The world is not black and white anymore. It is not split into good and bad, light and dark, love and hate. The lines are blurred. As Clarke watched the man she loved climb the scaffolding to his death, and felt her heart race, she wondered if there was a right or wrong choice here. All she had was her own selfish want, the cold knife in her hand and his first words to her echoing in her head.
"There are only two sure things in this world, Princess- Life and death. What will you choose?"
Clarke supposed it started the day her heart was broken for the first time in her life. If Finn had not hurt her like that, she would never have agreed to the arranged marriage, would never have had to travel all that distance and would never have been in the situation she was in now. If one thought on it like that, she had Finn to thank for this. Fate was a strange old thing.
Sir Finn Collins of the Ark guard was the walking embodiment of the word "charming". His words were as delightful as flowers; his looks were something a girl thought she could only dream up as she slept. So yes, when she had felt his eyes on her at dinner, saw his half smiles as he unabashedly stared at her, she was more than flattered. Their courtship was unexpected by no one. Her mother approved, the courtiers gossiped and Clarke felt she would experience a marriage based on love and trust, something few had. Of course, she should have known it as not to last. When did anything ever turn out well for her?
"Clarke," Finn had begun one day as they walked in the gardens. The air was still heavy with the scent of summer, but it was bittersweet. The breezes was just that smallest bit colder, the flowers just that little duller. Leaves were browning at their edges, threatening to spill to the ground. Soon, fires would be fed, meat salted, crops pickled in preparation for the cold winter that was undoubtedly come within the coming weeks. It was the end of Clarke's best summer in memory. And perhaps the start of the best winter Clarke thought slyly to herself, noticing Finn's solemn expression.
He held a letter in his hands, and shifted from foot to foot as if he longed to run away. "Clarke, there's something I must tell you. Something I should have told you from the start."
Clarke felt a flutter of dread in her chest, but did not let it show on her face.
"Finn you can tell me anything, you know that."
He scoffed a little, as if he knew that statement was a falsehood. She supposed it was in a way- if he could not have told her that at the beginning.
"When I came here, before I came here, I was… Clarke, I was betrothed." He stammered out, taking a step towards her, as she took a step away. He took her shocked silence as permission to continue.
"I was, we all were, so sure she was gone, her family was ruined, that we did not even check to confirm… It was foolish. I came here as was planned, and Clarke, you were so beautiful, all thought of her in my heart was gone." He said gently, catching a wisp of her hair between his fingers. The silence surrounding them was so peaceful it felt mocking. Clarke took a shallow breath and steadied herself, her skirts suddenly feeling very heavy.
"You were wrong obviously. She… has returned?" Clarke said, proud of her strong her voice sounded. It didn't shake once. Her heart dropped further into her stomach as Finn nodded.
"I have received a letter", he said, showing her the sheet of parchment in his hand, "from my father asking me to return home, to 'fulfill my duty' to Raven…" He trailed off, frowning as if in doubt. He shook the feeling off, his eyes returning to Clarke's.
"You understand, don't you? How would I ever get credibility as a loyal soldier, if couldn't even keep a promise to my family, to my, to my…" he said stammering into silence again, waiting for Clarke's reaction.
"Your betrothed" Clarke finished softly. He nodded. It was ironic, Clarke thought, how deafening a silence could be. When Finn refused to speak, Clarke did not know how long she could stay under his intense gaze. After what felt like eons, she met his eye.
"You should return home to your lady, Sir Collins." He stiffened at her formal tone.
"Clarke, you must know how changed my feelings are, that I love you and under different circumstances-" He spoke quickly, desperately, and Clarke could take it no longer.
"Good-day Sir Collins... Finn." And with that, she spun on her hell and walked away, and once she was out of his sight she ran.
Clarke saw the image of the bird clearly in her head, but her hand refused to do her bidding. She dragged heavy dark lines across her attempted sketch before leaving it on her bench, and pulling her knees up to her chin. How long would art avoid her? When he was here, she could not stop the pictures in her head from flowing out on to sheets of parchment, paper, wood, whatever she could get her hands on. Now the creativity flitted in and out of her head, tempting her, dancing just out of reach... It was infuriating.
She welcomed the distraction of a heavy knock against the door, straightening her skirt and sleeves, just as her mother entered the room. A twinge of disappointment coursed through her mind, and then she chastised herself inwardly, for thinking it could have been anyone else.
"Good Lord, Clarke, however can you see in this darkness? You shall ruin your eyes." Her mother said in her brisk way, opening shutters and curtains, as she marched around the room. Clarke flinched at the light that flooded her room, and winced at the mess the light revealed. Crumpled paper, empty glasses and plates lay about, in a mess that screamed depression. She almost felt ashamed for allowing her heart this much control over her actions. Her father had allowed his heart to control his actions.
Look where that got him.
Lady Abigail took her daughter's hands in her own and pulled her over to sit on one of the low couches. She fidgeted with her hair for a few moments, pushing it away from her daughters face until it lay smooth. With a smile that seemed forced she folded her hands on her lap.
"How do you feel about spending the winter season at the King's court?" She said in an uncharacteristically happy voice. Clarke rose an eyebrow at the statement.
"The King's Court? Why, have I been invited?" Abigail nodded enthusiastically. She explained briefly that King Thelonious was planning a long festival for the eighteenth birthday for his eldest son Wells. Clarke's expression darkened at the mention of him. She and Wells had been childhood friends. However as he began to leave childhood, he spent more time training to be King, her training to become the elegant Lady and dutiful wife she would one day become. However the death of there friendship had been the day he chose his duty to his father over her. They had not spoken in years.
"It would do you well to spend a winter in the city. I need not tell you that our future rests with you, or rather your future husband-" Her mother started, and Clarke let out a loud sigh.
"You need not dress up the facts in ribbons for me, mother. Thelonious wants me to court Wells doesn't he?" she said bitterly. She knew it was coming. She remember the king from her childhood, he had often joked about joining their houses. And now with no Lord in the house, no chance of a son for Abgail, he knew, everyone knew, that Clarke would have to marry well if the Griffins of Ark wanted to keep their land. As Queen, Clarke would have the power to do that, and then some.
"Wells is still very fond of you Clarke. If you were to marry, and should God bless you with a second son, succession would no longer matter. At least think about, my darling..." Clarke held up a hand to stop her.
"I have no reason to think about it. I'll do it. There's nothing for me here."
And now Clarke sat on her horse, moving with the horse's steady movements as she and her company rode to the City. The journey would take a good week, what with the carts full of clothes and jewels, that would help her to win the heart of a prince. She tried to ignore the stiffness in her neck and her chilled fingers, and appreciate the beauty of the crisp autumn morning and the nature that went with it. They rode for another half an hour before Sir Kane held back and rode beside her.
"I feel I should warn you m'lady, we are about to enter bandit territories. They should not trouble us, as we have so many men, but you should be on your guard."
His expression softened after a few seconds of silence, and he let out a short laugh.
"They say these are the lands the Rebel King walks." Even Clarke had to laugh at that.
The Rebel King was a story that began several years ago, after there was a sudden rise in robberies on the road. When it seemed certain that these bandits had a leader, people of course began to wonder who the leader was. The common folk began to spread rumours, about the young man who spoke as he was talking to knights of the round table instead of ruffians, who inspired courage in the most spineless of thieves and held himself like a king. Clarke had even heard some of her own maids, bragging about how he had paid them a visit in the night. Some said, he was actually once a honest man, now trying to provide for his young wife, some even went so far to say he was the bastard heir to noble house Blake, but after a year or so, the stories died away. The robberies however, did not. Clarke dismissed the whole thing as nonsense.
As they quickened their pace in an effort to leave the dangerous area, Clarke had to repeat the phrase "utter nonsense" to herself often, as the cold feeling of being watched spread over her shoulders. Her imagination ran wild, as she pictured a head of dark curls amongst the fallen bracken and leaves. At one point she could have sworn she saw a pair of brown eyes winking at her. Finally the sense of paranoia became to strong, and she asked Kane if they could stop for a breath. Just as he nodded, fear shot across his face, and he screamed for Clarke to hide. Clarke turned to find at least fifty men surrounding them. She ran for her horse and leapt on to the saddle, but a hand grabbed her ankle and yanked her to the ground. Her head struck the floor, and later, she couldn't even remember her last conscious thought.
She opened her eyes to find herself moved several feet away from where she fell. Looking around, she saw her men lying still everywhere, and felt her stomach churn at what that meant. She sighed in relief when she found Sir Kane, very battered but alive. Her relief was short lived however, as one of the ruffians walked over to her.
"Aren't you the pretty one?" He said quietly, his voice making her skin crawl. "I bet, we could use you for more than your jewels, am I right m'lady?" He said leering over her chest.
Clarke spat at his face, and the satisfaction of it didn't leave her, even after the back of his hand hit across her cheek.
"Bitch." He muttered wiping her spit from the side of his mouth. Clarke used the distraction to give him a swift kick in the shin. When he roared in pain, she took off from the ground and began to run. A fire-like pain spread swiftly from her ankle, every time she put weight on it- she must have sprained it when she was pulled from the horse. She tried to ignore it, but it of course slowed her down. Within seconds, she was captured again, a thrown on the ground beside Kane. He gave her such a pitiful look, Clarke wanted to spit in his face as well. Let him give up if he wanted. She was not going to die here without giving them hell for it.
"You're going to pay for that you whore." spat the man she had kicked. He raised his hand as if to strike her again.
"Murphy. That's enough." A new voice called from the horses. It rang with authority, and Clarke found herself sitting straighter just at it's tone. She shot a glance at him, and knew who he was, without him introducing himself. Dark hair, tall, carrying himself as if he were royalty... this was the Rebel King.
Just nonsense a voice sneered in the back of her head. How she wished that were true.
"Kill them both, but don't dishonour the girl Murphy. Let her die a Lady." He said with a laugh, smiling at her as if he had done her a favour. Clarke wanted to tear his head from his body. The man he called Murphy let out a grunt of disappointment, but approached her with a knife. Clarke was just about to greet death, when someone rather unexpected spoke out from the carts- a girl. Under other circumstances, Clarke would have laughed. Perhaps the Rebel King was just trying to provide for his young wife.
"Bell, wait", she said quickly. Clarke strained her neck to see what was happening. The girl was lifting her dresses from one of the trunks, feeling the material between her fingers.
"Look at these Bell- cloth of gold, ivory silks, fur trimmed hoods... these aren't just for a week at the fair, these are dresses for a courtship... she's important. Find out who she is." The girl, finished turning to stare at Clarke. Within a moment, all eyes turned on her. Clarke felt her self blush out of habit.
The King, Bell?, strode over to her casually. When he was standing before her, with a heavy sigh he knelt down, as if the effort of it tired him. With him so close, Clarke could see how young he was. He even had the lighted dusting of freckles. She also noticed how her heart fluttered a little, from fear of course, Clarke told her self later.
He pulled a knife from his boot, and played with it for a moment, before holding it against her throat. His eyes never left hers.
"There are only two sure things in this world, Princess- Life and death. What will you choose?"
A/N So hi everyone! This story was inspired by the MANY medieval Bellarke AU posts I saw on tumblr over the weekend. I just really wanted to get this out, and I just kept writing... and writing... anyway, hope you enjoyed, and leave a review to tell me what you thought and if you want more!
