giggling by she's otherwise kind and well-meaning and eager to please.
Raven meets her in the foyer of the Ice Palace, a sprawling mansion laid out in brick and marble. She studies her reflection in the floor, horrified by the tangled hair and dirt smudged cheeks. Hygiene is difficult enough without running water and she all but gave up that week on the road. It's not the impression she wanted to make.
Yet Siggy is gracious, especially when she takes Raven's dirty hands in her own. "You poor thing," she fusses, clucking her tongue at Raven's rumpled appearance. "I'll make it better." Raven doesn't think this silly girl will resolve anything of importance, but she's too tired to argue. Her bedroom is on the second floor and she'll need all the energy she possesses to make it there without collapsing.
She's doing the math in her head – how many stairs to the top, when she can take a break without appearing too obvious – when Roan sweeps her into his arms, one arm crooked under her knees while the other cradles her back. He's a big man and he holds her carefully, not like she'll break but like she's something that matters. It's not a feeling she knows well.
"What are you doing?" she hisses. Lashing out, that she does well.
"Relax," he whispers in her ear, his breath blowing warm over her cheeks. "I'm just a groom carrying his bride over the threshold."
She rolls her eyes. "That tradition died when the world did."
Roan looks down at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Not everything from the past needs to be forgotten. The future we're building…history can't keep repeating itself."
His jaw tightens and something flickers in his eyes, hope and need and maybe a bit of desperation. It takes her by surprise, the vulnerability there. Clarke had said he was a good man but Raven hadn't understood then. She thinks she does now. She agreed to this marriage to save her people, but Roan did the same. Whatever his hopes, his dreams, he's pinning them all on her. She's not the only one making a sacrifice. It's time she acted like it.
She waits until they're at her door, waits until the very last second, but she gets the words out. That alone feels like an accomplishment. "I'm sorry," she says softly, eyes on the polished wood floor. Finn is dead and she's left Arkadia behind, but she thinks they can build something here. Maybe not love, but something better. Something lasting.
It takes all her courage but she meets his eyes, doesn't flinch at the kinship she finds there. She's spent enough of her life hiding. "We're in this together. I'm in this with you."
He watches her for a long moment with those eyes like ice, but they soften, almost imperceptibly, but Raven sees it all the same, right before he ducks his head and kisses her. It's a chaste kiss, just the brush of his mouth over hers, but she feels a little breathless when he pulls away. It's been a long time since she was kissed this way, like she's the only person he wants to be kissing.
"I'll see you at downstairs."
She nods a goodbye, watches his broad back disappear down the stairs. It's not the future she wanted but it could be worse. At least she's no longer alone.
The servants take some getting used to.
Raven tries to get into the bath herself but Siggy insists on helping. Her cheeks burn as her handmaiden unbuckles the brace and she waits for a snide remark. The advisors made no secret of their feelings about her limitations. She doesn't expect Siggy to be different. But her maid surprises her when, without comment, she hands off the brace to another girl for cleaning.
"We want our queen looking her best at her wedding," she says with a conspiratorial wink. Raven nods weakly and sinks into the bath.
It's a large tub heated by smooth stones that take turns over the fire. Lavender fronds float on the surface and their light scent fills the air. Raven rests her head against a folded towel and lets the water soothe her aching muscles. Siggy and the other women wash her hair and scrub her skin and she feels boneless when they help her from the tub. She's so relaxed, she doesn't mind leaning on Siggy when they return to the bedroom so she can dress for her wedding.
Her wedding.
She breaks out in goosebumps and not just from cool air on wet skin. In a few minutes, she'll be married to Roan. She's committed to her choice, but still – it's hard to believe her life will no longer be her own. She can barely breathe while the women brush her hair and rub lotion into her skin.
They dress her in a flowing dress of red and gold that slides sinuously against her skin. "Every Azplana has worn this gown," Siggy explains as she weaves jewels into Raven's hair and places a slender gold circlet on her head. She adjusts the thin straps of Raven's gown and her hands still on her shoulders. "You look beautiful, ai haiplana."
Raven studies her reflection in the mirror. She does look beautiful, but it's more than that. The woman staring back at her, she isn't that sad girl from Mecha Station. She's elegant and mysterious and regal – a queen. It's more than the clothes and the jewels. It's how she's holding her head, so straight and proud, and the confidence in her eyes. It's been a long time since she's seen that girl. It feels good to have her back.
For all the drama surrounding her engagement, the wedding is a simple affair.
Roan wears similar shades of gold and red, an intricate crown of barbed thorns resting on his brow. At his signal, she takes a breath and starts the long walk to her new life. The dress hides her brace and she takes careful steps as she makes her way down the aisle. Roan's eyes never leave her face.
He bows low and takes her hand. She feels his pulse jump in his thumb.
There's no priest waiting at the altar, just an unlit candle and two lengths of cloth.
Roan squeezes her hand. "It's time."
Raven nods, unsure of her voice. She's committed to this, but that doesn't mean she isn't scared. He wants her now but he could change his mind. It's happened before. There's no reason it won't happen again. She thinks it won't, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. She sees respect there, awe too. He isn't regretting the choice he made.
"I'm ready."
Following his lead, she wraps the lengths of red and gold silk around her wrist, twines them through her fingers so their hands come together in a loose knot.
Roan explains. "We bind our marriage with colors sacred to the Azgeda. Repeat after me. Gold laik son en red laik sonraun. Gon yu, ai swega klin ai keryon." The gold of the sun and the red of life. To you, I pledge my soul.
Softly, she repeats after him, careful not to trip over the Trigedasleng. Once, it was the language of the enemy and now it's how she seals her fate. The enormity of it lodges heavy and stifling in her chest. She was wrong. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't being doing this, not at all and especially not with Roan – with the enemy.
She takes a step back, ready to run, but a flash of blonde hair at the front of the crowd catches her eye. A Trikru saying floats through her mind, whispered words from Clarke one night by the fire. "Stedaunon don gon we en kikon ste enti." The dead are gone and the living are hungry.
She can't bring back those she lost but she can help those she has left. She says a silent prayer to Gina, to Finn, to everyone she ever let down. "I'm sorry," she says. "I have to do better."
Roan looks at her curiously, especially when she smiles at him. Tentatively, he smiles back, gestures at the candle with his free hand. Together, they light the flame and a cheer erupts from the crowd.
The weight lifts from Raven's chest. She glances at their bound hands, red and gold and skin on skin. It's the promise of a future. It's how she rights her wrongs.
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