Note:WARNING - THE FOLLOWING TOPICS MAY BE TRIGGERING. This includes panic attacks and an attempted depiction at split-personality. If these things trigger you, do not read this chapter.
I am not trying to assume I know how Dissociative Identity Disorder works, and it is not written to offend anybody. It is written as part of the plot. If I wrote it wrong I apologize deeply and would be very grateful if you let me know what I did wrong just so I can correct this in the future. I understand that mental health issues manifest in different ways within everyone and perhaps this isn't as inclusive, or accurate as it could be.
A hush fell over the group all of the sudden and Lexa followed everyone's eyes to Clarke. Clarke in all her splendor. Except it's wrong, so wrong because her eyes are icy and piercing with none of the gentle strength that usually permeated Clarke.
"The Flame, I wish to talk to you." It was not a question, rather a demand of the highest order. Her voice is sharp and unforgiving, cutting through the tension in the air.
Lexa doesn't know quite what to make of this. She has never seen this expression on Clarke before, not even when she is angry. Yet, she still turns to the nightbloods and Titus and says, "Dismissed. All of you. Ava and Titus too."
Titus grumbled under his breath, but obediently led the kids away. Instead, it was Ava who started to protest. "Heda-"
"Do I have to remind you of your failures to heed my orders so soon, Ava? Go," Lexa interrupted, jutting her chin towards the exit. Ava opened her mouth to argue once again, but Lexa leveled a glare at her. "I do not want to hear it."
Ava frowned, but scurried away. There was a long, pregnant, pause as Lexa watched the entrance after Ava had gone. The dirt crunched underneath Clarke's foot as she approached, step by step.
Lexa finally turns back to Clarke. A chill raced down her spine. Something was wrong and she couldn't pinpoint what. "You wanted to talk to me?"
At the acknowledgement, a sly, smug grin bled onto Clarke's face. It was cold, not even teasingly so.
"Clarke-"
She surged forward, grabbing Lexa with one hand and pulling the dagger from her cloak and pushed it against Lexa's neck with the other. Lexa froze and her eyes flew wide open. There was no way Clarke could move like that with her broken rib. The pain should be killing her.
The eyes that looked back at her were inhumanly sharp. The blue has turned icy. Lexa had to admit in her moment of panic that (she totally wouldn't admit that any other time) Clarke had angelic eyes normally, but this was beyond that. This person in Clarke that grinned back at her was more like the Commanders that spoke to her in the flame.
Clarke's face leered in glee at Lexa's realization. Her shrill laugh echoed throughout the practice arena. "That's right, little flame. Clarke's not here. It's all Wanheda." The knife pushed a little harder and broke skin.
Lexa knew it was the truth. She had seen countless warriors break like this after one too many kills. They would switch back and forth as if there were two consciousnesses within them. The grounders treated them as if they were enlightened, but among other warriors, they all knew that they were broken. War had made them want to forget another part of them, and they'd done that by creating another personality for that part of themselves.
"I'm sorry", Lexa breathed out in a breath that was no louder than a whisper. The guilt consumed Lexa. Even if it was the correct choice as Heda, Leksa kom Trikru would always bear the weight that the repercussions of her choice came with.
Clarke's hand shook. The iciness melted a little and something flickered in Clarke. Her breath was now coming out in uneven puffs that Lexa could feel on her lips sheerly because Clarke was so close. She shoved Lexa away and dropped the dagger. Tears welled in her eyes.
"I never meant to turn you into this", Lexa said quietly. "You're free to go."
Clarke's hands weaved into her own blond locks and her breathing becoming erratic as she clutched at herself, gasping for breaths through her tears. Lexa tried to tell Clarke to breathe, but if Clarke heard her at all, she didn't show it. This wasn't good. Lexa stepped forward to put a hand on Clarke reassuringly, and as she did Clarke's legs buckled. It was pure instinct when she surged forward and wrapped her arms around Clarke. Collapsed against Lexa, she was unconscious, but her breathing was evening out.
Lexa gives a huff of relief before sweeping Clarke up into her arms and heading back to her tower in Polis. In hindsight later, Lexa questioned why she had done so. She could've laid Clarke down on the floor and called a healer, or called any servant or guard or warrior to bring Clarke back to Clarke's room. She would blame it on confusion. In that moment though, all Lexa knew was that Clarke felt warm and comforting in her arms.
-0-
Clarke wakes up slowly to too many candles. The grand room is absolutely filled with them, even close to the bed with the giant, elaborate, headboard. She does not understand Lexa's need for the overabundance of candles, but she has to admit it keeps the place warm and is good decoration. Speaking of the avid candle owner, she sits next to the couch Clarke is on, in an armchair.
Lexa jumps to her feet like a kid on Christmas morning. "You're awake." She hurries over and asks how Clarke's feeling and helps her sit up. It kind of reminds her of her mother. Yikes, Lexa and her mother in the same train of thought? Not something she wanted to do again.
Clarke ignored Lexa and wracked her brain. What had happened? She remembered storming off and then…
Shit. She had given into her anger. The Wanheda side of her that had pulled the lever had surfaced. The dried blood on Lexa's neck proved it. "What the hell did I do", Clarke murmured as she reached her hand out, trembling fingers ghosting over the wound on Lexa's neck. The truth was she feared herself. That part of her was a monster.
Lexa simply answered, "I'm okay. Nobody was hurt." It struck Clarke that she was touching Lexa and that Lexa could easily have reached out to comfort Clarke. Instead she opted to look at Clarke with steady, reassuring eyes.
Clarke felt fractured. She retracted her hand and pulled it back to her lap. All she could see on her hands was blood. "It's like holding back a monster within me. I don't know when I will lose control to Wanheda."
"Clarke." The insistence in her voice made Clarke look into her eyes. Eyes that shined as bright as an aurora borealis. Or at least, from what she'd seen in the photos and documentaries on the ark. It anchored her in the whirlwind of spinning thoughts within her mind.
"You don't need to fight it all the time. You can try to understand Wanheda instead and work with her."
Clarke hesitates. That's not an awful idea. It seems so obvious, and so easy when it's said out loud, but before Lexa had said it, her situation had felt as hopeless as Jasper wanting to get with Octavia when the drop ship first arrived. She gives Lexa a wan smile. "Work with her, huh…? I suppose I can try that."
Lexa gives her a small smile in return. "Make a list of what you need and I'll have your bags packed so you can go. I won't hold you here if it only hurts you. Just don't go running into the jaws of a doba hisa this time." No, that wasn't right. Clarke had just begun to find one person who could understand how she felt. Going back to the Ark would just make Skaikru a bigger target. She could help negotiate for Skaikru better from within Polis, Clarke convinced herself.
Clarke shakes her head subtly as Lexa reaches for a piece of parchment, pen, and a bottle of ink. "Wait. I have a better idea."
-0-
They sit stiffly on the couch in Lexa's room, with an odd tension between them.
Now, Lexa wasn't stupid. She knew them working together was certainly not forgiveness. Lexa knew clearer than anyone that what they had was strictly for business. Yet, Lexa couldn't help wanting to aid Clarke. Clarke had a golden set of morals that Lexa had never seen anyone else show.
She had been so untainted, and Lexa had ruined that. Part of Clarke was broken and it was her fault. Slowly Lexa breathed out through her nose as she poured herself a glass of wine. She nods to the other glass on the table, "Do you want some, Clarke?"
"No thanks. I prefer a clear head, Heda." Lexa doesn't like how Clarke chooses to use her honorary title instead of her name. She misses how her name rolls out of Clarke's mouth. She leans back with her glass of wine. A glance at Clarke reveals the distrust in her eyes. Lexa attempts to push off the feelings it brings. She takes a sip of the wine to steady herself. Feelings have no place in this conversation.
She raises her eyes to Clarke's. "I suppose you know the legend of Wanheda has gotten far and wide by now." A nod supplies the answer she needs.
"All we need to do is give them a show. In three months, we hold our annual Carnival of Mardi Gras. It is an elaborate celebration with a parade, costumes, masks, and explosions of color."
"The celebration from the religion before the radiation, Christianity", Clarke answers understandingly.
Lexa has no idea what Christianity is, but she goes along with it. "Yes, that. The chiefs of all 13 tribes come to Polis to celebrate for one week. We can announce a formal ascension of your status to Wanheda. Let them believe that the spirit of Wanheda has chosen you." Lexa holds Clarke's gaze the entire time, the electric blue sending shocks throughout her that made her want to squirm. She internally scolded herself. The commander does not squirm.
The silence stretches out so long she starts to get scared Clarke will say no, but then Clarke nods in agreement, "That should work." It isn't spoken, but it lingers in the air between them that Skaikru might side with Lexa as well if Clarke were to publicly side with Lexa. Things were looking up for once in Lexa's age old rivalry with Nia. Now if only it would stay up.
End Note:
This festival will be placed in February, which means they are somewhere in October. This doesn't specifically refer to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but rather the entire celebration around the world, including the Carnival of Venice. In this fanfiction, they still celebrate it because some traditions stick around while some do not. The original meaning, as you all will see, has pretty much been lost to the Grounders.