Wanheda opened her eyes to the familiar darkness of her cave.
She sat up and tried to rub some warmth into her arms. Her belongings, except for the blanket across her legs, had been left undisturbed. She was alone.
Her entire body ached. From her eye sockets to the beds of her toenails. Her head pounded and the memory of Mount Weather's deceased occupants sat fresh in her mind.
She leaned toward the wall of the cave and snatched her dagger. The blade hovered over her forearm as she briefly hesitated. Then she sliced her skin. Royal blue blood bubbled from the wound and she gaped.
That's it, then.
She had officially earned the title of Wanheda after enduring her trials, yet she didn't feel any different. Only now the Maunon no longer haunted her. Not the children, not Dante. The victims from TonDc and the Ring of Fire didn't haunt her either. Neither did Atom. She'd aided them all–some more restless than others–in crossing over and in return they gifted her peace of mind.
Wanheda pulled on her boots, tucked in her dagger along with its sleeve, and stood. She grabbed the sword she'd received from Niylah. Gently used, though by others. She hardly knew how to wield a blade longer than six inches. Knives were her forte, but it would do her no harm to have a wider range of skills.
The sword sat firmly in her grip while she used her free hand to raise her hood. She longed for the days when the bounty on her head vanished and the excitement of Wanheda's reappearance dissipated. Then she could freely enjoy the sun and her solitude.
Speaking of solitude, where on Earth had Roan gotten off to?
She emerged from her cave, using one of the large trees at its entrance to stabilize herself. She really needed to do something about the woefully uneven ground there.
The cool winter air embraced her and she tightened her jacket around her shoulders. A breeze ruffled her clothes and hair, bringing to Wanheda her own scent. She nearly gagged.
How long had she slept? Clearly not long enough for her to die of thirst or hunger. Was a week really all it took to create such a bad odor?
Ugh.
Wanheda made her way to the river, bent down, and dipped her fingertips into the water. Freezing. Just as she'd expected. But she removed her hood and jacket. Then her boots and top layer of clothes. She set her boots on the forest floor but draped her clothes over a branch.
She slowly slipped into the river, trying to allow her body to adjust to the frigid temperatures. She wore only her first layer: a tanktop and shorts. Some Grounders were still bound to come by the river for water, so they would have been in an awkward situation if she hadn't had the forethought.
After a few minutes, she was very nearly submerged. Goosebumps rose on her arms and legs and she gave it a few seconds to wear off. Once they faded, she picked her way to the middle of the river.
She pulled her hair over her shoulders, clenched her eyes, and ducked under. Though blind and floating in darkness, she rubbed at her arms and legs, then massaged her fingers through her hair.
It was too cold to become accustomed to. That's the best she would get. She rose to the surface.
"Nice bath?"
Wanheda spun, causing the water to splash into her eyes. Roan stood with his back to a tree, one leg crossed over the other.
She wiped away the droplets, which only made matters worse because her hands were wet from the river. "Where were you?"
He blew out a breath. "That's a story for when we're on equal ground." Roan picked up her half-concealed dagger whilst eyeing the discarded sword. He smirked. "Cute."
"Roan," she grumbled.
"Hurry up with your spa day, Wanheda," Roan said as he carelessly tossed her knife over his shoulder. "I sat by your side for eight days and you remained Sleeping Beauty. Glad to know the one day I wasn't, you missed me so much you woke up." He began to walk away but paused. "I'm pleased you're back in the land of the living."
Wanheda treaded water as she stared at his retreating form. On one hand, she was mortified he'd seen her as she was. On the other, she was glad to see him. Her thoughts had half-convinced her he wouldn't return.
She swam to the riverbank and hoisted herself out of the icy waters. She shook her head and water flew in all directions. Her hair had grown blonder by the day. She picked up a strand and inspected it. The red had faded into a light pink. Some of her locks had entirely abandoned the color, stubbornly determined to show its blonde hue.
It would be the last of the berries–unless she could acquire some from Niylah–until spring, but she planned to dye her hair back to the desired red while Roan told her his story.
Since Roan had evidently taken care of her while she'd been unconscious, she didn't worry about modesty. Thus, she didn't bother trying to put on clothes while she was still soaked. Though, because she was shivering, she put on her jacket.
Wanheda grabbed her bundle of clothes and headed back into the cave. She had to hop over that bundle of roots at the entrance, tripped, and nearly fell. She would have, too, if Roan hadn't stabilized her.
"So now you're falling for me."
She glared at him. "Are you always like this?"
"I wasn't until we met. A rather aggressive meeting, might I add."
"I'm Wanheda."
"And I'm the–" he paused abruptly. She raised her eyebrows. "–caretaker of Wanheda."
She shook her head ruefully. "That's not what you were going to say, but I'll let it slide." Wanheda grabbed a piece of fabric and used it to squeeze the water out of her hair. "Now, what did you want to tell me?"
"A lot can happen in nine days," he started. "After you fell unconscious, and stayed that way for over a week, I left to find a soup supplier." She made a face and his cheeks flushed. "I don't want to talk about it."
Wanheda laughed. "Carry on."
"I found a supplier, but I learned from her that Azgeda had marched onto Trikru lands. She also informed me of a Summit between the Commander and two Skaikru leaders. Azgeda threatened the Summit." He sucked in a breath. "Azgeda, with the help of the last Mountain Man, also destroyed Mount Weather."
"That is a lot," she agreed.
Roan held up a hand. "I'm not finished. 49 members of Skaikru were inside the Mountain when it self-destructed."
Wanheda's heart clenched. The place was already the site of mass genocide. She remembered painstakingly dragging each individual body outside to be burned. Now more lives had been lost there.
She ignored the subcurrent stream of thought, refusing to wonder if she'd known any of the victims. Instead, she allowed other questions to take priority.
"Who made the decision to colonize the Mountain?"
"I don't know. But there was a man with the Skaikru leaders who seemed furious with the news. I believe him to be dangerous. They called him Pike."
She nodded, remembering the Earth Skills teacher. "I know him. What else?"
"The Commander sent an army of 300 to station outside of the Skaikru camp; warriors to protect the Sky People." He thought for a moment. "And the Ice Nation Queen is dead."
Wanheda's mouth popped open. "What?"
"She and the ambassadors attempted a coup, but since Skaikru has officially become the 13th clan, the vote was not unanimous. Nia challenged the Commander and had her son fight in her stead. It was a fight to the death, yet the Commander chose to spare the Prince and kill Nia instead. The Commander declared him the King of Azgeda."
She eyed him critically. "And your supplier knew all of this within a day of the events?"
"Some I saw for myself. I had to go all the way to Polis for the soup, so I would've seen and heard regardless."
"Okay," she accepted skeptically. "Wait a minute, who's the Skaikru ambassador?" Wanheda couldn't imagine Abby or Kane staying in Polis. Yet the only other option was Bellamy, maybe Octavia, yet she knew those two craved freedom more than anything else.
Roan chuckled. "Ironically enough, she's you, Wanheda."
"What."
"They say she's you. But she looks nothing like you. She has blonde hair, brown eyes, a scar across her cheek. She's a child." Roan shook his head amusedly. "They made a mockery of you."
"Who is the girl?"
"She's not from any of the clans, I can tell you that."
Wanheda frowned and a wrinkle formed in the space between her eyebrows. "Skaikru?"
Roan shrugged. "I think they're using her to pacify Azgeda until they find you."
"Wanheda is my name. My legacy. No one is going to use me for their own agenda," she growled. "I have an idea on how to put a stop to the Commander's antics. It'll prove that girl to be an imposter."
"Tell me."
"Skaikru rejects the coalition."
Within her swelled a rage which she had never before felt. After all their talks of peace, they killed her army with their guns. The weapon alone was designed to inflict irreparable harm by people who were too cowardly to withstand a personal confrontation. Their weapons, just like their owners, were cowardly. Until now she hadn't truly considered that they might just be dangerous like their weapons. She'd left the threat of Skaikru unchecked.
The Commander paced within her chambers, itching to tear at her hair, to claw at her skin. Hundreds of warriors–dead at the hands of ten cowardly men. And for what? The warriors had slept; no battle was to be fought. The event was no more than a massacre.
It was clear any move she made towards peace would be seen as an act of aggression.
But she didn't feel like trying anymore. Her tolerance of the Sky People had vanished with Clarke.
"This is their land now."
She saw the benefits of forging peace, but the massacre was no less than an act of war. The Commander had lost far too many people since the landing of Skaikru. Villages had been raided and burned, her people murdered in 'self-defense', rising resistance because of her attempts at peace.
It would end.
"We can leave, or we can die."
If she could deactivate their weapons, or simply deplete their supply of bullets, the united army of the twelve clans could easily wipe them off the map.
The lands were the Commander's. The people were the Commander's. Trading, warriors, crops and harvests, water supply–it was all the Commander's.
Skaikru were aliens. Their ancestors might've walked the Earth, but they belonged to the sky. The Sky People were worms who lounged about under the sun, mistakenly believing they wouldn't die.
What fools.
A knock at the door rose her from the depths of thought.
"Enter."
The doors opened by the hands of her guards. In came a meek messenger, trembling from head to toe. "Heda," he bowed his head quickly–a tad too quickly for her liking, but she paid it no mind given the situation.
"What message do you have for me?"
He glanced over his shoulder, his scraggly black hair falling over his face. "Commander, King Roan of Azgeda wishes to speak with you."
Roan had just left Polis, but she carefully hid her confusion regarding his return. "Tell King Roan that I am otherwise occupied." The Commander turned, believing the conversation to be over.
"Heda, if I may–"
Her eyes on a pile of books that needed to be read, she said, "No, you may not."
"If I may," he started again, and she could hardly believe the audacity of the messenger. "Haihefa Roan delivers dire news–"
"Guards," she called, eliciting a clang of movement as weapons were drawn.
"–concerning Wanheda."
Her head snapped up and she looked out at the rising sun before spinning around. The two guards usually posted at the door held the frightened messenger by the arms. She marched through the doors of her chambers, not giving a single thought to the poor messenger escorted by the guards to the cellar.
Clarke. Wanheda.
Wanheda. Clarke.
Clarke.
No other word occupied her mind.
Lexa rushed through the corridors and down the numerous steps to the floor of her throne room. She hardly cared about her pace, but she forced herself to a neutral walk when she reached the open doors.
As she entered, she said to the nearest guard, "Konge haihefa." (Fetch the King)
The woman nodded and scurried off while the Commander sat down. She attempted to retain a semblance of composure; she needed a level head on her shoulders. The ambassadors conversed amongst themselves and she couldn't help but wonder as to the reason for their presence. Titus stood stoically next to her throne. Charlotte, who sat among the ambassadors, blushed at Aiden before he ran off in anticipation of the meeting.
As a fellow ambassador, Roan could request their presence, but as Haihefa, he could require it. Knowing the ambassadors and their stubbornness as she did, it could've only been the latter.
She felt the sweat on her forehead and the beads forming on her back, but she wouldn't allow her anxiety to show on her face. Think now, feel later.
Only seconds later her guard returned with Roan in tow. The woman bowed before returning to her post and he followed her movements, albeit reluctantly.
"King Roan."
"Lexa."
The room seemed to bristle and a few ambassadors lurched in their seats at such a blatant sign of disrespect. "Hosh daun," she ordered. (Settle down)
The ambassadors grudgingly fell into their seats.
The Commander tolerated the informal greeting if only to hear the news of Clarke. She counted the beats of her heart, noted it was twice as fast as usual, and took a silent breath. "What of Wanheda?"
She surveyed his face, searching for any clue or sign as to what he might say. But his expression, stony and cold, was impossible to read.
Roan let the suspense and silence linger before he practically spit it out. "Wanheda is dead."
Every pair of eyes beyond those of Titus, the Commander, and Roan, darted to Charlotte, who sat tall in her seat under the scrutiny.
Lexa spluttered but quickly remembered where she was. "Wanheda cannot be dead," she stated.
He raised his eyebrows. Denial, he noted.
"Despite the fact that Wanheda sits among us, the Commander of Death cannot fall prey to death. How dare you bring these lies into my throne room!"
Anger.
When he remained silent, the Commander took a moment to collect herself. To the oblivious, her outburst seemed to be one of political grief (if they never bought the story of Charlotte as Wanheda), for Clarke had been a good and reasonable ruler.
Lexa called upon the mask she'd worn upon finding Costia's severed head. "Deliver proof."
As Roan reached into his pocket, he noted the third stage: Bargaining.
"Hand her this braid," Wanheda said. She clutched a lock of her braided blonde hair, still wet from her dip in the river, sliced through it with her dagger, and laid it in his palm, "and declare the death of Wanheda."
Roan folded his hand into a fist, rubbing the strand with his fingers. "Why?"
"Because the Commander thinks Clarke Griffin and I are one and the same." She noted the confusion on Roan's face. "Regardless of who she thinks I am–as Clarke Griffin or Wanheda–I'll be dead."
He raised his free hand in surrender but his raised eyebrows betrayed him. She ignored it nonetheless.
The Commander's gaze quickly fell upon the blonde braid of hair. Her worst fears confirmed. Again. She held out her hand and Roan stepped forward.
She curled her fingers around the braid and closed her eyes. The texture was the same–she'd felt it enough times. The color matched Clarke's exactly.
Clarke, who she'd once thought of as a fierce adversary. Clarke, who'd been a tentative ally. Clarke, who'd been a fragile friend. Clarke, her love. Clarke, who she betrayed and once again made into an enemy. Clarke, gone to the wind under a different name.
What were the last words they'd exchanged? At the face of the mountain, covered in blood, betrayal ripe and flavorful between them, what had Lexa said to her?
May we meet again.
They certainly wouldn't.
"How?"
The room around them melted away, and while they felt the impending chaos, it ceased to affect them.
Roan watched the stages come in succession. Depression, Acceptance. He gave his head a slight shake. "I found her in the forest. She'd been mauled by a panther," he said, imagining the expression on Wanheda's face if she were with them. "She didn't have long to live."
Lexa narrowed her eyes at him and stared for a long time. Then, she nodded. For all the talk of Wanheda, she'd still been a human. Just like herself.
"I didn't recognize her at first," he left the bubble between the two of them to glance at Charlotte. "The posters can't quite seem to agree on that scar. If it does or does not exist."
"Evidently, most people don't know what I look like. That's good. For me to do what I want to, the world needs to believe I have perished. However, whatever story you decide on fabricating, for the love of all that is holy leave yourself out of it."
He nodded and continued to rub circles into the braid. "It's an uncommon color, but there are blonde-haired Grounders. What if the Commander has doubts?"
"Then–and only then–I permit you to share details. Things about me which only the Commander, among former close friends, would know."
Curiosity peaked, Roan inquired, "Such as?"
"My prisoner number on the Ark: 319. Artistic ability. That tiny scar on my right shoulder blade."
Uncaring of the exposed secret, Lexa asked, quietly, "What were her last–" She stopped, knowing her mask would shatter if she continued.
Roan caught on quickly, nearly chuckling at the memory. "Words? Did she have any last words?"
He nodded. "Do you have any last words?"
Wanheda chortled. Then she thought. "You can tell the Commander that my statement still stands: She's a coward for running away from her emotions and it's for that reason why I died."
"Harsh," he remarked.
"Well, perhaps at last she'll be forced to face them," she said fiercely. "After what she did, she deserves to feel a fraction of the grief I have."
Roan whistled.
They stood for a moment, listening to the trees in the wind.
"What is it you want to do?" he asked, recalling her earlier words.
But Wanheda was distracted, her eyes intently focused on the forest through the cave's entrance. "The souls of the army need me."
"Wh– The army the Commander sent to protect Skaikru? They're dead?"
"They call for me in groggy voices." Her eyes, already glistening with tears, flicked to Roan. "They were asleep. They were slaughtered in their sleep."
"Who would do such a thing?"
"The Sky People." Wanheda sighed. "Go. Make your mother roll over in her grave."
He froze. "What did you just say?"
"I'm not an idiot, King Roan. I sense more than you think." Her focus fell to the trees once again. "Now go."
The Commander crumbled as he repeated Wanheda's 'last words' verbatim. Clarke wouldn't have been out there if it weren't for her. If she hadn't forced Clarke to eliminate the threat of the Mountain and bear the weight of the guilt and blame alone.
Several nights Lexa had laid awake listening to the bustling nighttime sounds of the city as she thought about what she would say, how she would apologize, to Clarke when they met again.
The Commander allowed herself a moment of grief before she shelved her emotions and stood. She looked to her right and nodded to Titus, who rushed to Charlotte's side and ushered her out of the room.
Many ambassadors began to stand and lodge accusations against the Commander and each other. Lexa had been painted as weak after the Mountain, but due to the reveal of the true Wanheda and her subsequent 'death', they thought her to be a traitor.
All the while Roan sauntered out of the room with a smirk on his face.
Monty Green marched across Arkadia in the direction of Camp Gryphon.
After the events of Mount Weather, the remaining 100 (along with Lincoln, Maya, Raven, and a few others) had decided to move back to the dropship. They'd faced major opposition from the Chancellor and Council, but they weren't on the Ark anymore. They might have been adults, but they couldn't order the 100 around. After being sent to die on the ground, they'd proved more than capable to survive on their own.
While the 100 had been trapped in the Mountain, the Grounders had recovered the charred bodies of their friends and family from outside the dropship. In the three months since, grass had stubbornly grown through the decimation.
Once their injuries healed and they had the opportunity to leave (for the Chancellor and Council never officially approved their move), they returned to the remains of their camp. The trees had recovered, and the ones that hadn't were cut down. New plants had taken the place of the old.
Truthfully, the only sign that showed what had happened were the black marks on the front wall of the dropship.
When the remaining 100, now a measly 43, arrived, the sight of so much green showed them that life went on. It wouldn't stop for them. And so, they were brought out of their depression over losing their leader, and set to work.
Since the fall of the Mountain, the 100 rebuilt and fortified their wall, abandoned their guns for swords and bows and arrows, and built several wooden cabins with the wood of the burned trees. They set up trade with a nearby Grounder village and found sufficient water sources.
However, despite their established community, they didn't have an official leader. They looked to certain people, like Raven for tech assistance, Monty for planning an indoor hydroponic farm to endure the winter, and Lincoln for combat training.
But they didn't have a leader.
After Clarke saved all their asses in the Mountain, they couldn't replace her. It had been a unanimous decision to name their home after her.
As Monty continued his march from the locked-down Arkadia, with several people in tow, he reminded himself of all the good things he and his friends had experienced on the ground. Because maybe, if he reminded himself of those things, then the news he had to deliver wouldn't seem so dire.
He marched through the dropship–which had become an unofficial headquarters–and threw the curtain aside. "We have a problem," he announced.
Raven rolled away from the computer she'd been staring at and spun in the chair to face him. Her eyes widened at the sight of so many people behind him. "What, did you bring the whole of Arkadia with you?"
"Just the sane."
She lifted an eyebrow and examined the people over his shoulder. Kane, Abby, Sinclair, Miller's dad. The rest were people she hardly recognized, but at least ten of them had crammed into the small space.
Monty sighed. "Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the horrible news first?"
"Say that again and 'news' won't sound like a word anymore," Raven remarked. She took a look at their somber faces. "Good," she decided.
"Charlotte's alive," he said.
Raven never met her, but she remembered Charlotte had been young, killed Jaha's son, and was said to have jumped off a cliff the same day she came down in the escape pod. "How?"
Monty shrugged. He looked over his shoulder. "Abby and Kane saw her in Polis. The Commander has her pretending to be Clarke. Bad news next?"
She nodded.
"Pike's taken over in Arkadia. The people elected him to be Chancellor." He glanced at Abby and Kane again. "Horrible news is that he and some others slaughtered that Grounder army."
Her face scrunched in confusion. "There's three-hundred people in that army."
"Didn't stop Pike and Bellamy from murdering them while they slept."
"Bellamy did this?" Octavia questioned from the top rung of the ladder leading to the second floor. She descended the rest of the way, followed by Lincoln, and walked up to Monty. "Are you saying my brother killed innocent people while they were sleeping?"
Hesitantly, he nodded.
Tears welled in her rage-ridden eyes. She nodded and headed for the exit, pushing through the people in her way.
"Octavia," Lincoln said as he caught up with her. "Where are you going?"
"People I know were in that army!" she exclaimed as he spun her around. "Indra was in that army! Excuse me if I want to help take care of the dead."
Octavia marched away and Lincoln reluctantly went with her.
After the sounds of their departure faded, Raven looked back to Monty. "Is that all?"
Kane stepped forward. "Pike wants to take back Camp Gryphon. He said that 'playtime's over' and wants you all 'back where you belong'. But we're not going back, and neither are you. He'll arrest us for escaping, and execute Lincoln and Maya for being outsiders." He tried to reel in his anger. "His prejudice knows no bounds. He arrested sick Grounders, along with Nyko, but we managed to get them out."
Miller over for him. "Pike needs to be taken out. We–all of us–either need to leave or remove him from power before he comes here to destroy everything you have built here."
"Removing Pike won't work on its own." Raven turned to Monty. "You said that the people elected him." He nodded needlessly as she continued. "If we get rid of Pike another one will take his place. And then another."
"We're not dealing with one bee," Monty realized.
"We're facing the whole freaking hive."
"Maybe I should've said I also have worst news."
"You think?"
Abby stepped in. "So we move?"
Raven looked up at her. "Either that or we get rid of everyone in Arkadia."
The implication of her words lingered in the air and they stood in the horrible silence as they thought.
Konge haihefa - Fetch the King
Hosh daun - Settle down
Reviews:
- PenguinGirl94: I think you'll find we have very similar ideas. A lot of what you said are things I've thought about and directions I'd like to take this story. I won't say exactly what it was, but something you said was almost exactly what I want to do in this story soon. I hope that doesn't spoil anything. As for me not tagging Roan, that's completely my fault as I didn't realize I'd left him out. Anyway, thank you for your review! :)
- Northern_Insanity: Thank you for reading!
- BlueWind77: I plan for it, but I won't have it as a main/driving component in this story.
- DARKSIDE4LIFE: Sorry for the wait! But I'm so glad you came back to read!
16 - Written: 4/8/23 - 4/15/23
Posted - 4/15/23
:)