In which Clarke and Lexa go clothes shopping...oh and some other stuff happens too.
Five minutes later a trunk was being wheeled down the long grey corridor to just outside of the harvesting chamber. Lexa prepared herself for what might lay within. A guard, Lovejoy, opened it for her while five others stood watch around her, shocking clubs at the ready should she attempt anything untoward. Emerson was somewhere else with her two would be killers, no doubt punishing them for their blunder.
Inside was an assortment of clothing...colourful, unusual clothing. There was a silver butterfly on the back of one of the shirts that was sparkling.
"Take your pick," said Lovejoy.
Lexa viewed the garments in confusion and disgust. Clarke was attempting not to grin.
"The President wishes to speak with you. He insisted on you being properly clothed."
She refused to be humiliated even more than she already was.
"Then bring me my own clothing," she stated authoritatively in her white undergarments.
"You can't wear your clothing in here," he replied, as if she were a slow child. "It's contaminated."
"I refuse to wear any of these garments."
Especially that salmon coloured thing with feathers sticking out of it.
"That's called a sweater, Lexa," said Clarke in slight amusement. "And those aren't feathers, they're just some synthetic fabric."
Lovejoy got a bit petulant. "Look here, sunshine, either pick something out yourself or we'll pick something for you. Makes no difference to me." His grip tightened on his club. "One way or another you will get dressed."
As her posture stiffened, Clarke placed a hand on her forearm. "Please just get dressed, Lexa. This is one power play you aren't going to outmanoeuvre. And there's no sense in getting needlessly hurt."
Grumbling, Lexa assented to her annoying companions plea.
"Thank you, Lexa," she said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, the most recent in a series of them after her near death experience. Clarke eyed the clothing. "Not all of it's terrible. I might actually be able to put together something that looks half way decent. Let's see here," she said, trailing her fingers along the row of shirts. She stopped at a high collared, long sleeved green one. "I think this one would look good on you. It matches your eyes."
Lexa reached for it, not particularly caring at this point what Clarke chose for her to wear. At the very least, it looked like it would provide some warmth against this constant chill that pervaded the mountain.
The front had what Clarke referred to as buttons, and she fumbled with doing up the unfamiliar fastening, which garnered a snicker from one of the guards. Before Lexa could gut him, Clarke asked to take over and Lexa let her do up the buttons. Then, because it was easier, she let Clarke stay in her body as she surveyed the various pants, quickly darting a hand out for a light brown pair. With those zipped up, all that remained was the footwear. Even though there were only three pairs of boots to choose from, Clarke apparently couldn't make up her mind. She was taking too long to decide and Lovejoy lost his patience. He grabbed the ugly mauve ones and thrust them into her hands.
Clarke put them on, not liking the mismatched outfit, but afraid to object and get Lexa shocked again. She left Lexa's skin and made a face at the result of her efforts.
Lexa looked at herself in the mirror. The shirt was too baggy in the torso and puffed out at indiscriminate spots. The pants were too tight and were simultaneously stinging her sore flesh and making her feel like she wouldn't be able to move at all – a high kick was out of the question. The boots were the only part of her outfit that fit properly and therefore Lexa liked them the best.
Now that this tiresome process was completed, the trunk was promptly closed, and the guards began leading her down the corridor and around a bend. A short distance away resided a larger metal cage than the one she had been imprisoned in. She eyed it warily as one of them swiped a piece of white material against a rectangular device that lit green, and herded her in.
"It's called an elevator," said Clarke, right beside her. "Nothing to be concerned about."
Lovejoy pressed a button that said 7 and the elevator jerked once before ascending five levels. While they rose, Clarke squeezed her hand. "Whatever happens next, I'm here for you."
Lexa squeezed back and a few seconds later, the doors parted and a guard was pushing her out. They walked past many doors with small square viewing portals. The alcoves were all darkened and she couldn't get a very good look inside of any of them. But one in particular caught her interest. Flashing lights came from within and she momentarily glimpsed an image of her own camp on a large screen. The image was recent and she understood it to be taken not too long before she left camp and ended up here. She wondered how her scouts failed to notice a spy amongst their midst.
"They probably have telescopic lenses," said Clarke, looking where she was looking and surmising her train of thought. "They wouldn't have had to get anywhere near your camp to take that photograph."
When they arrived outside of a dimly lit glass enclosure, Emerson came over and addressed her.
"If you so much as look at him the wrong way, I will take you down."
Lexa said nothing and her expression conveyed nothing either. Emerson glowered at her before pushing open the door with the unfamiliar bird etched in.
"Bald Eagle," said Clarke. "Used to be the symbol of America."
He followed directly behind her, everyone else remained just outside in full view of the goings on within.
The man in question stood with his back facing her, hands clasped. Just from those wrinkled fingers, she could tell he was an elder. The white hair made it even more obvious. Surviving to his advanced age might have impressed her slightly if the circumstances had been vastly different.
"That will be all," said the man. His voice had a curious quality to it that she wasn't sure how to describe. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, just different.
"But sir," said Emerson aghast, eyeing the various swords on display, "she might try to kill you."
"If she does, she's not the person I believe her to be, and I deserve to die." Clarke and Lexa shared a look. "Once a leader loses their edge, it's time for new meat." He turned to face Lexa, eyes flickering over her outfit for the briefest of instances before returning to meet hers. He smiled slightly. "Wouldn't you agree, commander?"
Lexa just looked at him, which seemed to make him smile more. He held out a hand, splotches of colour here and there.
"Paint," said Clarke. She looked to the multitude of paintbrushes on the edge of his desk. Off to the side was an easel, canvas half finished, depicting a lush landscape. Lexa had enjoyed watching Clarke create similar images in her cell. She felt none of that admiration here. "He's an artist."
"Dante Wallace," said the old man in the old suit.
She didn't take his hand. Her eyes never truly left his.
Dante's smile remained as he retracted it. He gestured to the striped pink and purple chair beside her. Yet another ridiculous possession of the Maunon. She would have never imagined one of her most hated foes to be so preposterous. Her contempt grew further.
"Sofa," muttered Clarke. "Looks kind of comfy."
"Please, have a seat."
When she deigned to accept his offer, he put his hands behind his back and likewise continued to stand. Lexa understood the importance of maintaining height dominance over everyone in the room. If he sat down and she didn't then he would lose some of his power.
They stood there sizing each other up for many moments, waiting for the other to break the silence. Lexa would only speak to this man if absolutely necessary. So far there was no cause for speech.
A clock on the wall behind him began to chime indicating it was midnight. Its brass pendulum swung back and forth and might have distracted her if she wasn't so focused on the President.
After the clanging came to an end he said, "I knew you were young, but I didn't realize just how young. You can't be more than twenty, if that." She neither confirmed nor denied this. "I didn't take up my father's mantle until I was almost twice that age, and I still felt unprepared for the burdens of leadership. I can only imagine how you must have coped in your first years as commander."
"He's trying to find common ground," Clarke said needlessly, absentmindedly poking a finger at the paintbrushes.
"Being a leader is no easy task. It requires constant vigilance, and when that fails, the ability to sacrifice, two qualities that you seem to have always possessed. We as leaders are forced to make choices everyday, choices that are not always savoury to us, but necessary all the same. You understand the necessity of compromising for the greater good. Otherwise you would never have attempted to continue trying to make an alliance with those that hurt you."
He gave her a compassionate smile. Lexa bristled at the mention of Costia, a barely covered wound threatening to rip apart all over again. If not for Clarke's calming presence she may even have lashed out at him with the sword on display, bringing an abrupt end to him, as well as herself.
"During my reign I've attempted to maintain the status quo between your people and mine, doing my best not to intrude more than was necessary. I've watched you from afar these past four years, commander, and I quickly came to realize that you were different than the others. At least, in the beginning."
He took something out of the folder on his desk and handed it to her. Lexa didn't take it, so Dante flipped it over in front of her.
"Lexa, just look," said Clarke. "I want to see."
She glanced down briefly to find a photograph of herself playing 'war' with some children. She remembered the autumn day, nearly three years ago, when she was just seventeen and still figuring out what kind of leader she wanted to be. That was one of the last times she had been truly happy, before her grand idea of uniting the clans came to fruition. From then on it had been battle after battle and more death than she had ever wanted to be responsible for. Only the knowledge that their spirits would be born anew helped to quench her guilt.
"I never expected we would meet, or have the opportunity to talk alone like this, leader to leader."
Clarke snorted slightly at that.
"Now that chance has thrown you into my midst, I believe it would be irresponsible not to try to come to terms."
Indifferently Lexa said, "If you believe I will ever make a deal with the man who turns our men into monsters, who then uses the monstrosities to abduct my people for further horrors, you are sadly mistaken."
"I've had to sacrifice my morals for my people, it's true," he said quietly, glancing away. "I've had to sanction things I never would have believed myself capable of allowing. The reapers were a necessary evil, as were the abductions."
"In what possible world does that make sense!" yelled Clarke. "You're despicable!"
In barely suppressed rage, "You drain the blood from my people's bones until they are no more and then dispose of them like refuse." She pounded his desk, rattling the paintbrushes in their jars. "As nothing more than fodder for your monsters!"
Dante gave her a pained look as several guards burst into the office, ready to intervene. The President waved them off.
"I understand your anger and outrage. I would be outraged myself if our positions were reversed. We do what we must to survive." He hesitated a moment, licking his weathered lips. "The truth is, we need your blood for this purpose. Our immune systems have grown weak over the decades, an unfortunate byproduct of a closed off gene pool...and an unfortunate incident."
"So rather than ask for help, you guys decided to start grabbing innocent people to drain dry. Really brilliant idea there," said Clarke scathingly.
"Could you not have approached us in the beginning and asked for our assistance?" said Lexa, knowing the answer even as she said this. The Trikru would have never helped those that were too weak to survive on their own.
Dante bowed his head. "Fifty-five years ago my father opened the door thinking it was safe. He had seen one of your people. They killed our envoy before two words were spoken."
Lexa wasn't surprised. They were trained from an early age to be wary of all outsiders.
"Within a week, over fifty of our people had perished from radiation exposure, including my mother and sister."
If he was expecting compassion or pity from her, he would be waiting for eternity.
"More followed in the weeks to come. Desperate for a solution, we abducted one of your people, to try and see what made them different from us. They tested your blood and found the white blood count to be much higher than our own. Our researcher at the time suggested a transfusion. They thought perhaps our immune systems would be boosted. They were right. The ailing recipient rebounded and survived the radiation exposure." He paused before adding, "I was seven."
Clarke tried to catch her eye but she ignored her. "Once you had your cure, you continued to drain us."
Dante trailed a hand along his desk. "Unfortunately, the transfusions effects were only temporary and many began to show the symptoms of their exposure again. You have to understand, our numbers had never been very high to begin with, and they had plummeted after the doors were opened. We had no choice but to continue taking your people."
"You had a choice," said Lexa sternly. "You should have suffered the consequences of your actions and perished. You should have allowed mother nature to run her course."
Dante eyed her thoughtfully before smiling. "Ah, so that is why your people toss out the afflicted. I thought so."
Lexa stiffened at that, feeling uncomfortably aware of Clarke's puzzled gaze on her.
"What's he talking about, Lexa?"
She clenched her jaw. "Do not speak of things you do not understand."
"Then explain it to me," he said pleasantly. "Why do mothers get rid of their newborn babies? Why do they leave them out in the forest to die?"
Lexa could feel the shock and disgust rolling off of Clarke in waves. She balled her hands into fists.
"Mutated individuals would have tainted the bloodlines," suggested Dante. "Your people understand the importance of keeping them clean, to ensure the survival and health of future generations." He levelled her with an ingratiating smile that she loathed. "So you see, commander, you and I are not all that different. We both allow sacrifice and things that make our stomachs turn. For the greater good."
Lexa's eyes flashed dangerously. "And what was the greater good in obliterating one of our encampments thirty-three years ago?"
His smile disappeared and a humourless one of her own appeared.
"Your people were massing, much as they are now. My father thought it prudent to dissuade your warriors from attacking us."
"We both know they couldn't have harmed you. Not while you were safe behind these walls. You killed hundreds of us needlessly. Are you preparing to do the same? Will you fire upon my warriors because you are afraid of answering for all of your sins?"
Dante sighed, rubbing at his temple. "I didn't agree with his decision then, and I still don't believe the missiles should be used except as a last resort. Will you hammer away at the mountain until you find a way in? Will you give me no choice but to use them again?"
"You have caused untold suffering of thousands of my people. I cannot let that stand." Her face hardened into stone as she solemnly intoned the war cry of her people. "Blood must have blood."
Dante looked at her gravely, his advanced age etched in every line of his face. "If I gave you back all of your people right now, would you agree to come to terms without further bloodshed?"
Lexa hadn't been expecting that and was momentarily shocked into silence. The idea of rescuing Anya was certainly an enticing one, even if she was a stubborn lummox intent on outing Clarke.
"How can you do such a thing without ensuring your own demise?" she asked suspiciously.
"We would require weekly blood donations from your people." She was about to interject but he raised a hand to silence her, something that she wasn't accustomed to and which made her angry. "We would set up a station outside of the mountain and your warriors would give us what we needed that way. No more reapers. No more abductions. No more cages."
"So you will continue to bleed my people and suffer none of the consequences," scoffed Lexa.
"We're doomed to a dismal life within these concrete walls. Isn't that punishment enough?"
"Maybe," piped up Clarke. Despite being connected on an intimate level, Lexa had almost forgotten she was there, so focused on her enemy had she been. "Until a month ago, I never thought I'd see the ground or leave the confines of these walls. Imagine never getting to feel the sun on your face or breathing in fresh air. My people may get to do just that one day, theirs never will. They'll continue to degrade until they all die out. I'm not saying their fate erases every terrible thing they've done to survive, but it is food for thought."
For many minutes she deliberated over her next move. When she was sure of her choice, she looked Dante in the eye. "I will agree to your terms on one condition."
"Name it."
Clarke stared at her as she said, "When the Sky People come down, you will leave them alone...or you will all die."
Lexa dressing up kind of reminded me of Helena from OB this season. Am I right? Or am I right?
So ADC has been officially confirmed for next season! And Lexa's going to play a bigger role!
Lol, I just realized that 'Paint, he's an artist' is kind of an unintentional joke. #AfterEverAfter