Chapter Text
They are the man (or woman) behind the throne. The one in the dark suit, with two phones, a handful of files and the perpetual raised eyebrow of semi-interested disdain. Chief of staff, the ‘man to talk to’, the barricade between stupid ideas and the commander-in-chief.
Kings are a dime a dozen, but a true kingmaker is rare. The ability to inspire, to encourage, shape a dynasty, but step back into the shadows when the spotlight is shone down. They don’t just have their fingers in many pies; they have the pulse point of others who have their fingers in all the pies.
A kingmaker is an impressive ally, and a ruthless enemy. If you don’t move, they’ll go around you until it becomes irritating, and then you’ll be asked, once more, to step aside. Refuse, and they’ll sigh, tighten their jaw and leave. Then, next week, your brother’s shop will lose that long-term client, and your wife’s big work project will be ‘handed off’ and your daughter won’t get into the prestigious school of her dreams.
Kingmakers learn their art at the foot of sacrifice, of pain and betrayal until it becomes obvious that to rise above, sometimes you need to stand on a pile of bodies. They’ll never sleep like babies, but that’s acceptable.
Do what needs to be done.
It’s acceptable, because one day, they will find a cause that is worth it. Worth the guilt in the back of their mind, the faces you never forget, the sleepless nights, hours wasted on poor candidates. This true king will save their life, will pull them from mindless days, and call them to make the choices that will define them.
Blonde hair artfully styled, in a pin skirt, heels and a business jacket, Clarke Griffin thanks her constituents, her staff, her family and friends. She thanks ‘you, the people’ for their vote and speaks of her vision of this country, of healthcare and education and diplomacy with their enemies. The spotlights are on her, as the confetti spirals down, as thousands scream “Griffin” and Cage shakes her hand, congratulates her and thanks her for ‘a good fight’.
Bellamy stands off the stage, beside the head of the secret service, a man named Miller and the assistant chief of staff, Monty. He is dressed in a dark navy suit, with two phones in his pockets, a file in his hands and a wide smile.
She is in the spotlight, as she should be, a true leader. A true king.