Chapter Text
The smoke from the funeral pyre clung to Clarke’s skin. She should have washed it off hours ago, but even after scrubbing her skin raw it still filled her nose and mouth. By now it almost tasted sweet; a reminder that stopped her from forgetting everything that had happened in the last three days. Even when her mind clouded over from exhaustion and shock threatened to sink in, she would rather die before she allowed herself to forget.
Clenching her eyes shut, Clarke forced herself to think of Lexa. Her skin, her hands, her eyes--how her smile had felt pressed to her mouth and all over her skin, worshipping her body with an awe that was almost childlike in nature. That was something that she would never let slip away, she would burn Lexa into her mind and keep her there forever.
A sudden rapping on her door knocked her out of her thoughts and she spun around to face it.
“Enter.”
A boy stepped into the room, but he hung back a good distance, barely making it through the door. He opened his mouth once, gulped, then finally spoke. “The conclave is beginning Wanheda, you are invited to the starting ceremony if you choose to attend.” He then stiffened, waiting.
Clarke could feel his eyes on her, taking in the state of her clothes, her hair. They were a mess. She hadn’t bothered to change before sleeping last night and she still wore them now, even though it was well into the evening. The bedroom was chaos. A smashed chair lay in pieces by the door and the candles that were changed and lit daily by servants had burned down into small piles of wax. No one had disturbed her since the pyre.
She grit her teeth, holding in her anger at being judged by a stranger. “I will not be at the ceremony, I can see well enough from my window. You can also tell Titus to come fetch me himself from now on.” She turned away again, back to the empty fire pit.
“Yes Wanheda.” Clarke heard the door shut and she unclenched her jaw. With a deep breath she sat down on the fur rug and put her head in her hands. She really should attend. The reason she had stayed in Polis was to deal with the aftermath of- to deal with the other ambassadors. Her people needed her to keep the blockade in place. Without it they would be wiped out because of Pike’s bloody conquest and everything she had done would be for nothing. That could not happen, she refused to let it.
For right now though, Clarke could be alone.
She pushed the heels of her palms into her closed eyes and watched shapes form against the darkness. The pit in her stomach was growing again and she could smell smoke. She pushed harder, laying back on the furs. Ears pounding, she tensed until she was as stiff as a corpse, fighting the urge to cry. She had done enough of that already and it threatened to shatter her every time.
A distraction, anything. Clarke needed to not be here.
Sitting up straight, she opened her eyes. Nothing had changed.
Three shuttering breaths later, she gained the will to move; walking over to her desk and to her art supplies. There were quite a few. She had let it slip to a servant that she enjoyed drawing and they had appeared on her bed in neat packages within the hour. Lexa had probably been behind that.
There was no chair to sit on by the desk and no light to draw by, not properly at least. Clarke picked up her papers anyways, looking them over. She had drawn a lot that past week, more than she had since she’d landed. There were so many sketches. Of strangers, the view from her window, Lexa, the sunlight through the curtains in the morning, more Lexa. Lexa fighting, Lexa sleeping, smiling, staring, Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. Her grip tightened on the papers and she forced herself to let them go before she ripped them by mistake.
There would be no escape for her there.
A book maybe. There was plenty in the room, all supplied by the commander. Personal favorites she had said. They had promised to talk about them sometime, but that wasn’t going to happen anymore was it.
Clarke picked one up anyways and carried it over to the window ledge. It was a long drop down and nothing to stop her from falling. It felt… good. Freeing.
The air was clear and warm that night, Polis was lit up for the conclave and the clamor rose up to her on the wind. If she really focused she liked to imagine that she could pick out individual voices. Instead, she sat down on the ledge and examined the book. The spine was broken and she could count five dog-eared pages. Opening to the first chapter, she set about the task of actually reading something. It was strange to read a book off of paper instead of a techpad, most had been downloadable from a shared archive back on the Ark.
After what felt like a hundred false starts, the book began to draw her into its world. It was a fast paced story, with a lilting style and plenty of flare. No wonder Lexa liked it, it was nearly as dramatic as she was. Clarke almost laughed at the thought, but caught it at the last second and sucked it down into her gut. It was too soon, way too soon.
The noise from outside billowed up to her in that moment, louder than it should be. It didn’t sound the same as it had before; it was shriller, like screams.
Giving the book up for a lost cause, she turned her attention towards the window. The sprawling city greeted her. Past the markets there was a large building made out of cut stone. Crowds of thousands stood outside of it, each carrying a lantern. That was the Hall of the Commanders, where the conclave took place and the new Heda was chosen.
Just then, the windows of the hall lit up with fire. The large doors leading into the building were flung open by the force of what only could be a massive explosion and fire raced out, scorching some of the crowd. Seconds later a boom that Raven would be proud of reached her. Something was happening. Something bad. Clarke needed to be down there. Right. Now.
Springing up and throwing on a hooded cloak, she raced out the door. Her guards called out to her, but she payed them no mind. The elevator was just up ahead. Skidding to a stop she barked an order at the operator and the doors began to open. Once inside the large box, they closed and the long descent began.
Clarke shuffled nervously in place. What the fuck was happening down at the conclave. Explosions were not a normal part of the ceremony that Titus had drilled into her skull in an attempt to be helpful. The initiates were supposed to enter the building and undergo a series of tests. From problem solving to mortal combat, they would be picked off one by one. The variety of trials was impressive, but demolition expertise was not one of them. So that meant something had gone wrong and if she had learned anything on her time on the ground, when things go wrong it would never be in her favor. It was time for her to do some damage control.
The elevator finally jolted to a halt and Clarke sprung out the doors, bowling over some unsuspecting official. Outside of the tower things were incredibly chaotic. People scrambled over each other in confusion, some running towards the hall and others away. She set into a dead sprint through the markets, dodging stalls; weaving her way through the crowd.
When she reached the end of the marketplace, the crowd became thicker. These people weren’t moving. Shoving her way through the mob, Clarke got closer to the building, but not fast enough. She didn’t have time for this. Flinging back her hood, she roared, “Get out of my way!” Heads swiveled toward her and already scared faces lit up with fear. The grounders backed away, leaving a path just wide enough for one. She walked down it as quickly as possible. Heading to the official’s box where Titus and the ambassadors who made it to the ceremony would be. Where the new Heda would be inaugurated.
Climbing the stairs as quickly as possible, she made her way up to the box. Titus’s bald head gleamed like a beacon under the lantern light. What a prick. Hiding her animosity she called out to him, “Titus, what’s happened?”
He didn’t seem surprised to to see her. Slightly irritated if anything, but that might be due to the fact that someone had just blown up his precious conclave. She went over to his side anyways. “The Azgeda Natblida stormed the ceremony and demanded to be allowed to compete. Only minutes after she entered the hall an explosion occurred.” He spoke quietly.
“Are you sure it was her?”
“I sent guards in to investigate just minutes ago, but I am almost certain this is her work. We are only waiting for them to return.”
“What happens if it was her?”
“I am not certain. Nothing like this has taken place in my time fleimkepa.”
“But it has happened.” She pressed.
He tensed at that. “Yes, around sixty years ago a rogue Natblida assassinated the other initiates and claimed control.” He replied.
“Doesn’t that break the rules of the ceremony?”
“Yes, but he was the only one left. The fleimkepa had no choice but to give in.”
“Will you?”
“We need a Heda. I must complete my duty.” Just as he finished speaking, a roar from the crowd drew them towards the doors and the person who stood just outside of them.
The Azgeda Nightblood stood tall, covered in what could only be the blood of the children and the guards. She was looking up at the box, still as if carved from ice. Clarke could swear she was looking at her. She spoke then, voice carrying across the crowd. “I claim my place as Heda, I have bested the conclave and have proven that I am the strongest of the Nightbloods. That my spirit and the commander’s is one in the same.”
A woman in the crowd yelled, “You cannot be our Heda, you have not won the conclave! You broke it!” The Nightblood didn’t respond, she simply began to walk towards the box and up the stairs, all while keeping her eyes fixed forward. She stopped just feet from Clarke and Titus and looked at him expectantly.
Titus walked forward and knelt before her. She smiled at that, her teeth stained black with the blood that ran down her face in rivulets. It wasn’t hers.
Cold crawled up Clarke’s spine and her hair stood on end. This was a killer and her body instinctively recognized danger in the way the girl carried herself, like a pakstoka--lean and deadly. A wolf in human skin.
Titus rose and began to speak in a tongue she didn’t recognize. It was similar to Trigedasleg, but twisted so much that she couldn’t pick out any meaning. With his arms outstretched and his arms raised parallel to the floor, he chanted. The words spilled out of him and into the air where they hung suspended, electric. Then just as quickly as he started, Titus stopped.
He gestured for the young woman to turn. She complied, still smiling eerily. He brushed her dark, sticky hair to the side, exposing her neck. He reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out the skull box that contained that… thing. He opened it and placed it on a small table. He then selected a small blade, the same one he had used on Lexa. Pressing it into the neck of the Nightblood, he created a slit about an inch and a half long. Black blood poured out, but the girl didn’t move or react in any visible way. He then tried to place the thing inside of her. The small tendrils that Clarke had seen unknit from Lexa seemed unwilling to be joined with the girl. After several tense seconds they finally reached inside of the cut and the thing disappeared with a squelching noise that turned Clarke’s stomach. The girl twitched twice violently and fell still, breathing heavily. Titus quickly stitched the cut closed with a skill and steady hand that would have admirable under better circumstances.
It, whatever it was, was done.
The girl then turned to face Titus once more, still grinning. The blood was gone now, probably licked off.
Titus cleared his throat, “What is your name Heda?”
She stopped smiling then, eyes darting from person to person. They came to rest on Clarke, unreadable and dark, but steady. “Ontari kom Azgeda.”
Titus stepped away, his face grim and pained. He walked over to the balcony, brushing past Clarke in the process. He addressed the crowd with a tight voice, “People of the Commander, today we pledge ourselves to a new Heda. Her name is Ontari and in being chosen by the spirit, she vows to rule us honorably with all the strength in her bones, all the blood in her veins, until her final breath. In return, we give ourselves up to her.” He stopped then, gulping audibly before continuing. “Long live Heda Ontari.”
Clarke broke her gaze from the girl and turned to face the crowd. They were still, confused and scared. Finally they sank to their knees and echoed Titus’s words, heads bowed, “Long live Heda Ontari.” It rippled through the mass of people like a wave, shocking the ambassadors out of their stupor and they too kneeled.
Swallowing bile, she turned back to Ontari. The Heda. Not her Heda, but inside her neck, inside of some alien technology, was Lexa.
She was still staring at her.
Clarke did the only thing she could, save bow to this imposter.
She ran like hell.