A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm done XD I have finished my exam - it went well - and I have a week and a half of rest before heading back for the main year. I'll miss the course - but not the workload. I also got accepted into one of those workshops I told you about, so I'm extremely happy at present.
I hope you enjoy the chapter and that its quality is up to par. Let me know what you think in a review or PM if you can spare a moment :-)
A shout-out to my friend cbptheatre, who brought to my attention the fact that the character I've made to be Bellamy's girlfriend actually does have a canon name and background now - Echo from the Ice Nation. I have corrected the oversight (I had called her Liouna in a previous chapter), and I will be sure to explore her rather precarious position in this story, but that will come later on.
On we go :-)
Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence. Read ahead at your own discretion.
Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended.
Clarke POV
Lexa and I spend the next two days together despite my constant assurances of "Ai ste os, Leksa, yu na gon we taim yu gaf in." I'm fine, Lexa, you can go if you need to. Her refusal to leave me seems inconsistent with her past behaviour, but I'm not about to complain; she has been very good company, even if I am a little confused as to why she's not carrying out her regular duties when it's clear that I'm going to be okay.
As I recover from the attack and Lexa cares for me, visitors stop by to ascertain my well-being, and later, to update us both on the war council discussions and take orders from the pair of us. If any of them are surprised by the clear intimacy of the relationship between their two Commanders, they do not show it. In fact, for the most part, the familiarity between us is accepted without comment.
When Raven and Octavia stop by, however, the majority of their visit consists of them teasing me shamelessly in front of Lexa (although, it's all insinuation and innuendo, and none of it directly mentioning Lexa's name - the two of them are brash, but they aren't stupid). Watching amusedly as they attempt to get a rise out of me, my counterpart stays mum for their entire stay.
When they leave, cackling away like the witches they are, I can't help but turn my head and glare at Lexa, who is sitting behind me on my bed and has returned to braiding my hair. It's one thing that I've noticed she won't do when we have company.
"No threats of imminent death for disrespecting the Heda?" I reproach her teasingly.
Lexa's mouth twists into smirk, and mischievous green eyes flicker up to meet my gaze. "You are just as capable of telling them off, Clarke," she points out wryly.
"Only when they really deserve it, I think, after what we've been through together," I tell her quietly. She accepts this with a nod and her expression turns pensive.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask curiously.
"The future," she replies. My brow furrows and I turn to face forward again.
"It's looking more and more grim," I remark, adding darkly, "Not that either of us is new to that."
"True," Lexa agrees, her fingers unfaltering as they continue to weave strands of my hair together. There is a pause before she adds, "But at least we are truly united in the face of it this time around." I twist slightly to give her a small smile at that, and we are quiet for a moment before a realization hits me.
"We may be," I begin slowly, motioning between the two of us, "and most of the Trigedakru here have been gracious enough to accept me - but what about the rest of the Skaikru? Has anyone other than the delegates been here to see the way of life in Polis? Has there been any attempt at reconciliation between our two cultures beyond the peace treaty and its conditions?"
Lexa's expression turns grim and she averts her eyes from mine, turning her gaze to the work her hands are doing. "No," she replies solemnly. "The invitation has been extended, but understandably, your people, from what I gather from your mother's comments, do not feel comfortable - or even safe - coming here to visit and to learn about us."
I look down at my own hands for a moment, staring without truly seeing them. "Then you realize ..." I say quietly, "I'm going to have to go to Camp Jaha for awhile. And soon." I look back at her to gauge her reaction. She frowns, but I can see reluctant agreement in her eyes. "I'm the only one who is really going to be able to convince them, aren't I? Bellamy will help, and Octavia will too, but they need me if our kru are truly going to come together like we need them to in order to win this war and secure peace between us in the future."
"You're right," Lexa sighs, "And I will have to stay here to take care of our people and reenter the war council discussions." She pauses and then comments, "You know that we could declare war on the Azgeda right now, don't you, Clarke? You are Commander and Izoulde sent an assassin to kill you. That is an act of war, and a particularly dishonourable one at that." Her green eyes are flinty even as they stay trained on my braids.
"We need to secure our allies first, and I'd like to make a solid attempt to bring our clans together before we move forward with anything other than preparations," I respond, and I reach back to gently squeeze her arm with my good hand. "But you already know that."
The look on Lexa's face is almost chagrined. "Yes," she says, "I do. That is the most logical strategy and what is best for our people. Forget I said otherwise."
I contemplate her for a moment, and tentatively, I reach up to brush her cheek with my fingers. She looks up at me, and, as usual, her eyes tell all.
"You're still worried about me, aren't you?"
She sighs again. "Of course I am, Clarke. I relive that night over and over again in my mind every time I try to sleep. I..." she looks embarrassed, "I am worried that you will be ambushed during your passage to Camp Jaha. It is irrational, I know, because we will have a contingent of guards accompany you and the Skaikru delegates to the camp, and you are more than capable of defending yourself. But..." Her expression flickers, and I can tell that she is trying to suppress something.
"Leksa. Tel ai op," I chide her.
Her gaze flickers across my face, olive eyes haunted. She inhales sharply. "Costia was captured by a pack of Azripa while travelling with one of my representatives during the last war." Instantly, I understand and I feel the urge to comfort her, but I let her continue anyways. "Our people were on a diplomatic mission to one of the River clans," Lexa tells me. "Costia was acting as a guard, and she saved the woman she'd been assigned to protect, but she was outnumbered, and it wasn't the representative that they were after. The Azripa ran as soon as they had knocked her unconscious. She never stood a chance." She looks at me solemnly. "I don't want history to repeat itself."
I shift my body to face her properly, and her hands drop from my hair to her lap. I lean forward and press my forehead gently against hers. She closes her eyes, clearly comforted by the gesture, but her jaw is still tense, and her shoulders look taut with stress.
"When the time comes for me to leave, I'll be careful," I reassure her. "Besides, Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven aren't about to let anything happen to me, even if I were to be off my guard. Neither would any of the gona I have in mind to take with me. We will make it there and back as safely as possible."
Lexa's eyes open to meet my gaze and the corners of her mouth twitch upward. She leans forward and our lips brush together briefly. Too soon for my liking, though, she sits back, lets out a heavy breath, and nods. She gestures for me to turn around again and I oblige; she resumes her braiding.
We're quiet for several minutes, and then a thought strikes me.
"We should send for my mother," I suggest quietly. Lexa hums in agreement behind me.
*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*
My mother strides into the tent, her face scrunched up in concern.
"Clarke, are you okay? What's going on?" she demands, taking in the sight of Lexa and I sitting side-by-side on my bed with anxious suspicion.
"Calm down, mom, everything is fine. Take a seat." I gesture to one of the chairs that we've had brought in for visitors. "Lexa and I want to speak to you about something." My mother's expression grows wary at that, but she does as I ask regardless.
"When everything is settled here, I want to go back to Camp Jaha with you," I tell her.
Her face lights up at that and breaks into a large smile. "I'm so glad that you've come around about this, Clarke. The kids will be so glad to have you back for good, and -"
I cut her off, "You've misunderstood me, mom. I want to come back with you to visit and to talk to everyone about what's going on here, not to stay. We've been over this. My role here is permanent." I glance at Lexa, hoping that I haven't crossed a line. She nods in solidarity, eyes warm, and I feel my spine straighten a little. Judging from her expression, my mother is not pleased.
"Clarke, that's unacceptable. I was reluctant to allow this even before the attack, but now? It's obvious that you're not safe here. You need to come home."
I raise both of my eyebrows incredulously. "Mom, whether or not it's acceptable isn't up to you anymore. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I'm an adult. I've been through more than most adults on the Ark - hell, more than most adults here - go through in a lifetime. I am capable of making my own life choices. And in case you haven't figured this out yet, mom, there is no such thing as safe on the Ground. Although, believe it or not, apart from this attack, I've experienced less trouble here than I have anywhere else during my time on Earth." My voice stays steady and low but grows increasingly colder the longer I talk.
"That may be true, Clarke, but you have to understand -" my mother begins pedantically, but I interrupt her for the second time.
"I'm sorry, but seriously, mom? You want to do this here? Now? Lexa and I called you here so that we could speak privately about the best way to soften the Arkers to the idea of cooperation and integration with the Trigedakru." Abby goes to speak, her expression indignant, but I cut her off again, saying loudly, "No, no, fine. You know what? Let's get this straightened out and then move on." I take a deep breath to compose myself and force some calm into my voice.
"I get where you're coming from, okay?" I plead for her to understand. "I know that you just want me to be safe. But you have to put this in perspective, mom. This," I gesture down at my injuries but am careful not to reveal my scars, "is just the beginning. It's nothing compared to what the suffering of our people -" I look at Lexa as I speak those last two words, "- will be if we don't win this war. And to do that, the Arkers and Trigedakru need to be united, mom, and I have a huge opportunity here to help with that. I'm not going to back down just because the Azgeda tried to kill me. They're going to try to kill me eventually no matter what."
My mom shakes her head through my entire spiel. "Clarke, the remaining of the 100 and the rest of the Arkers - they're not going to be easily persuaded. They're not going to see this the same way that you do; they're going to think that you're abandoning them."
Lexa, silent up until now, speaks up in my defense. "Clarke would never willingly abandon the Skaikru in a time of need, Chancellor, and you know that as well as I do," she asserts, squeezing my hand gently. "She cares too much, especially for those who remain of the 100. Just because she is not present all the time does not mean that she does not think of them constantly, nor that she does not look after them at every possible opportunity. And before you say anything," she adds as my mother looks like she is going to protest, "her absence after the ordeal with the Mountain Men was not abandonment. She knew that you and Marcus and the other Skaikru leaders would have the presence of mind to see to your people's needs, and she was incapable of doing so at the time. She needed to process what happened, and she needed to do it alone. I could tell as much upon our reunion. But that's beside the point."
Lexa pauses to organize her thoughts and then trains her gaze directly into my mother's eyes, her resolve unwavering. "The point is that those of the Skaikru who know Clarke well will understand intuitively that she has a good reason for being here, and that she is still looking out for them in doing so. As for the rest, I cannot imagine that they don't respect her enough to be willing to hear her out when she shares the details of her experience during her time here in Polis. Not to mention that Clarke also has the support of Bellamy, Raven, and Octavia. Their opinions should hold some sway."
My mother sits back in her chair and says nothing for a moment, simply staring at the pair of us. "Neither of you is going to budge on this, are you?" she eventually asks, and a sour and wry tone enters her voice.
We shake our heads as one. She sighs.
"Fine," she says. "You've made some valid points. And me digging my heels in clearly isn't going to change anything, or help any of this go more smoothly. For the record, I don't agree with your decision, Clarke," she tells me sternly, "but I can accept it. And I can be professional when speaking about this subject in the future," she adds, a touch of chagrin in her voice.
"Thank you," I say with a great deal of relief. It goes away just as quickly as it came, though, and I feel sobriety set in.
"Before we move on, though, mom, there is something else we need to talk about," I admit.
My mother's eyebrows shoot upwards. "And what is that, Clarke?" she asks, a mixture of steel and foreboding creeping into her voice.
"You know that the assassin's execution is happening tomorrow, right?" I confirm. She nods an affirmative, so I continue, "Lexa and I have discussed it, and we both think it's best if I take an active role in the proceedings. The attack was on my life, and if I don't address it personally, I could be perceived as weak by the clan, and that's the last thing that we need right now."
My mother considers this, and then slowly begins to nod her head. "I agree with you," she says. "But that's not what you're concerned about, is it?" This time, I'm the one to nod.
The corners of my mom's mouth turn downwards. "So this is about the specifics of the execution, then," she deduces.
"Yes," Lexa clarifies.
"What exactly do you have in mind?"
Lexa and I glance at each other grimly.
*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*
The sky above is overcast today, and the air is cooler than usual for spring. It's almost as if our surroundings know what is about to come to pass.
I stand at the edge of the masses gathered around the formal execution site of Polis, preparing myself. My counterpart, draped in black, gold, and red, steps forward into the clearing. She barks out an order, and two guards drag the bound and beaten assassin into the middle of the site and begin to secure him in place. They work quickly, and once they have finished, the Heda addresses those assembled to watch.
"Disha hef laik Azripa," Lexa calls out, her voice all clear, cold, undiluted rage. This man is an Ice Killer. The crowd hisses at the revelation; everyone knows the part that the Azripa played in the torture and beheading of Costia and in the development of the Azwamplei.
Azripa hands are drenched in Trigeda blood.
Jus drein jus daun, I muse silently.
Lexa circles the man tied to the post in the middle of the site, and continues, "Em don jomp Heda Klark op raun sheidgeda kom Ikwinoks, trana pon Heda Klark klin den em na frag em op." He attacked Commander Clarke during the night of the Equinox, attempting to fool her so that he could kill her.
At this, I stride forward into the clearing. "Clearly," I state, addressing the crowd in Trigedasleng with a wry twist of my lips, "he was unsuccessful." I allow the people to titter at that comment for a moment before raising an arm for silence. Then, I say the language's equivalent of "However...", and with deliberate slowness, I remove the golden, downy cloak that had been draped carefully around my person and hand it to an attendant. The sight that is revealed provokes startled noises from several parts of the crowd.
Underneath the cloak, I am dressed in traditional ceremonial armour that, apart from its personalized colour accents (red for Commander status, but also blue for proficiency in healing), has one significant difference from Lexa's. Instead of her practical breastplate, I am wearing a cropped leather shirt that exposes my midriff, and along with it, the black, web-like scars that cover my side and reach around my front, disappearing under the leather but clearly headed towards my heart.
"... nau, ai laik Azjuskikon," I continue. "En kos disha ripa don trana frag ai op kom az, ai na sis em sonraun op kom faya."
Now, I am a survivor of the Azwamplei. And because this murderer tried to kill me with ice, I will take his life with fire.
Low murmurs fill the air.
"Ba fos," I continue after a suitable pause, "For each one of my cuts ... Jus drein jus daun."
Gingerly, I unwrap the gauze around my injured hand, and present the ugly, mottled skin laced with stitches to the crowd. Then, I unsheathe the ornate dagger at my hip.
I approach the battered Azripa, who, even tied painfully tight to the post, is having trouble remaining on his feet. I take a moment for myself to suppress any feelings of pity that I might have for the man, and focus instead on the atrocity of what he had attempted to do to me. Memories of the pain the poison had caused fill my mind, and suddenly, it's not my conscience I'm fighting, but something a lot more instinctual.
Something a lot angrier.
I force that feeling down too, but not enough to eliminate its presence in my mind - just enough to regain control.
This needs to be clinical. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
"Jus drein jus daun," I call out. Then, I raise the dagger and slash the Azripa's fingers. Blood drips from his hand as the blade runs through its flesh, and I know that I've cut to the bone. I swallow back the taste of bile at the back of my throat. At the same time, the assassin clenches his jaw tightly but does not call out.
Next, I pull back a section of leather in my leggings to reveal the horrific wound and scarring on my thigh, turning around so that the crowd can observe it. Then, I replace the leather in its original position and return to the Azripa. "Jus drein jus daun," I repeat, keeping my voice calm and matter-of-fact. In the next moment, my dagger is planted deep in the assassin's thigh. This time, he cries out - twice. Once when they dagger pierces his flesh, and once when I rip the blade sharply out of it.
Finally, I gesture to my abdomen and torso, and I make a full circuit of the clearing so that everyone within seeing distance of me can understand the extent of the damage that the bleeding man on the post has done to my body, the body of their Heda. "Jus drein jus daun," I state again, more softly than the first two times, and the weight and terribleness of the justice being dispensed hang heavy in the air.
The dagger stabs at the Azripa's gut, drawing an agonized grunt from him, but not diving into the flesh so deeply that he will bleed out before all is said and done. Once again, I withdraw the blade swiftly, and another pained noise is ripped from the man's mouth.
I take a moment to look at him properly. He is utterly defeated. It's written in every crumpled line of his posture, in every helpless twitch of his eyes.
He's stained crimson, just as I had been the night he tried to take my life.
I step away from him, and an attendant comes forward with a cloth, while two more fix the assassin's legs firmly to the post and prepare him for the final punishment. Once the three of them have disappeared back into the crowd, I wipe the blade of the dagger and sheathe it once more, throwing the soiled cloth down at the Azripa's feet.
At that signal, Lexa walks back into the clearing.
This time, she is carrying a metallic flask in one hand and a blazing torch in the other.
She hands them both to me, and as I take them from her, our eyes meet. A hundred emotions flow between us in the space of an instant.
But in the next moment, I am turning to face the man who had aspired to be my murderer. I can feel my expression harden, as though my face had become a mask.
*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*
"Yu gonplei ste odon," I tell the Azripa.
I circle him once, pouring the contents of the flask onto the logs surrounding his legs.
Then, I back up a few paces and toss the lit torch at his feet.
*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*
Translations:
Tel ai op. = Tell me.
Jus drein jus daun. = (the iconic) Blood must have blood.
Ba fos = But first
Yu gonplei ste odon = Your fight is over. (The phrase spoken before death)