innocence and ignorance
A child's innocence is to be cherished. Their ignorance for the horror of adult life is a wonderful bliss. At least that's what I thought until I set foot on earth. Here I learned that no one is truly innocent, and that ignorance can be the very thing to kill you. No matter your age.
On some days I wish my daughter grew up with us, having a childhood that is holy, or as holy as we deem it in any way. On others I'm glad she learned how to survive in this reality so early and became this strong and confident woman her people love and fear the same. Either way I'm proud that despite all that happened, there is still humanity inside who the Grounders call Wanheda.
- Doctor Abigail Griffin kom Skaikru
.oOo.
Year 2142
Outside is a deafening silence as well as pure darkness. Cold space, nothing around for thousands and thousands of miles. Inside it's different, but no more pleasant. It's still cold, but there's neither silence nor darkness. Instead there's the loud hum of the machines and the thruster pushing the small dropship closer to Earth's atmosphere. There are red, white, and green flashes of light emitted by screens and warning lamps. There is the small whimper of a terrified young girl that doesn't know what's happening and the reassuring words whispered by her father.
Mere minutes ago, Clarke was holding onto Cuddles, the teddy-bear her father gave her when she was three years old, and stood at the tall window in the Go-Sci-Ring which is always pointed towards earth. She observed the swirling clouds swallow the land below and imagined the animals she learned about in books running and jumping around, surrounded by trees so much taller than the Last Tree housed in the Ark's church.
Then everything happened too fast for her to really grasp. Suddenly her father was holding her hand and pulled her through the empty halls, telling her to hurry. Her mother was crying as she packed up three bags, filled them with essentials and some other stuff that belongs to the Griffin family. And then there was yelling and more pulling and running, until she was told to step into a dropship with her dad. She saw a pool of blood and Cuddles lying in it, she saw her mother being pushed to the ground and guards threatening her with their guns. Then the doors were shut close and a heavy force pushed her into the body of her father. Now she sits in the darkness, in his tight embrace.
"You're brave and strong, Clarke", his breath tickles her skin as he whispers the words. "Just hold on to me, and everything will be okay."
She nods and holds on more tightly. She presses her eyes shut, thinking that maybe then the pictures of blood will leave her, but they're still there. As well as the screams of the guards and her mom.
With a soft touch, her father caresses her head. "It's all gonna be okay, I promise."
She never thought she'd have her dad lie straight to her face.
.oOo.
At some point, Clarke fell asleep against her father, her rest being completely dreamless. And when she wakes up, she isn't really sure if she's truly awake, because there's only darkness around, and the only sound accompanying her is her own breathing.
"Daddy?", she whispers as she moves out of his embrace.
His arms that have been wrapped around her drop to his side and against the hull of the small vessel, emitting a loud thump. She moves her hands higher against his body and begins to shake him slightly, until her fingers dip into a warm viscous liquid.
"Daddy, wake up", she pleads as he doesn't react.
Suddenly there are other noises aside from her own cries and breathing. Footsteps, thuds, and voices, none of them clear. When something bangs against the hull from the outside, Clarke can't help but shriek and sinks back into the motionless body of her father.
For a moment, the noises are completely gone, but then the banging becomes louder. It doesn't take long before light shines into the small dropship and blends Clarke's eyes. She turns her face into her dad's torso to shield herself from the light and accidently dips half of her face as well as her hair in the warm liquid.
"Chit laik tiya?", a woman speaks from farther away in a language Clarke doesn't understand.
"Gada en hef", another answers, the voice sounds much younger than the first, and, though quieter, continues to speak. "Hei, strikon."
Slowly Clarke opens her eyes and turns her head towards the new hole in the pod, sensing that she's being talked to. It takes a few seconds for her to adjust to the bright light, but when she does, she looks directly into the face of a girl, two maybe three years older than herself, with dark braided hair and black paint covering her green eyes.
"Gada en hef?", the first voice responds, this time sounding much closer.
A moment after, a second face blends into Clarke's vision. This one is years older. Her brown narrow eyes are surrounded by blackness as well and the blonde hair, lots of shades darker than Clarke's own, is braided, too.
"Em laik jus?"
The girl reaches out towards Clarke, who shrinks away once more. But there's not enough space to retreat, and two fingers trek a line across her cheek. When the hand moves back again, Clarke can see the color of the liquid she fell into for the first time; a deep crimson red.
"Sha, em laik jus", she mumbles and shows the tainted fingers to the woman. Then she turns back to Clarke. "Chit yu tagon bilaik?"
Clarke knows that it's a question, and that it's directed at her, but she doesn't understand a word. Confused and afraid, she merely stares at the two people in front of her.
"Yu tagon?", the girl repeats. "O kru? Chon yu bilaik?"
"Em du nou chich trigedasleng", the woman interrupts the questions and roughly shoves the younger girl aside. "Jos won kru du nou chich oso sleng. Maunon."
The woman draws her sword that has been strapped to her back. When she begins to swing it, Clarke turns away again, accompanied by a loud scream.
"Hod op, Anya", the girl shouts, though. Just in time to stop the woman from cutting Clarke with her steel in half. "Du nou frag em op."
"Yu laik nou heda nau, Lexa", the woman grumbles in a dangerously low voice. "Ai du nou teik yu reinseden in."
"Emo don kom op kom skaifaya", the girl responds, her tone just as low, though a lot calmer than her companion. They both speak with a voice that says they're not used to being said no to. "Bilaik Pramheda. Mebi keryon sen emo op."
"Ai du nou teik yu reinseden in", the woman repeats, though the roughness is beginning to vanish out of her voice. "Yu laik ai seken, nou ai heda."
"Beja", is all the girl responds in a tone that almost resembles a plea.
There are lots of seconds of silence. A pause, Clarke uses to dare looking towards the arguing women again. The older woman still holds a sword into her face, staring at Clarke as she thinks, while the girl has a hand on the woman's weapon arm.
"Kei", she sighs and sheets her sword. "Oso na lid em in gon Polis. Oso na sin in chit heda en fleimkepa na biyo hashta yu sontaim."
"Mochof, fos."
The woman only rolls with her eyes before she moves towards Clarke. But as she grabs for her leg, the girl screams yet again, still afraid of being hurt by the weird strangers.
"Anya", the girl reprimands her.
"Argh", she grunts in annoyance, lets go of Clarke and takes a step back as she throws her hands up. "Ku, yu hom em daun."
Now the girl steps closer to Clarke once more, with a small smile on her face, which might actually be quite reassuring, were it not for the amount of black paint on her skin and the number of weapons strapped to her clothes.
"We will not hurt you", she says, for the first time using words Clarke understands. "What is your name?"
"Clarke", she whispers.
"Clarke", the girl repeats with a smile, sharply clicking the k in a way nobody has before. "It is nice to meet you. I am Lexa. And this is Anya."
Anya nods once towards Clarke, though her face is still as stony as before.
"Are you hurt?"
Clarke shakes her head in response. It's more an automatic reflex than a genuine answer. Then, carefully, Lexa extends a hand into the dropship, offering it to Clarke.
"Will you come out of there?"
Slowly she grasps the longer fingers and slides off her father's legs. Only when her feet touch the ground, Clarke realizes where she is. Or better said, she knows where she isn't anymore; this is anything but the Ark. Her feet are surrounded by green and as she looks up, there's nothing but bright blue and spots of white. It looks a bit like when she stared through the window towards earth, only the other way around. She keeps looking around; tall structures colored brown with green tops surround them, next to one stand two tall creatures, one brown and one white colored, they eat from the green ground, and there are so many unknown noises filling her ears.
"Is this the ground?", she asks astonished.
"Sha", Lexa responds with a nod. "You are in the forests of Trikru."
"The ground", Clarke repeats the word with a small giggle and spins around herself, taking in the view, the sounds and the smell of the one thing the humans dreamed of while Lexa merely observes the weird behavior. "Daddy, we're on the ground!"
She turns around, squealing like the little girl she is, until she notices the motionless body Anya drags out of the dropship. The head and torso are covered in red. Blood, Clarke now realizes and looks at her own hands, which are red from the liquid she has touched earlier. Her father's blood.
"Em ste daun", Anya says to Lexa.
"You need to get mom", Clarke says with tears in her eyes. "Mom can fix him."
She has been at work with her mom often enough to know that she helps people who are hurt and they always say that she is the best at it.
"He is dead, girl", Anya says in English. "No healer can fix death."
"No", Clarke whispers and stumbles towards her father.
She drops to her knees when she's next to him and shakes his shoulder, but he won't move a muscle. She closes her eyes and tries to remember the words they have spoken so often, with every Unity Day, with every prayer. And with every death.
"In peace", she starts, but gets interrupted by her own sob. "May you leave the shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe-", she halts, trying to remember the next word. She had always problems with pronouncing it. "Passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground", her voice begins to quiver close to the end. "May we meet again."
Anya and Lexa have been silent the entire speech, realizing that the young and now orphan girl guides her father's spirit to the next life. Only when they are sure that Clarke has been finished, they speak in unison.
"Yu gonplei ste odon."
.oOo.
It's the very first night on the ground for Clarke, and it's strangely beautiful. Despite the tragic situation she's in, and despite the pyre that's being built right in front of her, with her father lying in the middle, wrapped in white cloth, it's still beautiful. Because when Clarke looks up, behind all those dark leaves from the trees surrounding the village, she sees the stars. She was always used to looking down on the planet, living in the stars, but now she sees them, shining brighter than she ever imagined, and for a moment she wonders if the people who live on the ground dream of being among the stars the same way the people on the Ark dream of walking on Earth.
"Are you alright, Clarke?", Lexa asks as she walks over to the blonde with a torch in her hand.
Clarke only shrugs as answer. She wouldn't say she's alright, she's strangely calm, though. "Anya said we'll burn daddy to free his spirit. What does that mean?"
The older girl regards Clarke as if she had two heads, probably not expecting someone to not know, but then she just smiles and stares at the unlit pyre.
"Our spirits are trapped inside our body for as long as we live. When our body burns, the shell opens and the spirit is free to roam the world. Some spirits enjoy the freedom, others return to humankind and aid another on their journey."
"That's beautiful", Clarke whispers. Her dad will be able to see the ground after all.
For a moment, Lexa looks at the blonde strangely, a question on her mind, but she only shakes her head and hands Clarke the torch. "Breik em keryon au, gon em gonplei ste odon."
Even though Clarke doesn't understand the words, she gets the meaning behind them. She takes a step forward and lowers the torch until its flame licks at the wood. It doesn't take long for the straw beneath to catch fire, and it grows rapidly. Soon her father is wrapped in red and orange, and the smoke rises into the night. The smell of burning flesh fills her nostrils, an unpleasant feeling that causes her stomach to revolt, but she can't look away. She's to transfixed by the way the body slowly disappears and transforms into black smoke.
"What will happen with me now?"
"We will bring you to Polis, but from there on", Lexa sighs. "It is for Heda to decide."
.oOo.
Present
Despite her eyes being closed, it's not just black that she sees. Instead, lights and shadows flicker across her eyelids as her face nearly burns from the closeness to the fire in front of her. The world around her is full of smoke and smells like burnt flesh, but she forces herself to take deep breaths and fills her lungs with the sickening smell, nearly causing her to vomit, until she has to cough out the inhaled ashes and clamps the red cloth that loosely hangs around her neck across her mouth and nose.
It's a very self-destructive behavior. Apart from the common sense that tells a human not to inhale ashes and smoke, she has read enough about medicine and health issues in books from the old world to know that breathing it in can cause long lasting damage for the lungs, but she does it anyway. In the beginning it was a very weird part of her training to get her used to the smell so that she won't recoil if she ever had to set foot into a burning village. Over the years it has changed into a ritual for her and she finds that each time she stands in front of a pyre and once again realizes how awful death smells like, she can stand it a few seconds longer before her lungs cramp up and her stomach groans.
"Skaigada", a gruff voice calls out from behind her.
Instantly, Clarke's eyes snap open and stare right at the burning remains of three Trikru warriors, all of them wrapped in linen that have been white before they were tainted with blood and scorched in the fire. Even though the bright fire blinds her eyes so much that a dull ache throbs in the back of her skull, she doesn't turn her gaze away for another couple of seconds. She turns around and instantly recognizes the giant man to whom the voice belongs. The symmetric tattoo that covers most of his face blends perfectly with the black paint that surround his eyes and cover his cheekbones. Even though they're properly braided, his brown, long hair and beard are a tangled mess and it's hard to distinguish where the former ends and the latter begins.
"Ryder", she says with a curt nod.
"Heda wishes to speak to you."
"I will be there in a moment."
"She asked me to bring you to her. Now."
Due to him being one of only two of Heda's close guards he isn't used to people disobeying his commands, his sheer height and muscle are merely a nice touch for those who do not know of his occupation. Clarke has never been one for commands, though, and if she has one hobby in this god forsaken world, it's messing with the Trikru leader and her guards.
"And I said, I will be there", she repeats in a stern voice, not leaving any room for further discussion.
"Very well", he huffs, too annoyed to put up with her erratic behavior. "Suit yourself."
He turns around and walks back towards the village he came from, his heavy footsteps echo around for a few more seconds, even after his body was already swallowed by the darkness. Not intent to move from her current position just yet, Clarke turns back towards the fire and fixes her gaze at the burning bodies anew. By now it's hard to tell that they were ever more than a grand black and charred heap of something unrecognizable. Only the smell is a true reminder of what they're burning.
"Do you think it is wise to have her wait?", a different voice asks carefully from her left.
Clarke barely suppresses a flinch, she has forgotten that Lincoln stood in front of the pyre right next to her all this time. She steels a glance to the side without turning her head and sees him keeping his stare at the flames as well. His dark skin shimmers red from the flames and the dried blood that covers his face in places his mask did not protect. His hair is in need of being cut again as his usually bald sides begin to grow out and the thick strip on top is getting long enough to surrender to gravity and fall down. Instantly she remembers the very first time she met the young scout. Back then, he was twice her height and looked so frightening with his dark kohl on his face, the tip of his tattoo peaking out of his collar and the skull mask held loosely in his hand. He spoke his whole greeting in harsh Trigedasleng and only switched to a language the young Clarke could actually speak when he was told so by the very frightened girl, but for some reason they never switched back after Clarke managed to learn it. Now, five years later, she sees a friend in him after learning of his true self, hidden beneath all those muscles that is, albeit very strong and determined, tired of fighting everything just because it has always been this way.
"Probably not", Clarke says. "But it's fun to irritate her."
She turns her head fully and grants him a small smirk. Even though she can consider herself fully grown by now, Lincoln still towers over her by a solid ten inches, and she must crane her neck slightly to get a good look at his warm eyes that have turned towards her with a crinkle. She stopped asking herself why all the Trikru men seem to grow so tall a long while ago and simply accepted the fact that they'd always be much taller than her.
"Well, if someone can survive it, it is you."
"I have my fair share of bruises, too."
Lincoln cranes a very doubtful brow at her and Clarke only chuckles in response, of course he knows that she's lying. Even though she has been at the bad end of Heda's shouting more than she'd like to, she always managed to bite back and get out with her head held high. Not many can say that about themselves after clashing with the young leader who has a way of claiming respect by simply looking at someone.
Then the scout clears his throat and nods towards a place close to the pyre.
"Do you want us to wait or continue without you?"
Instantly the light mood is gone and Clarke grimaces as she recalls where she is and why she's standing here, so close to a burning fire, so warm in the middle of the winter night. She looks to where Lincoln nodded and sighs deeply as she spots half a dozen bundles of linen, all of them once white but now sprinkled red because of the blood of the dead they've been wrapped around.
"Build the pyres, but don't light them until I return", she says. "I doubt I'll be gone long."
Her voice is barely more than a whisper and yet strong enough to receive a curt and dutiful nod in response. It's quite funny how the tables have turned - funny in a very weird way. They've gone from him teaching her how to hunt and scout to her ordering him around in a span of only three years.
Simply shaking that thought off, Clarke nods herself and turns around to walk back into the village. Three steps later, she stops though, and turns back to see that Lincoln has already begun with his task to stack the wood for the next pyre.
"Lincoln", she calls out and he immediately spins around. "Thank you."
He doesn't ask what she's actually thanking him for, but only nods with a genuine smile before returning to his former task, and Clarke does as well.
The farther she walks away from the pyre, the more she realizes that it is indeed a real winter night. The cold wind bites into the few patches of skin that aren't covered by cloth, fur, or leather. And even though the snow has not yet found its way across the Azgeda border into their territory, the grass is already covered in a thin sheet of frost and crunches with every step she takes.
The few guards she encounters on her way nod their greetings but stay silent otherwise as they try to warm themselves at the few fires that have been set up between the houses of the small village. What she does notice however is the way they scrunch up their noses if she walks by them close enough. Only then Clarke realizes that she smells the very same the pyre with burning flesh does; like death itself.
She shudders and clutches her jacket impossibly tighter around herself as she walks through the complete village until she reaches the tall tent that has been set up near its entrance on the other side. Even in the faint glow of near fires the banners with the Trikru symbol are clearly visible hanging from the cloth and flapping in the wind. In front of the tent's entrance that is covered with a thick sheet of leather and fur, a very grim Ryder stands guard, his hand clutched to a halberd. She notices that part of his beard and hair have the same frosted covering as the grass beneath her feet and wonders if it has been there this whole time or if it has frozen over after he left her standing by the pyre.
"You decided to show yourself", the giant of a man grumbles in what can only be described as very annoyed sarcasm. "How kind of you."
"I try", Clarke answers with the same amount of sarcasm, earning nothing more than an eyeroll.
She strides past him and throws the covers to the side to enter the tent. It's noticeably warmer inside, the thick cloth keeps the cold and biting winds outside, and so Clarke quickly opens her jacket and brushes off her gloves, stuffing them inside a pocket. She runs a cold hand across her face and notices what she must look like when she stares at the red and black colors that are attached to her palm and haven't been there before. For a moment she thinks about cleaning herself up before stepping further into the tent to meet her Heda, but then she decides against it. There is a war going on, after all. Her looking like she came fresh out of a fight and reeking of death should not be the strangest thing anybody has to see tonight. So, she ignores the fact that she is covered in dirt and blood and smells of sweat and burned flesh, and walks towards the main compartment of the tent.
But Lexa is nowhere to be seen. Only her throne stands in the middle of the room, a smaller replica of the original back in Polis.
.oOo.
Year 2142
The room is tall, easily big enough to fit a hundred people, but now only a handful are inside. A tall window, or better said hole, lets not just light, but also wind inside. On top of a wooden throne, looking like a tree without leaves, sits a young man with caramel skin, his hair dark and short. His brown eyes are tired and between them rests a bronze accessor, shaped like a gear. A red sash hangs from his left shoulder and pools to his feet like blood. Lexa has called him Heda when they were traveling up the tower, the leader of their people. To his right stands a bald man, significantly older than he, with black ink covering the top of his head, but not his face. He wears a black robe and looks like a priest of sorts. On the other side of the throne a warrior stands guard, as well as to each side of the door behind them.
The only other people present are Anya, Lexa, and Clarke. The first two sink to their knees and when Clarke doesn't follow suit, Anya roughly tugs at Clarke's arm, until she drops down rather hard as well.
"Heda", Anya greets the man.
"Gyon op."
The three rise back to their feet and take a step forward.
"Chon em goufa bilaik?", the man asks with a subtle nod towards Clarke.
"Oso don hon em op tiya trimani", Anya answers. "Lexa vout in keryon don sen em op en em gada seken flaim in."
"Bandragen", the bald man utters rather loud, but Heda swiftly quiets him with a raise of his hand, never keeping his eyes off the group. The man is visibly furious about being shut up like this, but he merely takes a deep breath and otherwise keeps quiet with his eyes flashing at Clarke. He's seems important, but clearly not enough to be allowed of saying whatever and whenever he wants.
"Gouva klin."
"Em don kom op kom skai tiya shil", Lexa says. "Bilaik Pramheda."
The room is silent with everyone but Lexa and Anya staring at Clarke, which makes her twitch uncomfortably.
"Tona don kom op kom skai foutaim. Hakom yu vout in em gada flaim in?"
"Sha, tona don kom op kom skai", Lexa agrees with a nod. "Ba non don kik thru. Em laik fos pas Pramheda. Em souda gada som in."
"Ba seken fleim", the bald whispers doubtful and with something akin to anger.
"Em nou gaf laik fleim, ba noseim kerion", Heda offers. "Tona keryon laik tiya oso houd. Emo laik yuj ba nou ge ai op. Bilaik keryon kom wor o keryon kom wanplei. Non don ai emo op in yo."
Clarke silently watches the arguments go back and forth without understanding a single word. But it's clear, whatever they say, they're discussing her and her fate, so she does her best to stand still and keep her mouth shut. Lexa is clearly on her side, while Anya keeps herself in the background and only throws in a word to shut the bald man up if he gets too loud. For some reason, she's clearly annoyed by him which seems to outshine her dislike for Clarke. Something she doesn't mind at all, if it puts the woman on her side as well. Heda keeps calm during the whole conversation, but rarely takes his eyes off her.
"What is your name, child?", Heda asks.
Clarke just stares at him. She needs a few seconds to comprehend that the question wasn't just directed to her, but also asked in English and she understands it.
"Clarke", she finally whispers with a crack in her voice.
"Speak up."
"Clarke", she repeats, louder this time.
"I am Aron, Heda kom Trikru. Tell me, Clarke, why are you here?"
"Lexa said-"
"No", he interrupts her, though not as stern as he did with the man to his side before. With her his voice is softer, warmer somehow, but not less commanding. "Do not tell me what Lexa said. I want your words, not hers."
"I'm not sure", she answers truthfully and thinks for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction from the young man, but she's granted none. "There was a fight and blood. We ran and then we fell to the ground."
"We?", the bald man inquires, for a moment he looks at Lexa as if he'd caught her in a lie.
"Yes", Clarke nods. "My dad and I."
"Where is your father?"
For the first time since exiting the escape pod, Clarke feels aware of the blood on her face she has yet to clean. Her eyes drop to the ground and she shuffles her feet as a few tears blur her vision. "He's dead."
"Dead", Heda repeats before leaning closer to the bald man and switches back to their language. "Mebi den em don kik thru."
"Yu vout in em nontu don givnes gon em?"
"Nou. I vout in em don givnes em nontu. Keryon kom wan."
"Mebi", the bald man grunts in response, clearly unhappy with whatever his leader said. "Ba ai nou vout in."
"Very well", the Heda says after a few seconds of silence and stands up. "I have decided. Clarke, you will stay with us for now, you will train with the natblida and attend to lessons with Titus. You will live in our way. And then, hopefully, we will all learn why you were sent to us."
.oOo.
"Heda, are you sure this is wise?", the question is uttered as soon as the others have left the room and no one but Aron and his advisor stay behind.
"Do you doubt my decision, Titus?"
"Of course not", he swiftly says with a respectful tilt of his head. "But what if she truly has one of the old spirits? She could become more powerful than the flame. Do you not remember praimfaya?"
"That is why we need to keep her close to the natblida."
"Heda?"
"For a fleimkepa you are strangely dense at times", Aron sighs earning a splutter from Titus.
The young leader walks around the room and towards the table in the middle, with a map on top of it, showing the territory of all clans, and dozens of wooden figures of different color and shape.
"If we let her in and train her with the natblida as one of them, if we let her bond with them, she will be close to the next Heda. It will not matter if she becomes more powerful, as she will have no desire to kill them. She will serve them. A spirit ruled by Heda", he smiles as his fingers softly caress the red figure standing where Polis is drawn onto the map. But soon his smile falters and his voice grows hard. "But if we let her go, she might become our greatest threat, maybe even our doom." He flicks at the red figure, knocking it over.
"We could just kill her now and destroy that threat before it has a chance to arise."
"We could, and maybe even save our people with it", Aron nods in agreement as he grabs the small white figure from the table that is shaped like a crown. "Or we lose our greatest chance to defeat our enemies once and for all. Just imagine she is a spirit of the old and fights for us. We will finally crush Azgeda", as he utters the words, he clenches his fist around the crown, breaks it in half and throws the pieces back onto where the Ice Palace is marked on the map. "It is our destiny, Titus."
"What if you are wrong, Heda?", Titus inquires and worriedly gazes at the shards on the table. "What if she is just a girl?"
"Then we make her a legend", he says with a shrug and grabs a random Trikru warrior figure to work the wood with his knife. "Sometimes all people need is to believe. Make them see the spirit inside her and they will follow. Make her believe it herself. Either way, our people will cheer whenever she walks the street, and our enemies will tremble in fear." He throws the figure to Titus.
"And if she dies?"
"By then it would not matter. You cannot kill a legend."
Without another word, Aron leaves his throne room.
Titus sighs and looks first at the red figure lying on the map, symbolizing the Heda kom Trikru, and the broken crown of Azgeda's Queen, before his gaze moves down to the intact figure in his hands with the recently carved skull instead of a head.
"That is what I am afraid of."
.oOo.
Right after Clarke had the pleasure of meeting Heda Aron for the very first time, she is shown to her room. It's on the same floor as the natblida reside, Lexa tells her, whatever those are. And the older girl has the room right next to hers. Two young women come by with buckets full of water and fill the tub in her room, giving Clarke the chance to clean herself, which she gladly takes. They also bring her some clothes to wear; a shirt with long sleeves and old jeans, all in black. They're in better condition than anything she's ever worn on the Ark before.
While she thoroughly cleans herself, Anya deposits her and her father's belongings in her room. It's not much; the clothes her father has been wearing, drenched in his own blood, as well as a set of spare clothes for each of them and her mother, which they had stored in one of the backpacks.
The second backpack is filled with books, most of them are full of medical information her mother studied, tooth brushes and other every day utensils they might have needed on the ground. It tells Clarke that not only landing on earth was deliberately, but her mother planned to come along. Something went wrong, but it all happened too fast for her to understand or even notice.
The first item she takes from the bundle of stuff is her dad's old watch. It has a huge crack along the glass, but its hands still move gradually across the numbers. She puts it onto her right wrist. It's too big for her small arm, but she's confident she'll grow into it in time.
The next thing to catch her attention is the golden wedding band her dad wore on his finger. It has several marks on it, showing its age, as well as a faded engravement on the inside; always. It's identical to the ring her mom has. Her parents once told her that they had to look for a long time to find two matching rings, as it is not easy since they were not produced any more but rather handed down and traded. She turns it around a couple of times, before she decides to use a shoelace of her dad's shoes to transform the ring into a necklace and wears it. She holds it in her fist and closes her eyes for a moment, remembering the promise her father made her; it's all gonna be okay.
.oOo.
Present
Somehow her hand has moved on its own accord to her throat and now holds onto the ring that rests peacefully against her skin beneath the red cloth she always wears around her neck. She has been standing in this position for full two minutes now, dizzily staring up at the empty throne, waiting for Lexa to appear. She could clear her throat, call out for her, or do anything else to make her presence known, but instead she just stands in the middle of the tent like she doesn't belong, caught in her own world and once again asking herself, why Heda needs a throne in a war-camp. All of the sudden, the clothes she wears to protect herself from the cold and an enemies' blade seem heavier on her shoulders, and the dirt and blood sprayed across it and her skin feel like a burning fire.
"Skaigada", a surprised voice calls out.
So caught up in her thoughts, Clarke startles and spins around. Her hand swiftly moves away from the necklace and towards the hilt of the sword that is strapped to her back, but then she catches the sight of a young woman standing in the entrance to Lexa's private part of this tent. She's older than Clarke, but definitely younger than their Heda and looks so fragile in her thin robe that can't possibly be enough to protect her from the cold once she leaves this tent. Her long brown hair cascades smooth and unbraided down her shoulders and her amber eyes are blown wide with uncertainty as they stare at the blonde.
Clarke has never seen her before, but her robe bears the mark of a healer and instantly she worries that something has happened to Lexa on her travel and that's why Ryder was ordered to fetch her immediately.
"Is Heda alright?"
"Sha", the healer nods, the uncertainty never leaving her face. "She merely wished to discuss our setup in the camp."
"I see", Clarke responds, not fully convinced.
There is something about the woman that Clarke can't quite put her finger on. She doesn't seem like she wishes anybody harm, but the way she shifts from one foot to the other is an oddly nervous gesture and so uncommon in the middle of a war-camp.
But the healer merely averts her gaze and excuses herself to leave the tent before Clarke can dig deeper. "I wish you a restful night, Skaigada."
"I hate when they call me that", Clarke mumbles to herself once she's alone again.
Or at least, she thought, she'd be alone. Instead a new voice cuts through her thoughts from behind her once more.
"Titles can be very powerful, Clarke."
She'd recognize that voice anywhere. Even in a room full of drinking and laughing warriors, the sharp click of the k in her name that only she pronounces this way, would seem the loudest to her. But the words cause her to roll her eyes despite the joy she feels upon hearing her speak again after weeks of not having seen her.
"Sky Girl is hardly a title. It's a mock. A reminder that I'm different."
It's not just something Clarke says to spite her leader or feel sorry for herself. It's really used to mock her. Or it was, anyway. After she landed on earth and spent time with the Trikru, especially Anya called her that instead of her real name to remind her that she wasn't one of them, no matter how hard she tried. Somehow it twisted from Anya's personal way of mocking and irritating her into a title that has earned some sort of respect among their people. By now, Anya is the only one to call her that for the sake of mocking alone, though it has shifted towards being playful and endearing instead of hurtful. Not that the tough general would ever admit it to herself or anybody else.
"It started out that way", is the response as if Lexa has heard the gears shifting in her head. "But our people respect it. And you."
The young Heda moves into Clarke's vision and the blonde sees the tired state she's in. The braids of her long hair are slightly loosened, probably due to the hours of riding she has done today. The kohl on her face is still present but smeared by sweat. She has yet to discard her pauldron and even her sword still rests on her hip, hidden partly by the red sash. Her posture is still straight and high, but as someone who knows her, Clarke sees the slight crumble of her shoulders under the weight of her position and not having slept for more than a day. There's a loose smile on her face, though, that instantly warms Clarke's heart.
"I just wish they'd call me by my name. Or something else, at least."
"Then do something to earn a new title", Lexa says as if it's as easy as snapping your fingers. "But do not ask of them to use your name."
"Don't you like it?", the blonde asks with a smirk.
"You know I do", Lexa rolls her eyes. "But like I said, titles are power."
"Easy for you to say, Heda."
"I can see what you mean", the leader deadpans in her most serious tone, causing Clarke to chuckle.
To Lexa her titles have always been naturally, she was called Natblida all her life and then became Heda. Only few people called her by her given name when she was a child, and even fewer dare doing it now, even though everybody knows it. Clarke might be the only one to never use her title once they're alone, and even when not, she often refrains from using it if their surroundings and company don't necessarily demand it. To the blonde it simply feels wrong to call her by anything other than what she knows her to be; her closest friend since she crashed down on earth. And to Lexa it feels just as weird to hear Clarke word the title.
"But I am sure destiny will grant you a proper title in time."
"Oh, not again with this destiny crap", Clarke rolls her eyes and it's a testament to how close they are that Lexa doesn't even flinch at the swearing or the obvious defiance.
They've had this conversation often over the past couple of years and always brought forth the same arguments. Clarke doesn't care about destiny and fate, and only does what she thinks is right, whereat Lexa merely states that it doesn't change a thing about the spirits having chosen her for something greater. She truly believes it, it's why she saved her from the escape pod and stopped Anya from executing her on the spot. And the former Heda Aron thought the very same.
The Trikru and probably every other clan's religion is about spirits that surround them everywhere they go and shape the world around them, instead of just representing a living being's soul. They influence the behavior of humans and animals, they direct people towards a certain goal, and sometimes they even become part of someone. There are smaller spirits that surround everything, spirits that left their former shell and now roam the world. And there are the old spirits, possessing great power over death, life, love, and many other things. It is rare for most of them to choose a person to guide, but if they do, this person can become just as powerful. The spirit most important to the Trikru is that of Heda, which is part of them since Becca Pramheda lead the people after Praimfaya, as they call the nuclear catastrophe that ended the old world. Becca fell from the sky and was declared their savior. And now that Clarke came to them the very same way, people have spun the legendary tale of the spirits having sent her, too. She may have adopted the believe in spirits and their power, but not once she considered herself being chosen by one of the old spirits for something greater. It never mattered how much Clarke emphasized that she's just a girl from the Ark, so at one point she stopped all together. Now only few selected people know of her true origin. With Lexa though, this discussion never seems to come to an end.
"You cannot escape fate."
"Well, then maybe it's my fate to resent it so much", the blonde mutters. "Ever thought of that?"
"I did, actually", even though there is a small smirk on her face, Clarke knows that Lexa is serious. "All happens because it is supposed to happen."
The blonde only sighs and shakes her head. She's very much tired of having this discussion over and over again.
"Anyway, I guess you called me here for a different reason."
"Sha, and do not think I forgot that you are late and defied my command", Lexa says and her face visibly shifts from the close friend to the mask of Heda; lips pressed together, chin held high, and eyes slightly narrowed. "It is time to plan the beginning of the coalition. I am tired of losing men in senseless wars."
"I agree", Clarke murmurs, her thought however wanders to the pyre outside the village. "But it's the middle of the night and you've only just arrived."
"The sooner we plan on where to start-"
"Lexa", Clarke instantly interrupts her. "You look like shit. Take your mind off your duties for one night and get a proper sleep. I have no time for doing this now, anyway. I have pyres to return to."
Lexa shakes her heads slightly but doesn't even address the blatant disrespect Clarke just showed her Heda like she would with anyone else. And then she takes a closer look at the blonde, the blood and sweat she's covered in, the mess of her bright hair, a couple of shades darker now due to the dirt, and the blue eyes that are usually so mysterious and deep like an ocean, now empty and dull with red rims from lack of sleep and exhaustion.
"You need rest as well, Clarke. Let my warriors tend to the dead."
"I am one of your warriors", Clarke reminds her with raised brows. "And I was tasked to give our lost men the proper guidance. I will not simply discard that."
Lexa nods her understanding, she wouldn't force Clarke to ignore the dead, even though she could easily assign someone else to do it.
"How many have we lost?"
"Eight men last night", Clarke sighs. "Three the one before."
"They are getting more arrogant in their advance."
"They are, but we fight back. For each man we lost, wo took two Azkru."
"This is not a contest, Clarke", Lexa's nostrils flare dangerously. It shows just how much she despises the endless killing, even though she's pretty good at ordering and doing it herself.
"You don't have to tell me, I stand at the front every day", Clarke's response is calm, but it still sounds like a shout in the silence of the tent. "I saw each of them die."
The Heda hesitates in her answer, and then, instead of saying anything at all, simply sighs and her shoulders sag.
"You were right", she finally admits and unclasps the belt that ties the pauldron to her shoulder. She simply lets it fall to the ground in the pool of red sash before she moves to remove her sword as well. "I am tired."
"We will discuss our plans tomorrow. With the full council, when you are rested and look as demanding as ever."
The small joke creates a tiny smile on Lexa's lips and she nods her agreement. Calling it a win for the day, Clarke nods her goodbye and moves to leave the tent. But just as her hands touch the fabric of the entrance's cover, she remembers a question she wanted to ask the leader. She turns her head back around to see Lexa take off her long coat.
"Who was the woman?"
"What?", her eyes snap up, slightly widened, as if shocked by the question.
"The woman", Clarke repeats. "The healer that was here when I came in. Who was she, what did she want?"
"She elaborated the setup of the healer's camp to me."
It is the exact same reason that the woman told her, and Clarke may not know her enough to spot dishonesty in her words, but she knows Lexa. And she can tell when Lexa tells her a blatant lie.
"I see", she mumbles with narrowed eyes. "Reshop, Lexa."
Without waiting for a response and trying not to think about the reason she would keep the truth about the woman's visit a secret, Clarke walks out of the tent and into the night.
.oOo.
It can't be many hours after going to sleep when a loud horn wakes her up again and Anya sits in front of her, staring at her with a weird mixture of concern and disappointment. She would be seriously creeped out by having Anya's narrow eyes surrounded with the deep black of kohl and completed with a grim expression to be the first thing to see after opening her eyes, if she'd not be so used to it.
"Anya", she greets her, her own voice even raspier than usual from the sleep.
"How long have you been up?", as usual, the general cuts right to the chase.
"Long after midnight. Why?"
"You did not even wipe your face. You look and reek like you died yourself."
Clarke looks down at herself and can't help but groan. Anya's right, she didn't even undress herself but still wears her mud and blood stained, sweaty clothes. After Clarke lit the other two pyres and stayed to watch the remaining five dead warriors burn to nothing but ashes, she walked over to her own tent and headed straight for the empty bedroll inside. She barely managed to drop her sword right next to her before she collapsed and fell asleep.
"Shit."
"Shit indeed", Anya agrees. "Clean yourself up, Heda awaits us for the council."
"Can you stall her?"
"No, I will not stall her", Anya responds in a firm voice as she raises to her feet, but there is a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Get up and come to her tent. You have fifteen minutes before I tell her you are as incompetent as ever."
Clarke groans again as Anya leaves their shared tent and slowly sits up. The first thing she notices is a fresh set of her own clothes, neatly stacked right next to a bucket of water and a set of towels. Things like this remind Clarke that Anya does care. As seken it would be her job to set up fresh clothes and cleaning utensils for Anya, after all. Not the other way around.
She begins with opening her braids and combs through the mess of her hair, removing most of the thicker dirt clumps, before she braids it out of her face again. She tends to do a couple of smaller braids that join the unbraided hair on her back instead of braiding it all. As long as it doesn't fall into her face, it's practical enough. Then she undresses herself and carefully lies the dirty and sweaty clothes down on the ground between the two bedrolls so that they can dry. She scrubs herself clean, or as clean as possible with a single bucket of icy water, and dresses herself in the prepared clothes. The only thing that she puts back on from the day before are her heavy boots, the red cloth she uses as scarf, her father's wedding band and watch, and the sword that's always strapped to her back. Last but not least she digs into her own bags until she finds the box of kohl and applies it to her face; a thick stripe from ear to ear that crosses her eyes and nose.
Considering herself finished with cleaning and dressing, she leaves the tent to find that the camp is already buzzing with action. Warriors hurry around as they claim their posts, from somewhere farther away she can hear the sounds of a training ground, and the close village is filled with the laughter of children. It's a strangely beautiful sound in the middle of death and agony.
Not giving it any second thoughts, Clarke strides through the camp, greeting passing warriors, and walks towards the tallest among them all, with the banners flapping in the wind. Ryder is still standing guard, though he looks like he'd fall asleep any second. Something Clarke can't blame him, he traveled all night and since he arrived he did nothing but guard his Heda, but she also knows that he's too proud to accept anyone else taking over what is his duty.
"Late again. Such a surprise", he greets her, his voice is even gruffer than yesterday due to the lack of sleep.
"I would not want to change my habits, or you might die of shock."
For some reason Clarke doesn't really know, the banter between her and the tall guard has always been their natural way of speaking since the very moment they met. It's a weird way of comfort, she knows that all is good as long as they continue like this. Only when things are bad, they talk to each other seriously. Still, she can't help but voice her concern for his state.
"Get some rest, Ryder. There are half a dozen very capable warriors in that tent to protect Heda."
She doesn't wait for a response and instead simply steps inside. All conversation that had been held before her arrival comes to an abrupt stop and eight sets of eyes focus on her. They surround a large table that hasn't been here last night. On the other side, to her exact opposite, stands Lexa herself. Her hair properly braided and her kohl reapplied to her usual warpaint; a thick stripe from ear to ear like her own, but with streaks running down looking like trails of tears. The bronze gear, symbol of Heda, is pinned between her eyebrows and she's clothed in her full warrior garments again with her sash hanging from her shoulder.
To her left Gustus towers above them all. He has the sides of his head shaved clean, but the rest of his hair and beard is as long as Ryder's and the sides of his face are covered in ink, too. He is the second man of Lexa's closest guard and the one with fewer sarcasm, but he is kind at heart and would die for his Heda to ensure her safety. Clarke remembers the day she first met him clearly, it was long before Lexa ascended and when he was only a guard in Tondisi. She had just awoken from a nightmare after falling asleep on a horse, embraced by Lexa. She fell off and, dizzy from the monsters in her sleep, hurriedly crawled away, straight into the giant frame of Gustus. He muttered an insult she didn't understand and stared down at her as if he'd squish her with his giant palms, until his eyes found Lexa running to them. Suddenly, his whole face lit up and he chuckled fondly. Lexa later explained that Gustus often used to train her when she was younger and that is why he has always been so kind to her. And it's also why she chose him as her guard once she became Heda.
To Lexa's right Indra, the chief of Tondisi, straightens her back, her dark lips pursed as she looks down at Clarke despite the fact that they're almost the same height. Her icy stare is emphasized by the scars littering her face. Anya has her arms crossed as she smirks at the blonde from where she's positioned to Indra's right.
Next to Gustus stand Tristan and Quint, both smaller than the guard, but still taller than every woman in the room. They're both bald, and the second has a beard as well as a tribal tattoo along his right cheek and a scar below his left eye. They are, together with Anya, the generals in Lexa's army, though Clarke has much less sympathy for them. The last two people in the room are the seken of Tristan and Quint. They're both younger than Clarke and have taken cover behind their fos as they quietly listen into the conversation.
"I apologize for my delay, Heda", Clarke says with a firm voice and a slight bow, showing her the kind of respect that is appropriate for this council.
Tristan looks like he's about to say something spiteful, but Lexa interrupts him before he's even able to open his mouth.
"Join us", she gestures towards Anya and Clarke takes her place.
Other than Quint and Tristan's seken, Clarke never waits behind her fos for the grown-ups to be done talking, instead she stands to her right and is included into the discussion, something that always bugged the other generals. It makes it seem like a seken has the same power as a general, which actually might not be that far from the truth. Even though Clarke doesn't have the same pull over the army that they have, everyone knows that she has been a friend to Lexa for years. That alone lets people do as she says. It's like Lexa said; a title is power.
"Well, now that everybody is present, let us begin", Lexa's voice resonates in the tent. "We gathered here because of my plans of bringing the twelve clans together in a coalition that has never existed before. I will not lie to you, this will not be easy. This will not be peaceful. Many clans will force our hands in order to see reason. But there is reason. We are stronger together and the constant fighting causes nothing but pain amongst each of us, when we have a bigger enemy threatening all of us."
She doesn't need to speak out their name, everyone in the room knows the greater enemy is Maunde where every year dozens of Trikru and members of the other clans die or vanish. Some of them return, but unrecognizable and full of hatred for every former friend. They become monsters, reapers, killing everyone in their path.
"I am not trying to convince you of this, because you would not be here if you disagree with me. I am here because it is time to begin, but we need to plan out where."
Everyone's gaze drops down to the table in their midst. It is basically a map of every part of the world known to the clans, which are the central and eastern states of the former United States of America as well as south Canada, as Clarke knows. She recalled the rough forms and relations of water and land when she looked at this kind of maps for the first time from school back on the Ark.
The Trikru are to the east, their whole territory is covered by forests, apart from the giant glade where Polis lies. To the north it borders on Sangedakru, which is nothing but desert and a few villages near oases. It blends into the Dead Zone so subtly that it's impossible to say how grand their territory really is. Northwest lies Azgeda, which is greater than any other clan, though most of it isn't properly habitable due to the perennial winter, which is why its villages lie relatively close to the borders, except for the Ice Palace. In the west Trikru borders on Boudalan and Ouskejon Kru, both are rather thin but therefor long territories that are filled with mountains and cliffs. The only clans south of Trikru are Louwada Kliron, a relatively small territory that is technically a large valley, and Yujleda, mostly known for their farming and livestock. The only thing east of Trikru is the sea and somewhere in there the relatively new Floukru, but nobody knows anything about them, except that they do not fight with the other clans at all. To the east of Azgeda lie Podakru, mostly made of lakes, Delfikru, and Ingranronakru. The latter two are mainly vast fields. The last clan Trishanakru lies in the far southwest corner and is known for forests and animals that glow at night, which make it the brightest landscape by far.
"I have already sent pigeons to Yujleda, Podakru, and Ingranronakru, alerting them that I will visit them soon and try to deepen our alliance. They do not know the extent of my plans, but I expect their readiness to accept. They have been fighting by our side for years and never worded anything that might let us think their hidden desire to kill us."
"And what if they do not agree to a coalition?", Indra asks with a tilt of her head. "It is one thing to ally with us, it is a different to join a coalition with you as leader."
"War with our friends shall be our last resort. But if it comes to it, it is a valid option."
The way she says those words, so nonchalant, so uncaring about slaughtering friends sends a shiver down Clarke's spine. Even though she knows that Lexa wouldn't particularly like going to war with those clans, she also knows that Lexa wouldn't hesitate. She became Heda for a reason, after all, and it's not for shying away from bloodshed. You do not have to like something to be good at it.
"The toughest clans to convince are Azgeda and their allies; Delfikru and Trishanakru. They will not budge without resistance. But I am certain that even they will see reason in time."
"That will not be a problem. Killing Azkru comes naturally to us", Quint shrugs and Lexa throws him a glare that doesn't just shut him up, but also everybody else who even thought about saying something similar.
"And exactly that is the problem, Quint. They think the same of us. This war has been going on for decades and no one even remembers why it started. We just continue doing it, because it comes naturally to us."
The general drops his head in submission and suddenly looks more like his young seken that stands silently behind him than a great warrior, known for winning many fights and commanding hundreds of others. Clarke can't hide her smirk at the sight and promptly earns a subtle shove from Anya who noticed the reaction, telling her to cut it out.
"We have established trade routes with Boudalan, and even though they are not our allies per se, I consider them friends. Since they suffer because of Maunde just as much as we do, I do not doubt they will join us peacefully. Ouskejon Kru and Louwada Kliron are harder to predict, as the past has shown that they keep to themselves, we have to expect some kind of resistance from them. Last but not least, Sangedakru hates everyone equally and therefor never allied with anyone before. They could afford it, because nobody wanted a field of sand with nothing else in it, anyway, so they were never threatened. Despite them being right next to our border, we have never fought against them, which makes it impossible to say if they will join us or try and defend their territory."
A couple of nods are shared when Lexa is done talking, but it seems that only Clarke notices one clan still missing from the list.
"What about Floukru?"
"They will be the first to bear our mark", Lexa says without waver.
"You are certain of that? Nobody knows anything about them. Suddenly they were just there, trading with us, but not fighting with anyone."
"I am. I know their leader."
That tiny bit of information surprises not just Clarke. It surprises every single person in the tent, but Lexa doesn't elaborate, and nobody asks further question. They merely accept that the first clan to join their coalition will be the one nobody knows. But maybe that isn't that much of a bad thing, because the clan is mysterious to everyone and the Trikru will be the one to have persuaded them.
"Good enough for me", Clarke says with a shrug but will drill out more information about them from Lexa as soon as they're alone all the same. "So, we will travel to Floukru first."
"Sha", Lexa nods and produces four wooden figures from one of her pockets, each of them has a different symbol carved into the head. They stand for herself and the three generals and she moves them around the map as she speaks. "I will move with Anya and her army to Floukru. Simultaneously Tristan will travel to Sangedakru and offer them our proposition - peacefully. If they join us right now, we have the first uncertainty off the table. Quint, you will stay here, close to the Azgeda border and secure it."
"What?", he asks in disbelief. "I will not cower away from the chance of war."
"We will not leave Polis undefended. As soon as word travels that our armies are on the move all around the clans, Azgeda will leap at the chance to defeat us once and for all. Believe me, you will have plenty to fight."
"Sha, apologies, Heda."
"After Floukru and Sangedakru are dealt with, we will join our forces and travel south. Vujleda will come first, and I expect them to be the easiest to persuade from all our allies. Then we will go north through Louwada Kliron and Ouskejon Kru. For the first time, war is a real possibility, but by then we will have three clans allied with us, and the more we are, the easier the others will be convinced without spilling much blood. Boudalan will be sent a pigeon after we are done in Louwada Kliro. They will be proposed to join the coalition and if they agree, we can encircle Ouskejon Kru and take their mark afterwards. Then, we will split. I will travel with a small delegation first to Ingranronakru, while a second visits Podakru and Tristan leads his army and warriors of the other clans to Boudalan's borders, showing our coalition from the start that we protect each other. If Ingranronakru and Podakru join peacefully, we will advance on Azega's allies. If not, we will lead the fight to them first. Then, only the Azgeda Alliance is left, with their clans being split from each other and surrounded by armies they cannot match."
"This will take a long time. And a lot of blood", Anya says.
"I am aware. But if we succeed, it will be worth it. We will act like one clan, under one rule, with one army. That also means, I cannot act as leader of Trikru and the Coalition simultaneously, or the other clans will feel treated unjustly, and with reason. Instead, Trikru will be formerly led by Indra from then on."
Already there are some protests ready to be worded by the more traditional Quint and Tristan. The Trikru have always been led by a natblida. Giving it into the hands of red blood that isn't even a fleimkepa is nothing short of blasphemy. But Lexa continues without giving them the chance to speak, knowing full well that they'll object.
"Since the Coalition will be led by the blood, the Trikru stay in my hands either way. Every other clan will keep their leader, too, if they do not die trying to defend their honor that is. Think of the Coalition as a clan and the other clans as villages and compare it to how we function now; the clans will rule over their territory, but I will command them. Each leader will bear the mark of the coalition, binding themselves to it and the blood, and appoint an ambassador that will travel to Polis immediately to discuss the clan's needs with me or whoever represents me in my absence. The same goes for you, of course."
"Sha, Heda", Indra nods dutifully. "I already have a candidate in mind."
Even though Clarke has clashed with the chief more than one occasion, she doesn't doubt that the strong warrior will be a great leader for them. After all, she has been a very successful general two Heda prior and took Anya as her seken, before she became chief of Tondisi, the biggest village after their capitol Polis.
"Why do we not just conquer them?", Quint asks after a moment of shared silence.
"This is not about ruling the world, Quint", Lexa explains, her voice isn't as reprimanding as before, she must have expected this question to come sooner or later and studied her answer. "This is about achieving peace. And that is easier if we let the clans keep their traditions instead of forcing ours onto them."
"And if we fail?", Tristan asks.
"If the coalition fails, then Trikru will be no more."
Clarke closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She has long known what chances they will be up against, but it is still hard to hear them voiced. Lexa's right, if this doesn't work out, if any of the clans decide to fight back so hard that their army is defeated or if a clan they are certain to join will side against them, Trikru will be unprotected and destroyed by Azgeda and its allies. It's simple; failure is not an option. And running away isn't either.
She made a promise, after all.
.oOo.
Year 2144
"You wished to speak with me, Heda?", Clarke says upon having entered the throne room and kneels in front of the leader.
"Sha", Aron responds with a curt nod. His voice is low, it has been for the last few days, as if speaking causes him pain. "Your Trigedasleng has improved greatly."
"Mochof. Lexa teaches me every day", she still has a slight accent to get rid of, but otherwise her words are clear. In a year no one will believe she came from anywhere but Polis when she speaks.
"Lexa, huh?", he mumbles as he rises from his throne and walks down the steps until he stands in front of the still kneeling Clarke. "Walk with me:"
Clarke does as she is told and raises back to her feet to follow the Heda out on the balcony. In the natural light, she notices the change in his skin; it's paler than usual, the caramel changed into a color that almost resembles her own, which is only that bright because she hasn't been exposed to the sun for the first eleven years of her life any more than the generations before her. He's sick, Clarke realizes.
"It is beautiful, right?", Aron inquires and pulls her out of her thoughts.
She turns her head and gazes across the city that lies to her feet and the woods that stretch beyond for miles and miles.
"I have never seen it from so far up."
"Is it worth protecting?"
"Of course", Clarke says as a matter of fact. "I mean, that is what you do. That is what every warrior does, is it not?"
"I mean, is it worth protecting to you?"
Clarke thinks for a few seconds about the question and stares down into the streets where people stroll across Polis' markets. She has been with the Trikru for more than a year now, she found friends, she learned their ways, she lived her life in a way she never could before. And even though she still is considered a child in the eyes of the Ark, she used the time to grow up.
"Sha, it is my home and they are my people", she finally settles on. "If they need me to fight for them, I will." She might not be a great warrior yet, but she will give everything she has for the people that cared for her and gave her a home.
Aron is visibly pleased by this answer. A warm smile spreads on his face and he lays a hand on Clarke's shoulder, pulling her closer until she rests in his side. Such a warm gesture from Heda is rare and reserved for the natblida only, but Clarke has always been an exception to all these rules. In a way, she became one of them, she is only separated from them because of the color of her blood and the fact that Clarke will never fight the conclave.
"But you did not call for me to show me Polis, did you?", Clarke asks.
"No", Aron sighs and takes his hand off Clarke again. "The truth is, I will not be here for any longer."
"What do you mean?"
Is he talking about his illness? Is it that bad, something deadly the healers can't figure out how to treat?
"I am no fool. I have enemies who seek my death and I know it is close."
"You are Heda", Clarke says with confusion. Surely he is well enough protected from any harm their enemies could cause him. "Who could reach you here?"
"A spy or a traitor. A man with a grudge. Someone I foolishly trust", he reaches into his jacket and produces a sword. "Did you ever ask yourself why I granted you shelter?"
"Sometimes I wondered, but mostly I was just grateful", Clarke shrugs. She doesn't tell him of the conversation she once had with Lexa, when she explained to her why they think she might be so important. And when she landed on the ground, she didn't care about the why very much either way. She was just thankful that she wasn't instantly killed like Anya originally planned to do.
"You are special, Clarke. The spirits sent you to us to fulfill a great destiny."
"I am not special", Clarke whispers the words that she spoke so often already and will hear herself voice even more in the future. "I am just a girl."
"You are", Aron insists, turns around and stares into Clarke's eyes. For the first time since meeting him, she feels uncomfortable under his gaze. "You have learned everything my natblida have learned. When I am dead and the next conclave is called, only one of them will survive to reign." He raises a single finger. "One natblida. And you."
"Me?"
"You did say, Trikru is worth protecting?"
"Sha."
"Protecting Heda is protecting Trikru", he declares and reaches out to Clarke, the sword in his hand. Slowly, the girl takes it from him and stares at it. The hilt is wrapped into red leather, the same shade as Heda's sash, with a carved wooden pommel, shaped like a human skull. She pulls the blade out of the sheath. It's made of two different shades of steel that form a beautiful pattern from crossguard to tip. In its middle an inscription is carved into the steel; Klark kom Trikru. Those three words cast a smile on her face, for it shows that Aron has truly accepted her as one of them. "I ask of you to do that. When I am dead, stand by the next Heda, give advice and your sword. Come peace and war."
"Why me?", Clarke slowly mumbles, looking up from the blade again.
"You are special, Clarke", the heda repeats his former words to emphasize them once more. "You are guided by the spirits, you only need to find out what to do of it."
Clarke slowly nods and clutches the weapon to her body. She's still taken aback by the regards the Trikru seem to hold her in, as if she's some kind of savior to them, like Pramheda was. She highly doubts it, but if it's a promise she has to make to a dying man, she might as well do her best to keep it. While Aron returns to stare at the city, she takes it as her permission to leave, and retreats into the throne room. Just when her hand touches the door handle, Aron calls out for her again.
"One last thing; when I am gone, do not trust anyone but natblida", he pauses, before he continues in a quieter but even more serious tone. "The most dangerous people are always closest to you."
A mere week later, the fire on Polis' tower has been extinguished as Heda Aron is dead.
to be continued…
A/N On my FaceBook page is an explanation as to why it took me so fucking long to update this piece, if you're interested in knowing!
There I also keep you up to date about where I stand with my writing, answer any questions that might come up and am always up for some pleasant discussion about anything, too. You can find the link on my profile! This way it doesn't seem as if I don't write (or care) - because I do.