A/N: Hey, guys! It's been... more than a few months and for that I apologize. I hate waiting for fic updates, so I can understand your impatience. Junior year had the subtlety of a battering ram. But, now that it's nearly over and I've edited and submitted my book to a contest, I can finally come back to FF. Not only have I come back, I've truly found my muse and enjoy writing again.

As always, thank you so much for reading and consider dropping a review! :)

Disclaimer: Credit belongs where credit is due (i.e. not with me). Cheers to the author and show writers!

That night, she dreamed of the stars.

She was on the Ark, watching the moonrise from the single window in her family's compartment. She could tell her dream was set in a time where she was ignorant to the world's problems, enjoying and living blissfully in her childhood. But even then, she got the sense that all was not well.

In her dream, she sat on the floor and stared at the ceiling, watching the moon slowly ascend. The stars twinkled brightly and brilliantly. They were countless.

The latch of a lock and the mechanical creak met her ears as the door to her home opened. Her hair, carefully braided by her pseudo aunt, Callie, whipped about her as she spun to see who entered.

Wells, small and young in the set time, peered around the edge of the door. He visibly relaxed when he saw only Wanheda in the middle of the large room, sitting below the window. Wells quietly shut the door behind him and sat next to her, leaning against the couch so he wouldn't strain his neck too much looking up.

"Hiding from your father again?" she asked.

Wells sighed as he tucked in his knees and crossed his arms over them. "I told you how the Council's looking to replace Brockman with my father, right?"

She nodded. "He's not considering it, is he?"

His face crumpled and she watched as he seemed to fold in on himself. "A friend told him that becoming a Councilor is the first step on the way to becoming Chancellor one day, and now that he has it in his head, appearances suddenly matter."

Not one for comforting words, Wanheda reached out and patted his shoulder. "What does he want to dress you up for?"

"A dance, but for adults mostly. But there's no dancing and they pretend to be interested in each other's lives when all they really want is to do business." Wells answered, his face scrunched up in confusion. He clearly couldn't imagine being an adult and wasting a good party for something as boring as work.

Wanheda inched closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder as she thought. "Would it be like… a masquerade sort of not-dance? People in masks?"

He shook his head. "More boring than that, even. Men in suits. Women in dresses. I don't even know if dad has a suit. I certainly don't." Wells threw his head back onto the couch. "I don't want to go to this stupid not-dance! It's…"

"Stupid?" She supplied with a smile.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Then, he started laughing. "This was all so ridiculous, wasn't it?"

Her gaze snapped to Wells. His voice was deeper. He wasn't the ten-year old anymore. He looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him alive.

"The stress about parties, clothes," he chuckled to himself, his entire body practically shaking with bitter mirth. "Appearances." He scoffed. "None of it matters now." Wells looked out at the stars. "Oddly enough, I don't miss it."

A soft laugh escaped her. "Why would missing stress be odd?"

He lowered his eyes to meet hers. "I meant life."

A ripple of pain struck her heart. "Wells–"

But he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "The struggle to survive. Constant fighting. Look at where you're at now: The brink of war."

"We're not–"

"Come on, Clarke!" he nearly shouted, exasperated. "Can't you see it? The war started the moment we landed. Mt. Weather fueled it with TonDC. Lexa furthered it when she made that deal with the Mountain Men."

The expression in his eyes was severe and she knew what his next words would be.

"Don't say it," she pleaded.

"But it came to a standstill when you brought down the Mountain. Everyone's too preoccupied looking for you to remember to fight."

Wanheda groaned. Her eyes flitted back to the stars.

"Why me?" she muttered.

The response was not only Wells' voice, accompanied with the echo of hundreds, "You are Wanheda."

Of course. That seemed to be the answer to all of her questions. The biggest non-informational answer to receive.

A thousand needles pierced the skin of her left forearm all at once and she shrieked.

Leaves rustling and flying around her, she shot to a sitting position. She cradled her arm, rocked back and forth to try and distract herself from the pain, and bit the inside of her cheek.

Next to her, Roan rolled over and slowly pushed himself off his back and rubbed at his eyes, pushing strands of tangled and braided hair out of his face. "Hell of a wakeup call," he quipped.

"Shut up," she snapped, but it was half-hearted.

Once the pain ebbed into a tingling sensation, she opened her eyes and noted with alarm that the skin had been leached of color. Her pallor was almost gray. She looked at Roan in horror.

Roan frowned in thought before he asked, "Did you dream?"

"Yes."

"Was there a ghost?" He could've better worded his question, but his mind worked quickly and he knew she'd understand.

She nodded painfully, though the hurt was clearly born of emotion.

He gently took her arm, his fingers brushing over the darker skin. "This is the final trial, Wanheda."

She nodded again and lifted her head. She turned to the trees, seeing what he could not. "They want their ball," she muttered quietly. "But I can't give it to them. I don't have it."

"Who?" His fingers fell away from her arm. "Who are they?"

Without looking at him, she answered, "The children." She was dazed. "They're waiting for me."

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed.

"Abigail Griffin and Marcus Kane of the Sky People, we welcome you."

Finally.

Abby turned away from the window she and Marcus had been staring through, watching the sun set. How long had they been waiting? Minutes? Hours? It felt like years.

The Commander stood before them, her hair pulled into her usual braids, no weapon at her side. Her intention for peace was obvious, yet Abby could hardly stand her. Her brown eyes searched over the girl's shoulder, but Clarke was nowhere in sight.

Her thoughts switched from the undercurrent of envy with which she regarded Marcus. How well suited he was in the role of leader. How diplomatic and communicative he was. But now her thoughts were consumed of her daughter, of Clarke and her bright smile.

Her daughter who she hadn't seen for far too long.

On the Ark, she'd gone through a longer period of time without seeing Clarke, but at least Abby knew where she was. At least she knew her daughter was safe and alive.

But three months dragged by with no sign of her. She seemed to have simply vanished. She may as well have been dead.

No, Abby, she chided herself. Clarke is alive.

The doctor looked at the Commander head on, holding on to her hope and assuming her authoritative persona. She wouldn't even have that before too long. But being Chancellor was nothing in the face of missing Clarke.

"Where is my daughter?" she demanded. She and Marcus had been invited to the Summit to discuss Lincoln's kill order, establish trade routes (which would consist of medicine as well as tech), and get Clarke back. Yet she was nowhere to be seen.

Abby wanted to take her daughter and go back to Arkadia. She didn't want to stand in the presence of Lexa any longer than she had to for two reasons. One, she loathed the woman for both breaking the deal and her daughter's heart–she didn't need eyes to see their connection, or perhaps it was her motherly intuition. Two, she knew the survivors of Farm Station moving into Mount Weather didn't sit well with the Commander.

After saving Nyko's life with the equipment in Mt. Weather, she knew it would be a good medical center. She also knew it could sustain life thanks to its previous occupants–whose bodies were miraculously absent. And despite the place being the site of mass murder, she'd rather Pike and his prejudice against Grounders reside there than within the walls of her home.

He'd always been quick to act on his emotions, and she feared the amount of death he'd seen among his people would be too much. She sensed the imminent drop of the other shoe. And soon. She wanted him to be as far away from her people when he exploded.

A light pressure on her arm brought her back to the moment. Her eyes flicked down to Marcus's hand. The touch lasted for only seconds but it soothed her.

Marcus took a step forward with a smile. "Commander," he greeted graciously. "Thank you for inviting us."

The Commander, who Abby never could stop thinking as just a child, nodded to him. "We have much to discuss," she stated as she clasped her hands behind her back.

"For example, the whereabouts of my daughter," Abby persisted.

Lexa's attention fell solely to her. "I'm sorry, Abby, but we haven't yet located Cl– your daughter." She cleared her throat. "We have other conce–"

"Are you even trying?!"

"Abby," Marcus intervened in a whisper. "Let the Commander speak."

"No, Marcus." This time, she slapped his hand away. "I want to know wher–"

"I wish to change the terms of the Summit."

Abby and Marcus' heads swiveled toward the Commander.

Seeing that she had both their silence and attention, she continued, "The march of Azgeda onto Trikru lands, blatantly disregarding established borders, shows that they are plotting my death and a takeover of the coalition."

Abby crossed her arms. "That's your concern, not ours."

Lexa struggled to restrain herself, but the act was made easier by Marcus's explanation. "If Lexa falls, the coalition shatters. And there's no way we avoid that war." He looked back to the Commander. "You said there were new terms."

She nodded. "We initiate you into the coalition. You become the thirteenth clan."

Marcus's face stiffened in silent wonder. He stepped back and turned away while he thought.

Abby narrowed her eyes at Lexa. What did that mean? Following her? She hadn't signed up for that. "We came here to negotiate a treaty," she said incredulously with a hint of anger.

"I understand your feelings," the Commander said. "But Azgeda is ruthless. Join me and live or reject the coalition and perish."

While she certainly didn't want to die, the idea of bowing to a child very nearly sickened her. Bowing to a child who she already despised nonetheless. But she had to think smart, with the head not the heart.

"Marcus?"

He turned to her with a grave face. "The Commander's right. I've seen the Ice Nation army." Marcus shook his head. "And we don't stand a chance against them. We need to do this."

Abby sucked on her cheek, looked at the ground, and nodded. She wanted him to be on her side in this. But they were both right. She had to think of their people first.

"So we become the thirteenth clan," she stated reluctantly. "Then what? What's going to stop the Ice Nation?"

The Commander made eye contact with both of them before settling her gaze on Abby. "Wanheda."

The doctor's heart palpitated. "What?"

"When we find Wanheda, we will convince her to join the coalition as Skaikru's ambassador."

The plan was so simple it sounded impossible. Mainly because they had to find Clarke first. Also because Abby felt certain her daughter was more upset with the Commander than she was.

"What if you can't find Clarke?" she questioned. "What could the Ice Nation army do in the meantime while you look for her?"

"I don't have to find her if she's here."

Abby and Marcus looked at each other in absolute confoundment. She hadn't found Clarke, yet she had?

"Lid em in."

The doors opened in perfect synchronization. The Commander's Flamekeeper, Titus, stood in between the guards. But the girl standing next to him drew their attention. Both Titus and the girl stepped through the threshold and the doors closed behind them.

Titus bowed his head in greeting. The girl stood still, her eyes immediately falling to the Commander.

For the first time since their meeting, a ghost of a smile graced Lexa's lips.

"What is this?" Abby asked.

"Until we find Wanheda, she will be Clarke. No one but Skaikru, myself, Titus, and a few close allies truly know Wanheda's face."

"She's a placeholder," Marcus realized.

"She's more than that," the Commander said softly as she looked at the girl. "She's my second."

Abby squinted at the girl, a sense of familiarity striking her. She was young, obviously, younger than Clarke by several years. Her hair was blonde, but not as bright as Clarke's. Her eyes were brown. Most strikingly, a long, jagged scar ran along the line of her left cheekbone. Another at her right ear. Another peeking through the bottom of her right sleeve. What had happened to the girl?

At first, she found it ridiculous that someone so young and so different could pose as her daughter. But then she tried to think of Clarke as if she wasn't her mother. From a distance, an unfamiliar eye could easily mistake her.

What did match Clarke to a T was the anger in the girl's eyes. Abby was surprised to find that emotion there. It felt like she was silently accusing them. As if she knew them and they'd personally done her wrong.

Titus nudged her elbow but otherwise remained still as a statue. "Greet the Sky People," he ordered.

The girl quietly huffed, glared at the Flamekeeper, and then rolled her eyes. "Hi, Griffin." Her murderous gaze shifted to Marcus. "Kane."

That voice. Abby couldn't forget that voice. She'd heard it screaming and shouting and crying as her parents were executed. Now it was stone cold, nearly devoid of emotion.

Marcus's hand landed on her shoulder, but this time she knew it was to calm himself instead of her. He gulped.

"Charlotte."

–

Making the decision to move Wanheda wasn't difficult. When your strange new friend suddenly falls into a coma during her most difficult trial and doesn't wake up after a week, it only makes sense to move her.

Deciding where to go was the difficult part. Briefly, he'd considered his allies in Azgeda, but quickly nixed the idea since he knew he had more foes than friends. Then he'd considered going to the Commander, but then realized that would be fulfilling the one directive she'd given him. Besides, he knew Wanheda loathed her. He didn't need her to wake up to that.

Finally, he'd considered returning her to her people, but then he heard tales of a traitorous anti-Grounder named Pike. After Wanheda had spent so much time alone and with Grounders, he didn't want to risk the man harming her.

Eventually, he decided to simply find the 'home' she'd spoken of. Based on her very vague description of it being nearby, he concluded that it must be a cabin or cave. No village was near. It would be a good spot for Wanheda to camp out.

It didn't take him long to find her 'home'. The cave tucked itself into a little hill. The entrance sat between two large trees. It was well-hidden except for the fact that it would be visible from certain angles on the river.

The river was an advantage and disadvantage. It was an ample water source. Advantage. It was an ample water source. Disadvantage. Water for her, but also water for the Grounders who weren't so fortunate to have a river near their village.

Roan decided to hide with Wanheda in the cave during the day. He made sure to cover her with the blanket she'd somehow scrounged up. He also struggled to find food that he could feed her. Or, more simply: Soup. He struggled to make soup.

When he didn't stress about feeding her, he watched over her. While he wasn't too happy with his sudden role as Wanheda's caretaker, he knew she couldn't die. Not only out of a sense of obligation, but also because she was the first person who didn't want to take off his head.

She'd wanted to at first, had even tried, but what else could he have expected from her?

Despite only knowing her for a week and a half (most of it with her unconscious), Roan worried. Wanheda hadn't even truly become Wanheda yet she was already facing death.

But it made sense. She had to face over six-hundred ghosts. Atonement couldn't be completed in a day.

He felt like she would survive, or perhaps he had convinced himself of it, but not knowing how much longer she would be asleep unnerved him.

The only sign she gave him that she hadn't simply succumbed to a hemorrhage or brain death was the color of her skin. What was once an unhealthy, ghostly pallor faded into a blue-colored pigment.

Signs of her red pigmentation lingered, like the flush of her cheeks. She wasn't fully a skaiblida yet, but she was well on the way.

Roan knelt next to Wanheda and rested his arms over his knees. He pulled his free hair away from his face and let it sit on his back. He leaned forward.

"You're a fighter, Wanheda," he began. "You have what it takes to pull through this. Show those ghosts and those sky cells you're not afraid of them."

Her eyes snapped open.

She didn't move. But he stared at her eyes. He'd already memorized her face when she was awake, so the difference between her eyes from before was stark. The bright blue color had darkened to a near-black. The same shade as the night sky.

Just as suddenly as they opened, they closed again.

And Roan was left in the quiet cave with no company but his racing heart.

Lid em in - Bring her in

16 - Written: 9/24/22 - 4/7/23

Posted - 4/7/23

:)