Chapter Text
Clarke weakly rose from the Antler Throne and silently watched everyone embracing all around her. Some - like Kane and Jackson - seemed distraught at what they’d done under A.L.I.E.’s control. Mostly though, there was a consensus of complete and utter relief among the disorientated Sky People and Grounders, that they’d made it out of the City of Light.
It was finally over.
Clarke wasn’t sure why she felt so numb, when she should’ve been as happy and relieved as they were… Her brows slightly lifted when Octavia abruptly stabbed her sword right through Pike’s torso, instantly killing him.
Nothing.
Clarke felt absolutely nothing at seeing that and chanced a glance at Bellamy who predictably had that look of guilt that hadn’t left his face since she’d reunited with her people. Bellamy had many things to feel guilty about of course; his part in Lincoln’s death most likely topping that list. But it was about time that he realised that Octavia was growing up. That she was allowed to make her own mistakes, just like Bellamy had been making his, regardless of the guidance and acceptance Kane had offered him. Octavia would have to live with what she’d just done, though Clarke could hardly blame her for doing it. Octavia had avenged her lover, her people, all of the death Pike had wrought on both the Skaikru and Grounders since his mutinous rise to power…
Inhaling a shaky breath, Clarke clutched The Flame tighter in her fist, raising it up to hold against her chest where a dull ache had replaced the numbness.
Or maybe Clarke only noticed the ache then?
Lexa had saved Clarke from A.L.I.E. Without Lexa, Clarke would’ve probably been beaten to death on those steps and everyone would’ve been mindless drones wearing trenchcoats in the City of Light in that moment. Lexa had sacrificed – had it been a sacrifice though? Or had it simply always been Leksa kom Trikru’s destiny to be the one Commander who would fulfil the true purpose of The Flame and finally help to defeat the AI who had destroyed the world?
Clarke’s eyes lingered on Murphy hugging Emori. At least that was what Clarke thought she had heard the woman’s name was. John, Emori repeatedly called him while they desperately clung to each other. Clarke let slip a wry smile that he had found someone who finally saw him as John and not as Murphy the Delinquent…
Lexa hadn’t seen Clarke as just a leader to her people. Lexa had respected her as such, but Lexa had seen Clarke. Not Wanheda, Ambassador, or the person who had burned 300 of her warriors in a ring of fire. Lexa had seen her as Klark…
And Lexa hadn’t just been the bearer of The Flame, had she?
Perhaps it had been Lexa’s destiny to destroy A.L.I.E., but the journey Lexa had taken toward that destination, spoke of even more greatness. Lexa had united twelve warring clans, something none of the previous Commanders had been able to do. Save for the Mount Weather threat, there had been peace in the Heda’s Coalition up until the Dropship had crashed on the Ground; up until Thelonious Jaha had gone and discovered an Artificial Intelligence set on destroying humanity for ‘their own good’.
No matter what Luna thought, she would never have won her Conclave. There was no ‘would’ve’ about it. Luna ran where Lexa had stayed on to face whatever was thrown at her. Luna had lost the instant she couldn’t complete the trial.
Clarke didn’t blame Luna for running, though. Hiding during war time because you didn’t want to kill, would definitely keep you and whomever you allowed into your sanctuary safe. But it wouldn’t change the reality of the war still raging on; the one the majority of your people were still bravely suffering through.
It was a reality that Lexa had chosen to face; had fought and bled against. Had overcome. Lexa had achieved peace for her people until the Skaikru fell to Ground and disrupted all of that hard work, blood and sweat; all that hurt and sacrifice. And then Lexa betrayed Clarke at Mount Weather to save her people, because she’d sworn to always place them first as their Heda, and caused those same people to instantly doubt her abilities for not defeating the Maunon herself, despite all she’d done for them.
Lexa had been right back then, when she’d told Clarke that she had done what Clarke would’ve done. Clarke would’ve betrayed Lexa to save her own people had Cage Wallace come to her with that offer. Because Clarke had protected her people when Pike slaughtered three hundred Peacekeepers in their sleep. Lexa knew exactly what Clarke was doing by suggesting Blood Must Not Have Blood in that moment. Peace had not been a new concept to the Commander. Lexa had known the consequences of supporting that stance in the political climate she was under after Queen Nia had planted even more seeds of doubt with the ambassadors.
And still, Lexa had spared Clarke’s people, leaving Clarke to wonder whether it had been to somehow make up for Lexa’s betrayal at Mount Weather. Though she’d sincerely apologised for what it had done to Clarke, Lexa had never apologised for the choice she had made that day. Lexa hadn’t been sorry for saving her people and she’d always advocated peace… So, made in that moment, all Clarke could feel was that Blood Must Not Have Blood, had been an offering from Lexa to Clarke.
One Clarke had eagerly accepted, because she had wanted to forgive Lexa. Clarke had wanted to hold Lexa and kiss her since the second she’d dropped that knife from Lexa’s throat to the floor. But Clarke’s pride had stopped her. Everyone - including Lexa and Clarke - had expected Clarke to be angry. And yet, both Clarke and Lexa had known that though she had been angry, Clarke had mostly been so unbelievably hurt.
But Lexa had sworn fealty to her; had sworn to protect Clarke’s people. And Lexa had done exactly that. Lexa had kept her promise even while the political atmosphere grew tenser in Polis. Clarke had seen the danger; the ambassadors had been scared and angry at Skaikru. Clarke had seen it, had seen how Lexa standing strong and unwavering in the storm, had only made it rage that much harder to shake the unflappable Heda who was daring her people to defy decades of conditioning toward violence.
And instead of just going to demand the Skaikru give up Pike or else - too scared that her mother and friends would become casualties if Pike resisted – Clarke accepted Lexa’s offering and proceeded to bask in the Commander’s soft smiles and longing stares; avidly drawing that beautiful face –
Clarke’s eyes flickered blindly over the celebrating – yet still befuddled - crowd again, wondering where her drawing would be… Whether it still existed. Whether Ontari had burnt it; had looked at it and laughed.
It hardly mattered. Clarke wouldn’t ever forget Lexa’s face…
Though with the threat now gone and her mind free to contemplate the future, all Clarke could see was the past… The black blood pouring out of Lexa’s abdomen and over Clarke’s hands. It didn’t even make sense that there had been so much blood while Clarke applied pressure to the wound.
Clarke wasn’t feeling numb anymore.
Lexa had laid dying and Clarke could do nothing to stop it. Like she hadn’t done anything when she had seen how angry the people had been at the Skaikru not paying for their crimes; at the Skaikru blatantly rejecting the Coalition, disrespecting their Heda and Lexa doing nothing to reprimand them.
Clarke never anticipated that Titus would come after her like he did, but she understood how he had reached that point where he felt that he needed to. Yes, Clarke hated Titus for what he’d done, but she didn’t blame him for doing it. Because while Clarke had been shamelessly enjoying Lexa’s protection - about to return to Arkadia under that same protection - the threat to Lexa’s leadership had grown even greater than usual. The danger had been obvious, and real, and Clarke had done nothing…
Titus had loved his Heda. Titus had tried to protect Lexa from Clarke the only way he knew how to, when both Lexa and Clarke continued to ignore his warnings. Clarke had protected her people with complete disregard to Lexa’s safety. Clarke had been a threat. A proven threat by the way Semet had confronted the Heda after Lexa wouldn’t allow him to avenge the malicious attack on his people; his family. How many others would’ve come for the Commander too? How many of the hundreds of Peacekeepers’ family members would’ve sought their vengeance?
Lexa’s death was as much on Clarke as it was on Titus…
Had Lexa died blaming Clarke too?
Had that been the reason why Lexa hadn’t told Clarke that she loved her back in the City of Light?
Had that been why?
Clarke’s knees buckled and she lowered down onto the throne. Bellamy was instantly at her side, asking her whether she was okay.
No. No. Clarke was not okay.
“Clarke?” She felt her mother’s hands on her cheeks, gently tilting up Clarke’s face for examination. “Tell me what’s wrong? Are you feeling lightheaded? How bad is the pain?”
Abby was probably thinking that Clarke was suffering from side effects of the transfusion, or the insertion and extraction of The Flame into and from Clarke’s spine. How could Abby have known that Clarke’s head had never throbbed so piercingly; that she’d rather cut off her own neck because of the excruciating ache running down her spine, and still, Clarke would gladly bear that, rather than deal with the suffocating agony pressing down on her chest, threatening to break through her sternum and rupture her straining heart.
“Clarke?” Abby asked again, in concerned confusion while she gently wiped at the tears streaming down Clarke’s face as the blonde visibly struggled to breathe.
Clarke blinked, trying to see Abby, but only managed to stare right through her, because there was no more running to be done. No more enemy to fight. Clarke didn’t have any mission to focus on; to distract herself with.
“Clarke, Honey, please talk to me...” Abby was starting to panic, likely suspecting neurological damage, so Clarke opened her mouth to reassure her mother that she was fine, but all that came out was a lowly rasped:
“Leksa died…”
Clarke helplessly stared up into her mother’s comprehending face and fell into her embrace the instant Abby’s arms opened for her.
Eventually noticing that everyone had left her alone with her mother - leaving the red and black stains all over Lexa’s Throne Room behind - Clarke got up and walked them to where she’d stayed while she’d been a guest in Polis. Though upon remembering what had happened in there, Clarke steered them to a different room on the Heda’s floor.
It was strange that that room had been the only private space Clarke had known since landing on the Ground. Strange and comforting, because that was what Lexa had offered her, even after kidnapping Clarke: a safe space to think and decide whether she would help the Heda or not. Lexa had given her the option to leave Polis and go back home with her mother. And when last had Clarke Griffin had any options? It had been do or die, unless the Heda had been near to protect her; to believe in her. That room - the quiet and comfort after three months in the wild - had been a sanctuary more than a prison, even while Clarke had stewed in her rage and regret… Now it only made her sadder that she wouldn’t find the same solace in there ever again.
So Clarke mindlessly wallowed in her grief, while Abby took care of her.
Clarke felt guilty, because her mother had been through hell too, but god help her, Clarke needed to be taken care of. She didn’t need or want to be strong anymore. Clarke just wanted to completely break apart for once. So she allowed Abby to suture and dress the wound at the back of her neck; to bathe her, barely noticing the two girls entering as the same ones who had called on Clarke while she’d been Skaikru Ambassador in the Heda’s Coalition.
She was dressed in a nightgown, of the ones Lexa had had made for her. Clarke just slipped under the furs, pulling Abby down with her, knowing that her mom probably wanted to go check on Kane, but Clarke wasn’t ready to let go yet.
Kane was alive; he’d still be there in the morning.
Clarke would never see Lexa again. Yes, Lexa’s consciousness was still in The Flame - maybe - but unless Clarke found another Nightblood to permanently hook onto her side and share blood with so that The Flame wouldn’t reject her body, she was certain that she’d lost Lexa forever.
And with that thought, Clarke started sobbing all over again.
It was the early hours of the morning when Clarke woke, thirsty and with a throbbing headache. She quietly got out of bed as to not disturb Abby who must’ve been exhausted after everything she’d been through.
It was amazing how easily the staff in Lexa - the Heda’s – Tower had fallen into their old positions and routines, Clarke thought when she found the same jug filled with water that had appeared in her room every night when she’d stayed in Polis before. She gulped down a glass, before pouring another and leaving the room with it.
No guests ever stayed on the Heda’s floor; no ambassadors… But Clarke had. Her gait slowed when she passed Lexa’s room, not daring to wonder at the state it was in. Not wanting to look because the image of blood covered furs still haunted her dreams, instead of the sweet memories of soft lips and touches caressing her body…
So Clarke passed that room and continued on, up the stairs and toward the Throne Room.
She wasn’t sure why she went there, relieved that the bodies and clutter had at least been cleared out, though it still looked nothing like it had done when Lexa still sat on that Antler Throne, ruling over her people.
Clarke didn’t even flinch when she found Indra standing next to the throne, covered in bandages, but still standing like Clarke never doubted the warrior woman would be after their ordeal. Indra stared vacantly at the empty seat, and Clarke abruptly realised that Indra – honour and duty bound – had blindly followed Lexa, not the Heda.
“What do we do now?” Clarke murmured, walking closer; staring at Indra because it hurt too much to look at those antlers.
Indra let out a puff of air and stepped out onto the balcony.
Clarke followed, grateful for the cool crisp night invading her lungs. They stood in silence for a moment, staring out over the thousands of torchlights glittering down below, where the people were waiting to hear news on what they should do now after their lives had been flipped upside down.
“Though there have been many Commanders, there has always been a Commander.” Indra finally murmured. “They are waiting for an announcement of a successor.”
Clarke nodded. She didn’t have to say that there was no one. Luna was the only one Clarke could think of and she doubted that she could even find Luna again, let alone convince her to take The Flame.
“The Heda’s home has always been Polis, and for decades, those who lived here ensured that their clan would prosper above others. They would send assassins throughout the lands to kill any Natblidas, because those they didn’t kill, would come to kill them for their power. Or clan leaders would assassinate the current Heda and send their Natblidas to fight in the Conclave in hopes to have their clan be elevated by an Ascension…”
Clarke listened avidly, this wasn’t what she’d seen of Lexa and the Nightbloods while in Polis.
“The Commander before Leksa had been Azgeda as had been the Commander before him. A ruthless warrior, but a puppet of Nia’s. He had grown weak from of a fever after carelessly neglecting a wound and was assassinated in his bed.” Indra sneered. “Leksa had lost her family during Azgeda’s seizure of Trikru lands. Onya found her though and took her as Second even before she realised that Leksa had been Natblida. We hid that fact away. Leksa would only train with Onya, myself and Gostos. We could not risk the other’s seeing what she was. We taught her everything we knew and when that Heda died, we sent our Leksa to take part in the Conclave.”
Indra’s smile was bittersweet and Clarke felt like hugging her, or being hugged by her, but she stood silent and still, intently listening to the story of Leksa kom Trikru.
“I never knew much about Titus the Fleimkepa. Only that he had been Trikru once, but had dedicated his life to serving the Heda in Polis, like all the Fleimkepas before him. He took to Leksa instantly. You have met her, so you know, even then we could all see that she was special. That she would bring change. We of the Trikru had been proud even before Leksa won her Conclave and Ascended to become the next Commander…”
“So the Nightbloods never lived here, like Aden and the others had…” Clarke stated more than questioned.
“Being born with Night Blood was most surely a death sentence back then. Leaders would reap children from their parents, train them in secret until the next Conclave. Like Nia had done with Ontari. Those who hid to avoid fighting, without training for the inevitable, never made it passed the first round. So Leksa sent word that those who are willing, will be taught in Polis. She didn’t scour the clans for more, but welcomed those Natblidas the clans willingly sent, or whose parents had abandoned them because of their blood and the burden that came with.”
Clarke swallowed thickly and thought of Aden again, how he had imitated Lexa and had promised to protect Clarke. Lexa and Titus had fostered a group of young people, any of whom would’ve been great leaders to the Coalition because of their tutelage. Through teaching them the Three Pillars of a being a Commander, Lexa had sought to ensure that the Coalition would survive no matter whom of her Nightbloods Ascended. That had been why Lexa had been content at the thought of her death. She’d had faith in all of her students.
“What will happen now, without Leksa holding this Coalition together?” Clarke asked.
“The people will return to their homes; spread the news that there is no Heda and therefor no Coalition. Some will undoubtedly come to claim the throne even though they cannot take The Flame. There will be war for power, just as there had always been, before Leksa kom Trikru had made us stop.”
Lexa’s legacy of peace would be destroyed. Her home would be destroyed even more so than it already had been.
Clarke couldn’t have that happen, so she resolutely turned to Indra.
“I have an idea.”
“Clarke!” Abby exclaimed from the doorway of Clarke’s new Polis bedroom.
Clarke’s head instinctively snapped toward her mother and she instantly felt a smack on her bald head in reprimand.
“Ouch, Indra! Jeez.” Clarke hissed, petulantly glaring at Octavia seated in front of her, chuckling heartily.
Octavia had of course gone in search of Indra after killing Pike, finding the Chief of Ton DC nailed to a cross in the streets. After how Octavia described Indra’s state and injuries, Clarke couldn’t believe that Indra had been standing that same evening after Octavia and Nyko had patched her up. Okay, maybe she could believe it. It was Indra.
“I will write my name on your head if you don’t remain still.” Indra lowly warned, before continuing to tattoo the various symbols of the Circle of the Flame on Clarke’s newly shaven head.
Clarke just sighed and remained staring forward, bracing herself when she heard the door click shut and her mother walked further into the room until she was in front of Clarke, staring at her with wide horrified eyes.
“Your hair…” Abby rasped, as though she was mourning Clarke’s blonde tresses.
“Will grow back.” Clarke murmured, focused on keeping still. She was very sure that Indra didn’t know how to write, and didn’t want to end up with strange doodles permanently fixed on her skull.
“But the tattoos…”
“Are for the people.” Clarke softly answered.
It wasn’t just for the people. Clarke needed to do this for herself too. The symbols meant something to her. They were an oath.
“They need to know that the Commander’s legacy lives on. That The Flame still exists.”
“The City of Light is destroyed… We no longer need The Flame…” Abby countered.
Clarke blindly reached back to take hold of Indra’s hand, removing it from her head to stare up at her mother.
“The people never knew about the City of Light, hell, they’re still not sure what exactly had happened to them. The Flame’s true purpose never mattered to them. Heda mattered. What Leksa had achieved had nothing to do with The Flame or the City of Light. The Commander is dead,” Clarke’s breath hitched, “the people need hope now that everything won’t fall apart; that the wrong person won’t assume power; that we won’t all be in the middle of yet another war soon.”
Abby’s lips parted as though to argue against it, before her gaze grew sombre and she let out a long suffering sigh.
“I thought you would come home and finally just enjoy your life.” Abby lamented.
“Yeah, I did too…” Clarke murmured, relaxing back, so that Indra could continue.
Clarke adjusted her robes, briefly shoving her hands into the deep pockets to feel for The Flame in one and the surgical set in the other. Comforted that the items were still where they had been two minutes ago, Clarke reached out to take the Journal of the First Commander from Indra.
She had needed a moment to catch her breath, because the elevators were still destroyed and it had been a long way down.
“Ste yuj, Fleimkepa.” Indra softly encouraged.
Clarke weakly nodded and anxiously walked out onto the balcony on the third floor of the Heda’s Tower. She squinted into the hot sun beating down on her shiny bald head, and knew that she’d been spotted when the crowd of thousands, instantly hushed.
Clarke nervously clutched the book to her chest, this could still go so very wrong.
“People of the Heda’s Coalition!” Clarke’s voice croaked and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “The City of Light has been destroyed.” There was first a murmur as people translated and sent back word to those who couldn’t hear, before wild cheers broke out. “Heda Leksa kom Trikru had helped us defeat our enemy.”
Some of them had been there. Some of them had seen it through the collective consciousness A.L.I.E. had created; seen Lexa leaping through the air with her dual blades and protecting Clarke… Those who had been struck down by those blades would’ve spread the word. The servants in the Tower were certainly already buzzing with talk of seeing their Commander who had died come to life again to protect Wanheda. Again.
“Our Heda had welcomed Skaikru into the Coalition, the usurper Pike has paid for his crimes against the Coalition with his life.” Clarke felt Octavia straighten on her right. “Skaikru remains loyal to the Coalition and will assist in rebuilding Polis.”
The people had grown quieter, only a hushed murmur echoing throughout those gathered. They didn’t trust Skaikru, and without really understanding how, they knew that Clarke had entered the City of Light and saved them, so Clarke hoped that that would help things go smoothly.
“Titus kom Trikru, Fleimkepa to the Blood, leader of the Circle of the Flame, had chosen me as his successor.”
That got their attention again, though Clarke was sure they’d gathered as much already from the tattoos on her head that would probably start scabbing and itching soon. They also knew that she had had The Flame inside of her at one point, the bandage visible at the back of her neck served as both proof and reminder, and that elevated Clarke enough to be listened to.
In their eyes, Clarke had Ascended like all the previous Commanders had done.
“He bestowed on me the secrets of the Ascension!” Clarke clutched the journal tighter to her chest. “And as Fleimkepa, I vow to keep Polis a city where all clans may come to in peace and mutual respect. I vow to uphold the tradition of guiding and teaching any Natblidas who enter here and call upon the clans to send their Natblidas to us, to be trained in preparation of the next Conclave, where the victorious warrior will Ascend to become Heda to our People!”
Clarke shakily removed the tin from her pocket, holding The Flame up so that it reflected as a blinding light to the masses, who instantly fell to their knees, and Clarke blew out a relieved breath, happy that no matter what had happened to them in the City of Light, the people still believed. Perhaps now so more than ever, they needed to cling to what made them Grounders, instead of the complete loss of agency and strangeness that had befallen them in the City of Light.
Consistency and familiarity. Clarke hoped it would be enough to keep the people calm until the next Commander was chosen.
“Hofli keryon kom Heda na fleim au ona oso ogeda!” Clarke shouted, valiantly fighting the burn in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.
May the spirit of the Commander burn within us all!
“You can’t be serious about this, Clarke.” Bellamy muttered, arms folded across his chest while he stood next to her, frowning at their people packing up and getting ready to head back to Arkadia.
Jaha wouldn’t be leaving though. He’d been placed on the Cutting Tree at Clarke’s command, as the Fleimkepa had final say over everything that happened in Polis until the next Heda Ascended. Some – very few - argued that Jaha had been under the influence of the chip and deserved a pardon just like everyone else. Clarke argued that Jaha had listened to A.L.I.E.’s plan, agreed with it, and had then taken the chip voluntarily, where many others had been manipulated and forced into taking it. By him. He had also clearly been the leader of A.L.I.E.’s army and everyone knew that it was the leaders who paid for any battle they lost.
So Clarke let the people have Jaha. Blood Must Have Blood, because what else was there to do when so many still waited for Wanheda to choose her own people over them? Clarke would just have to show them that they were all her people now; that she would protect them like Lexa had protected the Skaikru.
Jaha had paid the price for his actions. A price that would’ve been demanded had Clarke not offered it in hopes of absolution for Skaikru’s part in the events that had unfolded. She knew that A.L.I.E. had had Grounders working for her too, but it had been an army mainly consistent of chipped Skaikru who had ascended on Polis – packed with Grounders who had arrived to witness Ontari’s Ascension -, crucifying and torturing everyone in their path.
Polis was already being rebuilt around them though. The majority of survivors, however, had left the capital to return to their respective clans. Clarke was surrounded by a small compliment of guards, having sunk into their roles as though they’d never stopped being the stoic pillars that had guarded the Heda’s Tower.
“I am.” Clarke finally answered Bellamy, her eyes flitting over her surroundings to find Murphy and Emori.
They’d asked to stay in Polis. Emori had joked that she had experience running a stall, and Murphy just shrugged and said that Clarke owed him for stealing his job as Flamekeeper. Clarke couldn’t remember seeing two people exude such a contented calm as those two when in each other’s presence, even while their haunted eyes glinted with a touch of mischief and promise of mayhem.
So of course Clarke had said yes, because she needed to see that hope around her, even while it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She was human after all.
“Then I’ll stay too.” Bellamy resolutely stated, gaining her attention again.
“No.” Clarke deadpanned.
Octavia would be staying for now. And though Clarke hadn’t said anything yet, she was gearing up to somehow declare Indra the new Commander if they couldn’t find any more Nightbloods. Which meant that Octavia would probably not even leave Polis for Ton DC, which was a lot closer to Arkadia and would’ve permitted Bellamy to perhaps see his sister more frequently. Maybe. Clarke still wasn’t sure if the Blake siblings’ relationship would ever recover from Lincoln’s death. Lincoln’s murder.
“No?”
“You helped murder three hundred sleeping Peacekeepers.” Clarke blankly murmured. “Your presence here would just remind everyone of what Skaikru had done.”
“Clarke…”
Clarke sighed and turned to look into his distraught face. She couldn’t truly judge Bellamy for what he’d done, given all that she had done, but Clarke needed to say something. She couldn’t confront him before because Clarke had needed him to stay focused on destroying A.L.I.E. and yes, he was her friend, but when he was feeling emotional, Bellamy didn’t care about anyone other than himself. He lashed out without thought of who he was hurting and which causes he was jeopardizing.
“Our actions have consequences, no matter our motivations or intent…” Clarke husked. “We make our choices; our mistakes, and we can pretend that they never happened or we can admit that we’d been wrong and attempt to set right the harm we’ve caused…”
Bellamy nodded, eyes watery and Clarke wondered when last a day had gone by that Bellamy Blake hadn’t cried.
“Leksa,” Clarke’s breath caught over the name and she cursed herself for thinking she could say it without it stabbing at her heart, “Leksa and I had been bringing the Skaikru – the Coalition - peace… Had Pike not slaughtered Indra’s army; had you not helped him…” Clarke trailed off, her hands clenching into fists. “They were sent to protect you from Azgeda, Bellamy. Leksa would’ve taken them back to Polis with her, because the Queen was dead, and the threat to our people gone… The army would’ve been gone too had you just waited a few more hours… If you hadn’t attacked them for no apparent reason…”
“Clarke…”
“Had you just been the man I thought you were…”
Both Clarke and Bellamy were silently crying now as they stared at each other.
“Had I not pushed for Blood Must Not Have Blood and maybe supported the blockade sooner… forced you to give up Pike…”
Clarke sniffed and wiped at her cheeks.
“ALIE would still have been a threat… But maybe a lot of good people would’ve been spared…” Her eyes shifted to Octavia, pretending not be listening in on the conversation. “We made a few big mistakes, Bellamy.” Clarke thickly swallowed and Bellamy clenched his jaw, rapidly nodding. “But we’re gonna try and set things right.”
Another firm nod.
“So go back to Arkadia,” Clarke murmured, smiling sadly when his head snapped up, “go help rebuild. Support Kane as Chancellor. Protect our people and show the Grounders that we aren’t the monsters we’ve become to them.”
Bellamy slowly looked around them, at the once great capital of Polis and its streets now literally stained red with blood, before his eyes rested on Clarke again.
“And this is your penance?” He asked, seeming to finally understand. “Staying here?”
Clarke nodded, her hand going into her pocket to gently run a thumb over The Flame.
“Ai laik Fleimkepa. Ai dula Polis op, badan oso kru op; badan ai Heda au.” Clarke softly murmured to herself and stared up at the Heda’s Tower, wondering what she’d gotten herself into now.
I am the Flamekeeper. My duty is to Polis, serving our people; serving my Heda.