Chapter Text
Echo’s smirk never reaches her eyes. As her king paces the length of Polis’ throne room, hands clenched at his sides, he can feel her watching him closely, that feral smirk constantly in place, and it wrings his patience further. They’ve been discussing Skaikru again and the spy always knows how to agitate him on the matter.
His scowl deepens. The crown of bone sitting atop his head feels uncomfortable, out of place.
“You worry over them like children,” Echo says, and the barely-subdued malice in her tone brings Roan to a halt halfway through his pacing. His nostrils flare.
He glares at the spy, who has the decency to turn her gaze to the floor, despite the muscles in her jaw twitching. “I worry over all-out war. I may have banished Skaikru and Trikru from the Coalition, but don’t think for a second that other clans won’t join them against us. Lexa made sure Trikru was respected. Something, in case you didn’t notice, Azgeda severely lacks.”
Echo bristles. “Should any of the other clans think to back out of the Coalition, we strike them down. It’s that simple.”
“It isn’t,” Roan grunts. “Rule by the sword can only last so long. Nia showed us that.”
Echo’s features harden at the mention of his mother. He’ll never understand the spy’s devotion to such a cruel and cold-hearted queen, but he gains at least some satisfaction in seeing the woman as agitated as him. “Nia showed us that the clans respect violence. Not this… diplomacy Lexa tried. It doesn’t work.”
“It does.” Roan’s not sure where that comes from – does he really believe that? That diplomacy can work better than his knife at someone’s throat? Ever since he was a child, his mother and her advisors had prepared him to one day take her throne. To rule fiercely, unforgivingly, cruelly. To keep his subjects so afraid of him that none would ever dare break rank. But then he had met Wanheda. He had witnessed the Skaikru girl, time and again, appeal to Lexa’s humanity and succeed. Without a single drop of bloodshed.
Above all, Roan was Azgeda. Blood would always have blood. But something needed to be done about Skaikru’s broken alliance with Azgeda. Their medical experience alone proved that they were valuable allies. Their technology and their ability to create more…
No, he needed to make sure that Skaikru and Azgeda would never come to blows. That was what was good for his people. He felt it in his gut.
“We need to forge a stronger alliance with Skaikru,” Roan hears himself say as he stares at his throne. “Something unbreakable. Something our people – and theirs – would respect.”
Echo nearly gapes at her king. Nearly. She curses harshly and glares. “You mean this? Then you may as well marry Wanheda, if that’s what you want.”
The thought clicks in his head. Although Echo had all but snarled the suggestion, disgusted at the mere thought of her king marrying a Skaikru woman, it clicks in place.
A marriage alliance. Of course.
He cants his head to Echo, who’s still staring at him in bemusement and anger, and orders, “Bring me the Skaikru ambassador from his cell.”
“My liege – “
“Do it.”
Echo blinks. After another moment of tense silence, she nods briskly. “Yes, my king.”
As she darts from the room, Roan allows himself a moment to rest on his throne. His throne that was taken by force, that many would see him dead for. Including an alarming number of his own people. He taps his fingers absently on the metal armrests and lets his mind wander to this new possibility.
For a moment – just a moment – he envisions Wanheda in the white ceremonial furs. Then he banishes the thought from his mind entirely.
It would be a marriage alliance. Nothing more.
000
Kane’s legs feel weak as he’s led through the skyscraper’s many twists and turns and eventually into the elevator. Although Echo hasn’t explained why he is being taken out of the cell he shares with Bellamy, it is obvious now. The king wants to see him.
His stomach curls into knots.
Kane doesn’t have any illusions about Roan, King of Azgeda. The man had been trained to be a ruler – a bloodthirsty one at that. Ever since Skaikru and Trikru had been banished from the coalition a week ago – under the guise that Skaikru was withholding technology and medicine that could save Azgedan warriors – Kane had tried time and again to request an audience with the ruler, to make the man see reason. But Kane isn’t Clarke. He knows Roan, for reasons no one truly understands, trusts Clarke more than any of the Skaikru people. She has earned his respect. But Kane isn’t so lucky. The chains chaffing his wrists and ankles say that more than anything.
Once the elevator reaches the top floor, Echo shoves Kane forward. He nearly stumbles, but Echo grunts in irritation and grabs him again, pushes him forcefully towards the throne room. The doors are thrown open and Kane is shoved inside. He barely has time to notice Roan lounging on the Commander’s throne before one of his knees is kicked out from under him and he’s forced to the ground, like the powerless hostage that he is.
“Ambassador,” Roan greets coldly, his voice always a deep, unsettling rasp. “I’ve heard you’ve requested an audience with me. Several times.”
A flare of hope wells in Kane’s chest. “Yes, I have, I – “
“Silence,” the king demands, shifting on his throne. Although his body language is easy, casual, the king’s blue-green eyes are sharp as the daggers sheathed on his thighs. “I know why you wished to speak. But we have another matter to talk about, now.”
Uncertainty overwhelms that little bit of hope Kane has. He looks from the king’s somber expression to Echo’s furious gaze.
“What’s happened?”
Roan sits upright. He’s hesitating, and it makes dread pool heavy in Kane’s stomach. Beside Kane, he can hear Echo grit her teeth, sending a slight shiver down his spine.
“Nothing has happened,” Roan finally says. “I have a proposal for your people.”
Kane fights to keep his mouth from falling open in surprise. Has the king seen that Skaikru and Azgeda would work better together? That their banishment from the Coalition causes more harm than good?
Roan stands. He cuts an imposing figure, all black clothing, furs, and a crown of bone. He’s a beastly man – twice the size of Kane, at least – and some residual animal instinct in Kane’s head screams danger at the sight of Roan towering over him.
“Your people have been dishonest,” Roan begins. “You’ve withheld valuable resources – not only from Azgeda, but from the Coalition. That’s why you’ve been banished, and Trikru alongside you.”
Kane opens his mouth to speak, but Echo snarls at him to remain silent.
Roan studies the ambassador with a keen eye. “I’m aware that your medicine and technology are not an unlimited supply. But it was your duty, as the thirteenth clan, to obey your Commander and king when he makes a request.”
Kane finds his voice. “Your majesty, if I may – “ He stops, waits to be silenced again, but all Roan does is cant his head. “We weren’t trying to disobey you. We’re simply trying to find ways to create more medication before our stocks fall too low. Surely you understand that.”
Roan just grunts. “Perhaps that’s true. But Skaikru does not have my trust. It’s the most loathed clan in all the Coalition. After the City of Light…” Roan doesn’t need to say more. After the City of Light, all of the clans had blamed Skaikru, the one clan known for their technology, for the destruction, the deaths. And Kane understands. “Regardless, we will need your medicine. Your technology. I’d be a fool king to say otherwise.”
Kane’s brows furrow together. “So you’ll lift the banishment?”
Roan stands tall. Again, Kane is reminded that his head could just as easily be lopped off in the next few minutes. “Yes,” the king says. “But under one condition.”
“Okay.” That’s doable. Provided the condition isn’t too outlandish.
Roan almost smirks, but it seems like more of a frown than anything. “I propose a marriage alliance. Between Skaikru and Azgeda.”
“A marriage alliance?” Kane questions, and now he can feel waves of rage flow from Echo. Still, she says nothing. Doesn’t even look at him as he glances at her, then back to the king. “Between who, specifically?”
Kane hadn’t thought it was possible to be any more surprised by the world. But then Roan opens his mouth again, and he can’t find any words.
“Between Wanheda and I.”
000
The following day, Kane is given Octavia’s horse, Helios, for the trek back to Arkadia. More dread solidifies in his veins when he sees the beloved horse – Octavia would have never willingly left him behind, considering he was Lincoln’s – but Kane resolves himself to push on. This marriage alliance, as ludicrous as it seems to him, was the only thing the Azgedan king had proposed to end the banishment. And Bellamy will be held hostage until Wanheda answers the request.
Kane has conflicting feelings about that, specifically. He’s afraid Clarke will jump at any opportunity to save Bellamy, just as Bellamy would do the same for her. Like the strange trust that has accumulated between Clarke and Roan, there is also some unspoken thing going on between her and Bellamy. It is well known, and probably why the king has kept Bellamy to begin with. The young man is easily a bargaining chip, if nothing else.
Helios is quick: a trip that would normally take an entire day lasts only half. As Kane is stewing over these thoughts, Arkadia’s gates come into view, and he feels simultaneously relieved and anxious. Relieved to see Abbey again, to be home, but anxious at this news he has to deliver. Clarke is a wildcard. Always has been and Kane suspects she always will be.
He’s surprised to see Octavia standing at the gate when he arrives – she must have fled Polis, then, like he had hoped. Her eyes light up at the sight of her horse, and she steps past all the front gate guards to approach the beast, her hand automatically seeking out her companion. “You brought him back,” she says, half in wonder, her voice strained. “Thought I’d never see him again.” Then her eyes refocus on Kane. “You, either.”
Kane dismounts and hands the reins over to the young woman. A crowd of people has gathered at his return, murmurs going around about how the Chancellor is back from Polis, but Bellamy is not.
“Where’s Clarke?” There’s no use delaying. Bellamy is still a hostage, and although Kane is certain Roan wouldn’t let anything happen to the man, it still doesn’t sit right with him to have left Bellamy behind.
Octavia’s eyes narrow. She, too, notices her absent brother. Strangely, she doesn’t comment. Just lets her eyes wander to the empty space behind Kane, then out beyond the gate, like the dark-haired boy would suddenly pop up any second. Her sharp eyes – when had they become so sharp? – return to Kane, and she merely says, “In med bay.” Then she stalks off, Helios trotting behind her, spine stiff and gait measured.
Kane sighs. His gut twists. He’s seen, first hand, what the Skairippa can do. He just hopes none of that rage is directed at him right now, lest he find himself on the wrong end of her blade.
After finding med bay, he has to admit he notices Abbey first. She’s crouched down in front of a young girl, offering a consoling smile, gentle as she always has been. He watches her a moment, allows himself just that moment, before turning towards Clarke, whose back is to him.
“Clarke.”
Both women running the med bay still. Abbey’s gaze immediately pierces him, relief shining brightly in her brown eyes. Clarke, on the other hand, looks wary. She, too, is looking for Bellamy, going so far as to glance over his shoulder.
“Kane…” She approaches him, her posture rigid as it sometimes gets, blue eyes uncertain. “You’re back.” She glances towards the doorway once more, purses her lips, and finally asks, “Where’s Bellamy?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He looks from Abbey to Clarke. “Can we go someplace quiet to talk?”
000
“Absolutely not,” Abbey says, her hands braced on the table in what has been dubbed the War Room, where only the three of them stand. “No.” She looks first at Kane, who can only offer her a sheepish frown in return, and then to Clarke, who is unsettlingly quiet. Staring down her daughter, Abbey reiterates: “I said no, Clarke. This is ludicrous. A marriage alliance? And for what? Just so we buy ourselves more time to make medicine that they’ll take from us anyway?”
Clarke still doesn’t speak, so Kane jumps in. Although he’s hesitant to expound anymore than he already has, he feels like he needs to ensure they have all the details. “They won’t take the medicine forcefully. They’ll give us time to refill our stocks and then some. He understands our meds and tech aren’t a limited supply, and that we have to start manufacturing certain products. Plus… he said this is the only way to secure an unbreakable alliance with Azgeda. They recognize marriage vows above all. Clarke would be safe, and Skaikru and Trikru couldn’t be banished from the coalition again. We’d be permanent members.”
Abbey’s glare settles on Kane. He tries to hold it as best he can. “And what about selling Clarke’s freedom, Markus? You want me to marry my daughter off for an alliance?”
“I’m not advocating for it, Abbey. Ultimately… I think it’s up to Clarke.”
The blonde finally shifts, her steely blue eyes meeting Kane’s. For a moment, he thinks he sees appreciation.
“He’s right, mom.” She places a hand over Abbey’s. Her voice is soft but stern. “Roan wants the… marriage,” it’s hard for her to get the word out, obviously tastes strange on her tongue, “to be between him and I. It’s my decision. No one else’s.”
She looks to Kane again, and he’s floored, as he always is, to see so much wisdom in her eyes. He had stopped thinking of Clarke as just a kid some time ago… but it’s still hard to see such a young woman weighed down by so many tough decisions. Decisions he feels even he couldn’t make “Roan has Bellamy. At the very least, I’m going to Polis to negotiate. We’ll get Bellamy back… and we’ll see what happens from there.”
Her words sound final, but Abbey doesn’t accept this. “You can’t be serious, Clarke. We’ll get Bellamy back another way – “
“What other way?” Clarke asks, an arch in her brow. “There are over a thousand Azgedan warriors in Polis. This is the only way.”
Abbey purses her lips. She straightens up, spine like steel, and Kane can see clearly where Clarke gets her stubbornness from. And her fire. “You’re sure about this?” Abbey is by no means accepting; her tone is drawn, short.
Clarke nods. “I am. I’ll leave for Polis in the morning.”