pairing: Bellamy Blake x Grounder!Reader, Roan Kom Azgeda Sister!Reader, The 100 rewrite
Summary: Princess of Azgeda. Daughter of Queen Nia. Enemy of the Sky People.
Raised to put her people above everyone else, Y/N has spent her entire life preparing for war, politics, and the burden of protecting a crown she never asked for. But when she's captured during a scouting mission and imprisoned beneath Mount Weather, she finds herself trapped between enemies who want her dead, and allies who have already given up on her.
Survival is supposed to be simple: endure, escape, return home.
Then she meets Bellamy Blake.
Arrogant, reckless, and fiercely loyal, Bellamy represents everything she was taught to hate about the Sky People. Yet as war spreads across the ground and impossible choices force their worlds together, Y/N begins to question the stories she's been told, including everything about the man at the heart of it.
As alliances shift, betrayals cut deep, and grudges threaten to ignite another war, the Ice Nation princess must decide where her loyalties lie: with the people she swore to protect or with the future she never imagined for herself.
In a world where survival demands sacrifice, love may be the most dangerous choice of all.
The morning sun spills through the narrow windows long before I open my eyes. For a moment, I simply lie there.
The room is quiet except for the sound of birds. I frown. Polis still surprises me.
I spent years convincing myself I hated this city. It was too warm. Too loud. Too alive. The streets overflowed with people who laughed too easily and smiled without reason. It felt foreign to me. Nothing like Azgeda. In the Ice Nation, joy was a rare thing. The cold had a way of settling into your bones, hardening people long before life ever could. Smiles were few and far between, and laughter was quieter still.
I have begun to understand why Lexa loves this place. It is alive.
I throw the furs aside and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.My shoulder throbs with the familiar ache of an old injury. I roll it carefully, trying to work the stiffness free. A sharp pop echoes through the quiet room, and I wince as the joint settles back into place.
A servant left fresh water outside my chambers before sunrise. I carry the basin inside and splash the cold water across my face. It shocks me awake.
I catch my reflection in the polished bronze mirror leaning against the wall. Dark circles still shadow my eyes. The scar across my cheek catches the morning light. I trace it gently with my fingertips. Bellamy gave me that one, not intentionally. A piece of shattered concrete during the explosion in Mount Weather. Funny. It’s one of the few scars I don't resent. I snort quietly to myself. If he heard that, his ego would never recover.
I braid my hair slowly. My father taught me never to rush something you'll wear into battle. I smile before I realize I'm doing it. The smile disappears almost as quickly. I realize that remembering him doesn't hurt the way it used to. Perhaps healing isn't forgetting. It's finally allowing yourself to remember the good alongside the bad.
I fasten the last leather tie around my braid before reaching for my sword. The familiar weight settles against my hip.
The tower is already awake. Servants hurry through the corridors carrying baskets of fresh bread. Novices weave between them with stacks of scrolls balanced precariously in their arms. Somewhere below, I hear warriors laughing.
As I descend the spiral staircase, more than one guard greets me with a respectful nod. I return each one.
I step into the courtyard just as the training grounds begin to fill. Young warriors pair off with wooden staffs while veterans bark corrections. Without thinking, I drift toward them.
An instructor notices me immediately.
"Princess." He greets with a nod.
He tosses me a wooden practice sword.
I catch it one-handed without thinking. The weapon is laughably light. I unbuckle the sheath at my hip and set my own blade against the bench. Only then do I give the practice sword my attention, rolling the hilt through my palm before spinning it once between my fingers.
A nervous young recruit steps forward. He cannot be older than sixteen.
His eyes widen. "I have to spar with her?"
The instructor claps him on the shoulder. "You wanted experience."
The poor boy looks ready to faint. I almost tell him I'll go easy. Instead, I settle into my stance.
My father would never have allowed anyone to take pity on me because I was younger. Why should I insult this boy by doing the same?
"Come on," I say, twirling the wooden blade once. "I promise not to embarrass you too badly."
His ears turn bright red. He charges anyway. He's learning already. The recruit lasts less than two minutes.
By the time I leave the training yard, the morning drills are still in full swing. The clash of wooden blades and barked commands fade behind me as I make my way through the palace halls toward the council chamber. The morning meeting has just ended, and the chamber has long since emptied.
The echoes of departing ambassadors fade down the stone corridors of the tower, leaving behind an almost unsettling silence. Only the steady crackle of the braziers remains.
I linger near the great map table, absentmindedly pushing one of the carved wooden clan markers back into place.
Azgeda. Roan had nearly forgotten it when the meeting dissolved. Typical.
"You've been staring at that piece of wood for quite some time." A voice calls out.
I glance over my shoulder. Marcus Kane stands in the doorway. He looks exhausted.
The journey from Arkadia has left dust clinging to the hem of his dark coat, and the lines around his eyes seem deeper than I remember. He carries himself with the same quiet dignity he always has, but something about him has changed. Perhaps it is guilt or maybe desperation.
"What brings Skaikru's ambassador back so soon?" I ask.
"I was hoping to speak with you." He says.
"What about?” I ask skeptically.
He hesitates and looks around the room. "Privately."
My eyes narrow. "What is it that Lexa and my brother cannot hear?"
"It concerns Arkadia." He answers.
"Then she should hear it," I state.
"It concerns Bellamy Blake." Kane corrects.
The name catches me off guard. I recover quickly enough that Kane may not even notice. Or perhaps he does. He seems to notice everything.
"I'll walk," I concede.
The gardens are nearly empty. Afternoon sunlight filters through towering pines planted generations ago, casting long shadows across winding stone paths. Somewhere nearby, water trickles softly from one of Polis' ancient fountains.
Kane walks beside me in silence until we're far enough from the tower that no guards linger within earshot.
"You've spoken with Bellamy before," he says eventually.
"I have," I say with a nod.
"He trusts you," Kane comments.
I laugh once. "I think you've mistaken tolerance for trust."
"He respects you." Kane urges.
"Respect." I taste the word. "He respected me enough to march beside Charles Pike while three hundred sleeping warriors were butchered."
Kane doesn't argue. "I know."
"You know?" I stop walking. "No, Marcus. You only know of it."
Kane's shoulders sag. "I know there is nothing I can say that justifies what happened."
"No." I look at him pointedly. "There isn't."
For several moments, neither of us speaks. Finally, Kane draws a slow breath. "Bellamy is not Charles Pike."
My jaw tightens. "He may not be, but he follows him."
"He believes he's protecting his people."
"And that excuses murder?" I laugh bitterly.
"No." His answer comes immediately."It explains it."
I stare at him. "You still believe he can come back."
"I do." He says earnestly.
"You have more faith than I ever could." I huff.
"I've seen who Bellamy is." He defends.
"So have I." I sneer.
Neither of us continues. The silence stretches between us. Then Kane says quietly, "There are Grounders imprisoned inside Arkadia."
That gets my attention. "Who?"
"Grounders who came to seek shelter and medicine." Kane explains. My expression hardens. "And Lincoln." He says.
For a long moment, I simply stare ahead at one of the fountains. My eyes blur not because I cannot see it, but because my mind has already drifted years into the past.
Polis. I hated those gatherings.
Hours spent standing behind Nia while ambassadors argued over borders, tribute, and honor. Every conversation felt like another lesson in how easily peace could be traded for power.
The only part I ever looked forward to was slipping away to the training grounds. That was where I met Lincoln.
A Trikru boy with too much patience and an irritating habit of never rising to my insults.
I had challenged him to a spar before I even knew his name. He beat me. Barely. I demanded another match, then another.
By the end of the week, we were bruised from head to toe and arguing over whose victory actually counted.
The next gathering, we sought each other out before anyone else. An odd friendship. One my mother never would have approved of.
Lincoln never cared that I was Azgeda royalty. To him, I was simply another warrior trying to prove herself.
He laughed when I fell. Congratulated me when I landed a clean hit. He never bowed. Never feared me. It was... refreshing.
Somewhere along the way, our conversations stopped being about fighting. We talked about our clans, about duty, about what kind of warriors we wanted to become.
I used to think he was naïve. He believed people could choose to be better than what they had been taught. That violence wasn't inevitable. I told him he would grow out of that fantasy. Now I wonder which of us was right.
The older we became, the less often we saw each other. Duty replaced childhood. He became one of Trikru's finest scouts. I became Azgeda's sword.
Every meeting felt shorter than the last. Our conversations turned cautious. He questioned the raids my mother ordered. I defended them because I believed I had to. Because questioning Nia meant surviving her first. Eventually we stopped trying to change each other's minds. But we never became enemies.
I still remember the day I heard the Commander had banished him. I hadn't agreed with the decision, but I understood it. Lincoln had chosen to aid the Sky People. In the eyes of the Coalition, he had betrayed his own. And now he sits in a cell beneath Arkadia. A prisoner. I close my eyes.
"Pike imprisoned him after declaring him a traitor to humanity." Kane explains.
My hands curl into fists. "What has he done to him?"
"He is alive." Kane pauses. "For now."
Cold anger settles deep in my chest. "What are you asking of me?"
"I need your help." He confesses.
I almost laugh. "You want the Ice Nation’s war chief and princess to stroll into Arkadia?"
"I want someone Pike won't expect." Kane meets my eyes. "He won't expect one woman."
"One woman who carries enough political weight that he cannot simply make her disappear." I raise an eyebrow. "You have more confidence in Charles Pike than I do."
"I have none." Kane says.
"Then why send me?" I ask, raising my brows.
He hesitates. "Because Bellamy may listen to you."
There it is. The real reason. I shake my head. "You give me too much credit." I sigh.
"I don't." Kane says simply. "He respects your judgment."
"He respected it enough to ignore every warning I ever gave him." I say rolling my eyes.
"He respected you enough to argue with you." I blink. Kane continues. "Bellamy does not argue with people he dismisses."
I don't answer. Because he's right. Bellamy never ignored me, only challenged me much to my annoyance.
"I need you to remind him who he is." His words hang in the air.
"And if I can't?" I ask sharply. This sound like a suicide mission.
"Then free Lincoln." He reaches into his coat. A small leather pouch lands gently in my palm. Inside rests a metal key. “He’s in the cell block.”
I study it.
"The rest of the Grounders are in there too. The guards rotate every six hours." Kane explains.
"You've planned this." I say waringly.
"I've had to." Kane says letting out a sigh.
"Why not do it yourself?" I ask.
A bitter smile crosses his face. "Because Pike watches me."
I close my hand around the key.
"I won't lie to you." Kane's voice grows quieter. "If Pike discovers why you're there..."
"He'll kill me." I cut him off.
"I fear he'll do worse." Kane says grimly.
—
Lexa refuses before I finish speaking.
"No." The word echoes through the war room, leaving no room for discussion. "I am not sending one of my generals into Arkadia."
"It isn't a military operation." I urge.
"It becomes one the moment Pike sees you." Lexa argues.
Roan folds his arms across his chest. "I agree with Lexa."
I look between them. "So your solution is to leave Lincoln there?"
“He is no longer our problem.” Lexa states. She silently reminds me of his banishment from the Coaliton.
"He belongs to Trikru!" I exclaim. "If Pike executes Lincoln..."
She closes her eyes briefly. "I know."
"No." I step closer. "You don't."
"He fought for Skaikru, Y/N." She warns.
"He fought for peace." I feel my voice rising despite myself. "And we're going to leave him there because it's inconvenient?"
Lexa studies me. Long enough that I begin to think she's already made her decision.
"You intend to go." She says, finally. It isn't a question.
"Yes." I concede.
"You understand Pike may imprison you." She states
"Yes.” I answer.
"He may execute you."
"I know."
"He may use you against Roan."
"I know."
"He may use you against me."
"I know." I grunt out.
The room falls silent. Lexa exhales slowly. "I cannot order you to do this."
"You don't have to." I tell her.
Roan shakes his head. "This is reckless. You could die."
"I almost did in Mount Weather." I say hotly.
"That isn't an answer." Roan says sharply.
"No." I meet his eyes. "It's a reminder."
Lexa walks toward me. She stops only inches away. "You leave at first light."
I let out a breath. "You'll let me go?"
"I'm not letting you." She meets my eyes. "I'm trusting you."
She grabs my forearm and I grab hers. "Come back." She commands.
"I intend to." A smile slowly makes its way across my features. “With Pike in tow.”
The towers of Polis rise above the trees just before dusk. Stone catches the fading sunlight, turning the city gold against the darkening sky. The gates open at the sight of the Commander's banner. A single horn sounds at the column's arrival. No celebration greets our return.
The people lining the streets bow their heads in silence as Lexa rides through the city. Clarke keeps pace beside her, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. I follow a few lengths behind with the Commander’s guards, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing between the stone buildings.
By the time we reach the tower, stable hands are waiting at the foot of the steps. My horse snorts as I hand over the reins, eager for rest after days on the road.
I watch Lexa disappear inside without slowing. She has barely crossed the threshold before duty calls her back. Some things never change.
The throne room is quieter than usual. The council has not been summoned. Only a handful of guards line the walls, their spears planted against the worn stone floor. The evening light filtering through the high windows does little to warm the vast chamber.
Roan stands near one of the great pillars. He looks up as we enter.
"I take it Arkadia was less than accommodating." He guesses.
Lexa doesn't answer. She silences him with a single look before continuing towards the throne.
Roan exhales a quiet laugh. "I'll take that as a no."
I shoot him a glare. The only sound is the soft echo of our footsteps across the stone floor.
Roan watches the Commander climb the shallow steps toward the throne before speaking again, this time with far less amusement.
"So Pike refused." He infers.
"He did," Lexa replies simply.
"I expected nothing else." He says.
"So did I." Lexa agrees. There is no anger in her voice.
Roan studies her for a long moment. "And now?"
Lexa turns to face him. "The blockade remains."
"Until?" He questions.
"Until Pike answers for his crimes," Lexa answers.
Roan nods slowly, considering her words. "He won't surrender."
"No." Lexa agrees.
Roan tilts his head. "You know that, though."
"I do," Lexa states.
A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, though there is little humor behind it. "Then eventually you'll be forced to make a choice."
The room grows noticeably quieter. Even Titus pauses his task of sorting scrolls.
Lexa holds Roan's gaze without wavering. "I already have."
For the first time since we entered the chamber, Roan's expression falters slightly. He understands what she means. She has already chosen peace. If Pike refuses it, whatever follows will not be on her conscience.
“Heda,” Titus begins. “Several ambassadors have requested a meeting.”
Lexa lets out a breath. “They can wait until morning.” She orders.
“Yes, Heda.” The flamekeeper bows his head. Only once he disappears through the side doors does she finally exhale. It was quiet enough that I almost missed it. Clarke noticed too.
"You should eat," she said gently. My brows raise in response to the softness in Clarke’s voice.
"In a moment," Lexa replies.
"You've barely slept." Clarke comments.
"There will be time," Lexa assures her with a soft smile.
Clarke opened her mouth to argue.Then thought better of it. I exit the throne room without waiting to be dismissed.
The palace grows quieter as evening settles over Polis. The halls of the palace are empty. Most of the servants have retired for the evening, leaving only the occasional guard standing watch beneath flickering torches. I stop on one of the open balconies overlooking Polis. The city glows beneath the night sky.
I hear footsteps behind me and Roan comes to join me on the balcony, resting his forearms on the stone railing.
"So," he says after a long silence. "How long?"
I glance at him. "How long what?"
He keeps his eyes on the city. "How long was she like that?"
I take a deep breath. "I don't know."
"You have to." He says pointendly.
I shake my head. "I don't."
He finally looks at me. "When did she stop being our mother?"
I let out a slow breath."I don't think she ever stopped being yours." His expression falters. "But she never really started with me," I look back over the city. "Any sense of a relationship died between us the same day Father did."
Loaded silence settles between us. I can tell that Roan wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.
"The day Father died..." I say quietly. "I don't remember much after the battle."
~ Flashback~
Crimson rivers wind through the snowbanks, weaving between fallen warriors and discarded steel.
The battle rages around us, steel ringing against steel as Azgeda warriors crash into the enemy line. Horses whine. Men shout. The wind carries the smell of blood and smoke across the frozen valley.
I can barely hear Father's orders over the chaos.
"Hold the left!" His voice cuts through the storm. "Drive them back!"
The warriors obey without hesitation.
I struggle to keep pace beside him, my legs burning as I weave between fallen bodies.
Father glances over his shoulder. "Stay with me."
"I am." I gruff.
"No farther." He orders.
I roll my eyes. "I know."
"You don't." He almost smiles. Even in the middle of battle. He still finds time to smile at me.
A horn sounds somewhere ahead. The enemy surges forward.
"Shields!" Father commands.
The world erupts into violence. Steel crashes against steel.
An Azgeda warrior falls beside me, clutching his throat as blood spills between his fingers. Father pushes me behind his shield.
"Stay back." He orders.
"I can fight." I argue.
"I know you can." His sword cuts through an enemy before the man can reach us. "But today..." He blocks another strike. "...you're staying with me."
I hate it. I hate that he still treats me like a child. I duck beneath another swinging blade and drive my sword into a man's side exactly as he taught me. My father notices.
"Good." He praises. It fills me with pride.
The fighting shifts uphill. Snow flies beneath our boots as we climb. The enemy begins to retreat.
"We're winning!" I shout, turning back to look at my father.
He doesn't answer. His eyes are searching. He sees something I don't. His expression changes.
"Y/N!" He yells.
I turn. Too slowly. An enemy warrior bursts through the fighting. He isn't looking at Father. He's looking at me.
The axe in his hands is already swinging. Everything slows. I freeze. I know I should move. My body won't listen. Father is shouting. I can't hear the words.
The only thing I see is the blade. It's coming straight for my neck. I close my eyes.
A hand slams into my shoulder. The force throws me sideways into the snow. I hit the ground hard. The air rushes from my lungs. For a heartbeat, all I can see is white.
I hear a squelching sound coming from my left. Father is standing where I was. The axe is buried deep between his shoulder and chest. His sword slips from his fingers.
"No!" I scream. The word leaves me before I realize I've spoken.
The warrior tries to pull the axe free. Father doesn't let him. With one last burst of strength, he grabs the haft with both hands, trapping the weapon in his own body.
Our soldiers reach them. The enemy falls beneath a dozen blades. I don't even see who kills him. I'm already crawling through the snow.
"Father." I cry out. Tears blurring my vision.
He drops to one knee. Blood pours down the front of his armor. Bright against the white.
"No, no, no,” I sob, grabbing his arm. "We have to go."
He looks at me. Not at the wound or at the battle. At me.
"You're safe." His voice is strained.
"I don't care!" I yell, trying to pull him up. "Get up!"
He doesn't move.
"Please." I beg.
Around us, the battle continues. It sounds far away now. Like it's happening in another world.
"Medic!" I shout, whipping my head around wildly.
Father lifts a shaking hand. He cups my cheek. His thumb brushes away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"You did well." He breathes.
"No." I sob.
"You listened." He says with warmth.
"I didn't." I cry, shaking my head.
"You survived." His breathing catches. "That's enough."
"It isn't!" I shake my head violently. "You promised we'd finish my lessons."
A faint smile touches his lips. "I know."
"You promised." I sob.
"I know." His hand slips from my face. I catch it before it falls.
"No." My voice cracks. "No, no, no..."
I pull at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Please!"
Someone reaches for me. I shove them away. Another pair of hands grabs my arms. I fight. Kick. Scream.
"Let go!" I demand. My body thrases wildly.
Father lies motionless in the snow. Blood spreads beneath him. His eyes remain open. Staring at the gray winter sky. I wrench free for half a second before more warriors seize me. I claw at the snow, trying to reach him.
"I have him, Princess," one of them says.
"No!" I sceam.
"We have the King." The same guard says solemnly.
"No!" I sob instead.
They drag me backward. My fingers leave trails in the snow. The ice bites at my fingertips. I never stop reaching for him.
The last thing I see is my father's body lying where mine should have been.
~ Flashback ends ~
"I remember trying to pull him back up." I swallow. "I kept telling him to get up."
Roan lowers his eyes.
"I don't remember the ride home." I confess. "Or most of the funeral." I let out a slow breath. "I remember the pyre."
His head lifts. "So do I."
I shake mine. "No, you remember a funeral." My eyes water. "I remember a sentence."
The words leave us in silence.
"Mother told everyone it was my privilege." I laugh bitterly. "'The child he died protecting will honor him.'"
I can still hear her voice. As if she were speaking of tradition instead of punishment.
"The clans called it an honor." I stare down at my hands. "They said no one else should light the fire." My fingers curl into my palms. "I didn't want to."
Roan's expression softens.
"I couldn't even look at him." My voice cracks.
The image is burned into my mind. Father laid upon the timber. His armor cleaned. His hands folded over the hilt of his sword.
"He looked like he was sleeping." My voice catches. "I kept thinking if I waited long enough..." I shake my head. "...he would wake up."
The wind whistles across the balcony.
"Mother put the torch in my hands." I can still feel its weight. "I couldn't move." My throat tightens. "I just stood there."
Roan says nothing.
"Everyone was watching." I choke. "The generals, the warriors. The people Father had spent his life protecting."
I close my eyes.
"I remember Mother leaning down." Her voice is as clear now as it was then. "’Finish what you started.’"
My breath catches. "I didn't understand. Not then at least."
"I thought she meant..." I stop. "I thought she meant I was supposed to be brave." A tear slips down my cheek.
"It wasn't until later..." I look at Roan. "...that I realized she meant Father was already dead because of me."
Roan's face hardens. His right fist clenches by his side.
"She made me light the pyre. I watched the flames catch. They spread through the wood, until I couldn't see him anymore." For years, I dreamed about that fire.
"I hated that everyone called it an honor." My voice is barely above a whisper. "It wasn't. It was punishment."
I blink away tears. "I wasn't saying goodbye to my father."
I stare out over the lights of Polis. "I was being taught that his blood was on my hands."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Roan quietly says, "I always thought Mother gave you that duty because Father chose you."
I shake my head. "So did I."
A bitter smile crosses my lips. "It took me years to understand." I look at him. "She didn't give me the honor. She gave me the guilt."
Roan's jaw clenches. "He died protecting you."
I nod my head.
"He chose that." Roan places a hand on my shoulder. "You didn't kill him."
My eyes fill with tears. "I know."
The words come slowly.
"As War Chief..." I place a hand against my chest. "I know."
I look down at my trembling hands. "But there's still a part of the sixteen-year-old girl standing in front of that pyre..." I swallow hard."...who thinks if she'd just been faster… Father would have come home."
Roan pulls me to him. Tears run down my face silently. I see a single tear escape Roan’s eye but pretend not to notice. He kisses the top of my head, just like Father used to do. I shut my eyes.
"She started training me as a spy when I was ten."
Roan's hand stops abruptly. "I knew she started you young."
"You didn't know how." I don't wait for him to answer. I step out of his embrace.
I stare straight ahead. “The first lesson was obediance."
His brow furrows.
"She took me to the prison beneath the keep." I can still smell the damp stone. "There was a man chained to the wall."
Roan's expression slowly changes. "No..."
"She put a knife in my hand." The memory makes my stomach twist. "I wouldn't take it."
I laugh quietly. "I thought it was a test."
I close my eyes. "It was."
My voice drops. "She told me if I couldn't kill one prisoner..." I force the words out. "...I would never be strong enough to protect Azgeda."
Roan doesn't interrupt.
"I was ten." The wind whistles through the balcony. "When it was over..."
I look down at my hands. "I couldn't stop shaking."
My thumb rubs unconsciously across my palm. "I washed my hands until they bled."
Roan's eyes never leave me.
"I kept telling myself there was still blood on them."
He swallows hard. "Did Father know?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Why?" He sighs.
"Because he would've stopped her."
"Good." He huffs.
"No." I look at him. "He would've challenged her."
Understanding dawns across his face. "And they would've fought." He concludes.
I nod. "I couldn't risk losing him."
A sad smile crosses my face.
"I was so afraid of getting him killed." The irony hangs between us. "He died protecting me anyway."
Neither of us speaks. For a long time, the only sound is the wind.
My brother tugs my forcefuylly back to his chest.
"I can't change what she did." His voice is quiet. "I can't change what you lived through."
"No." I agree.
"But..." He hesitates. "...you don't have to carry Father's death the way she made you carry it."
I look at him. I see my father's son. The weight feels a little lighter.
The wind carries the sounds of Polis up to the balcony, but they feel impossibly far away.
"I hated you for a while." Roan's admission is so quiet I almost miss it.
"I know." I say comfortingly.
"I hated looking at you." He keeps his eyes on the city.
"Every time I did..." His jaw tightens."...I saw Mother lying on the stone."
I don't answer.
"I hated you because I hated myself more." His voice barely rises above a whisper. "You did what I never could." He looks down at his hands. "You saved my life... and I've hated myself ever since for letting you pay the price."
My throat tightens.
"I should've seen it." He growls.
"You couldn't have." I assure him.
"I was your brother, Y/N.” Roan argues.
"You were a child, Roan.” I say.
"So were you." He argues.
The words hang between us. For the first time, neither of us has an answer. Roan steps closer until we're standing shoulder to shoulder against the railing.
"I used to be jealous," he says.
I glance at him. "Of what?" I laugh.
"Father." A sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "He always said you fought like him."
"He said I thought like him." I reminiscence with a small smile.
"You did. And you still do.” He says, laughing softly. "I wanted him to say that about me."
"He was proud of you too." I nudge his shoulder.
"I know." He nods once. "I know that now."
Silence settles again.
Roan finally reaches over, not to pull me into an embrace, but to take my hand. His fingers close around mine.
"You don't have to believe Nia anymore." Roan says.
I look down at our joined hands. For the first time since Father died, someone else is carrying the weight with me.
Neither of us says another word. We watch the city in silence.
Roan has always been my brother. He has always loved me. Nothing has ever changed that. Though after tonight, he finally understands why I have never been able to forgive myself.
A/N: This scene between Reader and Roan has been one of my favorites to write!!! Their relationship is so special to me and I finally wanted to unpack everything Reader went through at the hands of Nia. The flashback was especially painful to write but I’m so happy with how it turned out!
The pine trees sway as a light breeze floods the forest. Sunlight slips through the branches in fractured beams, painting shifting patterns on the dirt.
We move silently. No one has uttered a word since Lexa ordered our march to Arkadia. There is simultaneously not enough to say and too much to say.
I ride a few lengths behind Lexa. She sits tall in her saddle. Clarke rides beside her.
A wave of guilt washes over me. Had it not been for my mother’s wish to break from the Coalition, the Trikru army never would have been stationed outside of Skaikru’s camp. It seems even in her death, she still reeks of destruction.
The forest abruptly gives way to a wide clearing. The remnants of the space station stick out horribly against the swaths of blue and green in the surrounding land.
I give Faye a gentle nudge, guiding her alongside Clarke and Lexa.
A handful of men and women stand to meet us at the gate. Guns pointed at the ready. The rifle barrels glint in the afternoon light.
Our escort doesn’t react. We come to a stop about fifty feet away from the main gates. The only sound is the wind brushing through the tall grass between us.
The Commander nudges her horse forward. The move is small and deliberate. She stops several horse lengths ahead of the rest of us, sunlight catching the Commander symbol burned into her forehead.
Her voice carries easily across the clearing. "I am Lexa, Commander of the Coalition."
Silence answers.
A dark-haired woman steps forward. She keeps her gun tight in her grip. “State your purpose!”
"I have come to speak with your Chancellor," Lexa replies coolly. The words drift across the open field.
I watch as the guards look at one another. A request, not a demand. It seems they weren’t expecting diplomacy. And by the looks of my fellow warriors, neither were we.
The heavy doors remain closed for several long moments. Then the gate groans as it opens. A man with a weathered expression steps out. A rifle hangs across his chest. Pike, I guess. He stops several yards from us, boots planted firmly in the dirt. Behind him, Bellamy steps into the sunlight.
For a heartbeat, his attention belongs only to Clarke. Relief softens the hard lines of his face. Then he notices me. Our eyes meet across the clearing. He eyes me with an unreadable expression.
Duty had pulled us in opposite directions. Nothing has changed.
A woman I recognize as Abby pushes past Pike before anyone can stop her.
"Clarke!" She yells, relief evident on her face.
Clarke is already sliding from her horse. She barely lands before Abby throws her arms around her.
Abby's shoulders shake as she buries her face against Clarke's hair. "I thought you were dead."
"I'm okay," Clarke assures.
Abby pulls back just enough to cup her daughter's face. "No." Her voice cracks. "You're alive."
A small smile breaks across Clarke's face. "I'm alive."
The reunion hangs over the clearing like sunlight after a storm. Pike clears his throat. His gaze shifts from Clarke back to Lexa.
"Commander." The title carries no respect.
Lexa inclines her head. "Chancellor."
"What exactly are you doing outside my gates?" He snarls.
"I came to prevent another war." She replies.
A humorless laugh escapes Pike. "You should've thought about that before abandoning my people at Mount Weather."
The words strike like an arrow. My shoulders tense. Lexa remains perfectly still.
"I made a choice for my people," Lexa replies.
"And mine paid the price." Bellamy's voice is quieter than Pike's.
Pike's gaze drifts from Lexa to me. It lingers on the blue-and-black crest embroidered across my cloak. Recognition flashes in his eyes. Then disgust. "And you brought an Azgeda princess into my camp."
The clearing goes still.
I meet his stare without flinching. "My title doesn't concern you."
"It concerns every person standing behind these walls." He takes a deliberate step forward. "Your people started the chain of events that destroyed Mount Weather."
The words hang in the air. A murmur spreads along the battlements overhead. Bellamy stiffens. I hold Pike's stare. He takes a slow step forward, boots crunching against the gravel.
"My people have done many things," I say slowly.
His expression hardens. "One of your people blew up the damn mountain!"
Silence settles over the clearing after his outburst. Pike’s eyes burn into mine. "50 are dead." He pauses. “Families, our elderly, and our children.” He adds quietly.
The memory flashes across Bellamy's face. Clarke lowers her eyes. I draw a slow breath.
His gaze burns into mine. "Everything that has happened began with Azgeda." The accusation hangs in the air.
I keep my voice level. "My mother made that choice."
"Your people murdered hundreds!” He shouts.
My jaw tightens. "And Mount Weather spent decades bleeding mine." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Pike's eyes narrow. "So that's your justification?"
"No." I shake my head once. "It's the truth."
I glance toward Clarke, then Bellamy.
"The Mountain Men imprisoned Grounders for generations. They harvested our blood. Turned our people into Reapers. They butchered entire villages long before Skaikru ever came to Earth." My voice remains calm, but every word lands with purpose. "My mother sought revenge."
"She got it," Bellamy says quietly.
His voice carries more weight than Pike's shouting ever could.
“And while I can try to understand her need for vengeance, I never would have sent out the order,” I say truthfully.
Pike barks a humorless laugh. "Don't pretend that changes anything."
"I wasn't. My mother ordered it. And now she is dead," I sneer at the last sentence.
Pike folds his arms across his chest. "But you wear her crest."
"I wear my people's crest." I correct.
"They're the same thing." He argues.
"No." The word comes sharper than intended. "My mother and Azgeda are not one and the same."
His jaw tightens. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I expect nothing from you." The breeze stirs between us, tugging at the fur lining my cloak. The heat beats down my back, but I refuse to remove it.
"My mother believed fear kept people in line." I glance briefly toward Lexa. "I don't."
Pike scoffs. "That's convenient."
"It happens to be true."Bellamy's voice cuts through the silence.
I turn toward him, caught off guard. Of everyone standing here, he is the last person I expect to come to my defense.
"Echo followed Azgeda orders," he says. "She followed Queen Nia's orders." His gaze meets mine for only a moment before returning to Pike. "There's a difference."
Because he knows the distinction matters. Even if it doesn't make the dead any less dead.
Lexa steps forward, placing herself beside me.
"Queen Nia is dead." She reiterates. Her calm voice cuts through the growing tension."The woman responsible for that attack no longer rules Azgeda."
Pike doesn't look convinced. "And now her daughter does?"
"I don't." The answer leaves my mouth before anyone else can speak. "My brother is King."
For the first time, Pike hesitates. His eyes narrow. "So why are you here?"
I meet his stare without flinching.
"Because if another war begins, it won't matter who destroyed Mount Weather." I gesture toward the walls surrounding Arkadia. "It will happen again."
The clearing falls silent. Because everyone standing there knows exactly what another war would cost.
Pike folds his arms across his chest. "So what happens now?"
Lexa's gaze never leaves him.
"I came to Arkadia hoping this could end without further bloodshed." She replies calmly.
"You've got a funny way of showing it." He sneers.
"You murdered three hundred of my warriors," Lexa states. "They were waiting for the order to protect your people."
Pike scoffs. "They were waiting to invade."
"They were keeping the peace we negotiated." Lexa says calmly.
"The only peace I trust is the kind I can defend myself." Pike snarls.
Lexa studies him for a long moment before speaking again."I offered Skaikru a place in the Coalition. I offered peace between our people."
"And now?" He questions, fists clenching.
"And now I have come to demand justice," Lexa informs. "I will ask only once." Her voice remains calm."Surrender Charles Pike, at the mercy of the Coalition."
Every rifle along Arkadia's wall seems to tighten.
Pike laughs. "You think I'm handing myself over?"
"I know you are responsible for the deaths of three hundred Coalition warriors." She says.
"They were my enemy." He says defensively.
"They were your allies," Lexa corrects.
Pike shakes his head. "They stopped being allies the moment they camped outside my walls."
Lexa inclines her head once. "Then you leave me no choice."
She turns slightly in her saddle."Luca." The Trikru scout steps forward. "Sound the horn."
A deep horn blast rolls through the forest. Another answers in the distance. Then another. The blockade had begun.
"No one enters," Lexa declares. "No one leaves."
"The blockade will remain until Charles Pike is surrendered to Coalition justice." Lexa states.
Pike's jaw clenches. "You'll never have me."
Lexa's expression never changes. "That," she says quietly, "is now up to your people."
No one moves. The only sound is the breeze stirring the tall grass between us and the rhythmic stamping of restless horses.
Across the clearing, Bellamy stands beside Pike. His jaw is set.
A few weeks ago, he stood beside me in a cave, trusting me enough to hand me his back in a fight. We had escaped Mount Weather together. Bled together. Survived together.
Now there is an entire battlefield between us.
Our eyes meet for the briefest moment. His expression is impossible to read. Regret, resentment, duty. Perhaps all three. Whatever understanding had begun to form between us has been buried beneath politics, loyalty, and war. He belongs to Skaikru. I belong to Azgeda. Some distances cannot be crossed.
Lexa turns her horse without another word. "Our business here is finished." She declares. The Coalition escort follows immediately.
I linger for only a heartbeat longer. Bellamy is still watching. For a moment, I wonder if he's remembering our last conversation as clearly as I am. The silence between us says enough.
I turn Faye after Lexa. Behind us, the gates of Arkadia groan shut. The sound echoes through the clearing like the closing of a tomb. Ahead, the forest waits. Behind us, thousands of Coalition warriors begin taking their positions around the camp. Whatever fragile trust had existed between our people slipped a little further out of reach.
The afternoon meeting drags on. The war room is warm despite the open windows. Sunlight pours through the narrow windows, casting long bands of light across the massive stone table carved with a map of the Coalition. Wooden markers representing each clan are scattered across its surface, surrounded by rolled maps, ledgers, and wax-sealed reports.
The Commander stands at the head of the table, one hand resting on the worn wood as she listens to Titus read through the latest reports from the ambassadors. Trade agreements. Border disputes. The tedious parts of leadership I have never had the patience for.
Roan stands opposite Lexa, his posture relaxed but attentive. Though the crown on his head is still new, he wears it as though it has always belonged there. Every so often, he asks a question or offers a suggestion, his voice calm and measured. It is strange hearing him speak as king instead of prince.
I remain at his side, arms folded across my chest. My eyes wander from the map to the windows overlooking Polis before settling on the carved wolf marking Azgeda's territory.
Titus unrolls another parchment. A request of some sorts from Podakru.
The afternoon meeting is interrupted by frantic footsteps pounding through the tower. The doors to the war room fly open. A young Trikru scout stumbles inside, nearly collapsing as he drops to one knee.
"Commander." He pants.
Lexa immediately looks up from the map spread across the stone table.
"What happened?" She barks.
"The army outside Arkadia." His voice catches," has been attacked."
The room falls silent. Roan straightens beside me.
"What do you mean, attacked?" She questions.
The scout lowers his head. "It seems there are no survivors." He informs still catching his breath.
Lexa doesn't ask another question.
"Ready my horse." She commands.
The scout bows and hurries from the room. Titus follows to alert the guard. Within moments, only Lexa, Roan, and I remain.
"I'll gather my warriors," Roan says.
Lexa shakes her head. "No."
He frowns.
"If three hundred Trikru warriors have fallen, you may need every clan." He continues.
"You are needed here." Lexa orders.
Roan's jaw tightens. "I've been king less than a week."
"Exactly." She says.
Lexa steps closer.
"Azgeda has accepted your crown, but not everyone has accepted your rule. If you leave Polis now, others may see an opportunity."
He doesn't argue. Because he knows she's right. Lexa turns to me.
"I want you to ride with me." She says.
I nod without hesitation.
"When do we leave?" I ask.
"Immediately."
The ride is almost entirely silent. Lexa leads, I follow behind her. A third rider joins us before we leave the city gates, Clarke. She says nothing as she falls into step beside us. A few of Lexa’s guards take the rear.
The farther north we ride, the quieter the forest becomes. No birds. No insects. Only the sound of horses pushing through the trees. The smell hits us first. The unmistakeble smell of blood and death.
Lexa pulls her horse to a stop. I follow.
The clearing stretches before us. Bodies, hundreds of them. Grounder warriors lie exactly where they slept. Blankets stained crimson. Swords still sheathed. Some never even woke.
My stomach turns.
Three hundred warriors. Executed.
Lexa dismounts without a word. Clarke follows. I take a deep breath and dismount.The only sounds are boots against frozen earth. A weak groan cuts through the silence.
"There." Clarke points.
Lexa is already moving.
Indra leans against a fallen log, one hand pressed tightly against a wound in her side. Blood covers her armor. She looks up as Lexa kneels beside her.
"Commander." Indra breathes.
"You survived." Lexa states
"Barely." Indra says with a grimace.
Lexa grips her forearm. "What happened?" She gruffs out.
Indra's eyes sweep across the dead surrounding us. "They came before dawn." Her voice is hoarse. "My warriors were asleep." She closes her eyes. "They never had a chance."
Clarke's face pales.
"Who?" She whispers.
Indra looks directly at her. "Skaikru."
The word hangs in the air.
"They fired into the camp while my people slept." She swallows. "There was no warning. No battle, only slaughter."
I stare across the clearing. Three hundred Coalition warriors. Gone.
Images flash through my mind. Bellamy fighting beside me beneath Mount Weather. Bellamy watching me ride away as I left for Polis. I push them down before they can take hold. No. The man I’ve come to know couldn’t do this. Could he?
Lexa slowly rises to her feet. Her eyes remain fixed on the field of the dead. Then she speaks. "We ride for Arkadia."
There is no anger in her voice. No grief. Only resolve.
No one moves. For a long moment, we simply stand among the dead.
The wind stirs the banners scattered across the camp, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood. Fires that should have been warming sleeping warriors have burned down to smoldering embers. Bowls of untouched stew lie overturned in the dirt. Shields remain stacked where they had been set the night before.
They hadn't expected a battle. They had expected dawn.
Lexa finally breaks the silence.
"Search the camp." Her voice is calm. "If anyone still lives, find them."
The guards immediately scatter.
Clarke kneels beside one of the fallen Trikru warriors, checking for any sign of life before slowly closing his eyes.
I walk farther into the camp. The deeper I go, the worse it becomes.
Some bodies are tangled in blankets. Others lie facedown where they had tried to flee. Most never made it more than a few steps.
I stop beside a young warrior. He can't be much older than sixteen. His sword is still strapped to his side, untouched. I crouch beside him. For a moment, I simply stare. Then I reach out and close his eyes. "Yu gonplei ste odon," I murmur.
The words disappear into the silence. There are too many. 300 names and faces and no prayer can carry all of them.
Behind me, Indra forces herself to sit straighter. Lexa kneels once more at her side.
"Tell me everything."
Indra's breathing is labored. "They struck before first light." Her gaze remains fixed on the bodies surrounding us. "My sentries never sounded the alarm. By the time we woke..." She trails off. "It was already over."
Clarke swallows. "It was Pike?"
Indra nods once. "Pike gave the order." She looks toward Clarke. "But he wasn't alone."
The words send a chill through me.
"There were Skaikru soldiers." Indra continues.
Clarke's shoulders stiffen.
Indra closes her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "And Bellamy Blake."
The world seems to stop. My breath catches.
The man I knew fought to save lives. The man Indra speaks of ended them. I don't know which one is real anymore.
Lexa rises to her feet. Her expression is unreadable.
"Send riders to Polis." She orders.
One of her guards steps forward.
"Tell them to prepare funeral rites for three hundred warriors."
The guard bows. "Yes, Commander."
Lexa looks across the clearing one final time. "So much death." Her voice is barely above a whisper. Then she turns toward Clarke. "Arkadia will answer for this."
Clarke lowers her head. "They will." She says looking at the fallen.
I cannot tell whether she believes it.
Lexa mounts her horse. "I will demand Pike." She states.
"And if they refuse?" I ask.
For the first time since we arrived, Lexa meets my eyes.
"Then they will force the Coalition to decide what comes next."
No one speaks after that. One by one, we mount our horses.
As we ride from the clearing, I glance back over my shoulder. Three hundred warriors remain where they fell, waiting to be carried home. My thoughts drift to Bellamy. The man beneath Mount Weather had stood beside me against impossible odds. Now I ride toward Arkadia to face a man I no longer recognize.
The first few days after Roan becomes king pass faster than I expect. Well, as fast as they can while I'm stuck in Polis. Lexa has ordered Roan and me to remain in the city while word of my mother's death and Roan's ascension to the throne spreads throughout the Coalition.
It seems as though the moment Roan placed the crown on his head, everyone suddenly expects him to have every answer.
I stand beside him through every meeting, watching ambassadors test him in ways they never dared test our mother. He never raises his voice. He never resorts to threats. Instead, he listens. Then he speaks. It's strange. For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm waiting for someone to die.
By midday, I've had enough politics.
I make my way toward the training yard, hoping to clear my head. The sound of steel striking steel reaches me long before I arrive.
Echo stands in the center of the yard, effortlessly disarming another Azgeda warrior. His sword clatters across the dirt.
She doesn't even look impressed.
"Again," she orders.
The warrior mutters something under his breath as he retrieves his weapon. When Echo notices me, she raises an eyebrow.
"I was wondering when you'd escape." She jokes. "I was beginning to think council meetings were more painful than combat."
"They are." I groan.
Echo tosses me a practice sword.
"Then stop complaining." She says.
I catch it easily.
"You're challenging me?" I question, raising a brow.
"I'm trying to improve your mood." She corrects.
"By hitting me?" I question while my lip quirks up.
She smirks. "It usually works."
We circle one another. The first strike comes from me. She blocks it with ease. I shove her backward.
"There you are," Echo says with a grin.
"What?" I ask.
"That look." She states
"What look?" I huff in annoyance.
"The one that says you're about to hit me harder." She says with a laugh.
"I was trying to," I grunt out.
"I know." She twirls the practice sword through her fingers.
"These last few days have been... strange."
I lower my blade.
"They have." I agree.
"You keep looking over your shoulder," she states.
I frown.
"I do not," I argue.
"You do." Echo insists.
She steps closer.
"You spent years waiting for Queen Nia to change her mind. Waiting for her to turn on Roan... or on you." She says.
I don't answer.
"There isn't another order coming," she says quietly. "There isn't another punishment waiting."
My grip tightens around the hilt. Echo studies me for a long moment.
"You don't have to be ready for a fight every second anymore." She says.
A dry laugh leaves me.
"I'm a warrior, Echo," I say. It’s in my blood to be ready to fight at any given moment.
"So am I." She says. She gestures around the training yard. "But this..."
Her voice softens. “This feels different."
I follow her gaze across the courtyard. Roan walks with two advisers at his side. One speaks while the other gestures toward a map. Roan doesn't interrupt. He listens. Actually listens.
"I've spent my whole life protecting him," I say quietly.
Echo nods.
"And now?" she prompts.
I watch my brother disappear into the Tower.
"Now I help him protect Azgeda." I finish.
A small smile tugs at Echo's lips.
"I think your father would be proud." She says.
The words catch me off guard. A smile finds its way onto my face.
"So do I." I respond.
Later that afternoon, I find myself wandering through one of Polis' gardens. It's quiet. Almost unnervingly so.
Clarke sits beneath a tree, absentmindedly rolling a small flower between her fingers. She notices me before I can turn away.
"I didn't think you liked gardens," she calls.
"I don't," I reply. I much prefer the cold. Snow doesn't ask anything of you. It doesn't pretend to be kind. It simply demands that you survive.
She smiles. "Then why are you here?" she asks.
"I got lost," I say offhandedly.
She laughs.
"I don't believe you," Clarke states.
"You shouldn't," I say with a smirk.
For a moment, we simply stand there.
"You've been staying close to Lexa," I say.
Clarke's shoulders tense ever so slightly. "I have." She says, finally.
"You trust her." I guess.
She considers the question before answering.
"I trust that she's trying." Clarke corrects.
I fold my arms.
"That's not the same thing," I tell her.
"No." She looks out over Polis. "But sometimes it's enough."
I think about Roan. About Echo. About Bellamy. About Mount Weather. About my mother. Maybe she's right. Maybe trying is all any of us can do.
—
As I'm making my way back toward the Tower, I spot Kane standing alone on one of the balconies overlooking Polis.
So much for finding a moment to myself.
He notices me almost immediately.
"Princess." Kane greets.
"Chancellor." I nod in response.
"I wanted to thank you."
I stop beside him.
"For what?" I question skeptically.
"For giving the Coalition another chance." He clarifies.
I rest my forearms on the stone railing.
"I didn't do it for the Coalition," I tell him.
"No." He nods knowingly. "You did it for your brother."
I don't argue. He's right.
Below us, merchants haggle in the market while children weave between crowded stalls. Warriors from different clans pass each other without reaching for their weapons. It's peaceful for now.
"I hear Lexa intends to make Skaikru the Thirteenth Clan," I say, despite having been in the room when she announced it.
Kane nods.
"I hope she does." He says.
"You really think it'll work?" I question.
"I think it has to." He says honestly.
I study him for a moment.
"You sound certain," I state.
A small smile crosses his face.
"I'm hopeful." He corrects.
I let out a quiet breath.
"Hope gets people killed," I murmur.
Kane turns to face me.
"So does fear, Your Highness." He says.
I stiffen at the title. I've never cared much for Princess. I hate Your Highness even more. I've always been more comfortable as Chief than royalty.
Kane notices my expression. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I'll leave you to your thoughts." He says.
He inclines his head before walking away.
I rest my hands on the railing once more, watching Polis carry on beneath me. Merchants barter. Children laugh. Life continues.
As I watch the city move through another ordinary afternoon, I can't help but wonder which will win in the end, hope or fear.
The celebrations finally end. The music that fills Polis through the night fades into silence, replaced by the sounds of another morning. Merchants reopen their stalls. Children chase each other through the streets. Warriors resume their patrols.
If not for the fresh scorch marks in the square below, no one would have guessed a queen had died there less than a day ago.
I stand on the balcony outside my chamber, resting both hands against the cold stone railing.
Workers scrub the last traces of blood from the square.
Life moves on. It always does.
A knock echoes from behind me.
"My Princess." An Azgeda guard stands in the doorway, his fist pressed against his chest.
"What is it?" I turn.
"The ambassadors of the Coalition have requested an audience with the King." He says.
I nod once.
"And?" I question.
"The Commander has summoned both His Majesty..." He hesitates. "...and you."
That is unexpected.
"You may go," I order with a flick of my wrist.
The guard bows before disappearing down the corridor.
I take one last look over the waking city before turning back inside.
—-
Roan's chamber is only a short walk away. The guards outside immediately step aside.
"Your Highness."
I push open the door without waiting to be announced.
Roan is already awake.
Maps cover the large table in the center of the room. Rolled scrolls lie scattered across it, each bearing the seal of a different clan. His crown rests untouched near the edge of the table. He wears armor instead. He looks up as I enter.
"I was beginning to think you'd slept through the morning." He comments.
"I haven't slept," I say.
A faint smile crosses his face.
"I didn't think so," Roan says.
He looks back down at one of the scrolls.
"They've already begun." He complains.
I step closer.
"What have they sent?" I ask.
"Requests." He picks up one parchment before tossing it back onto the table."Trade, border disputes, oaths of loyalty, and complaints."
He sighs. A quiet laugh escapes me.
"Congratulations," I smirk.
Roan looks up.
"I've been king for less than a day." He says.
"I know." I chide.
"They're already expecting me to solve every problem in the Coalition." He huffs.
"They always were." I remind him.
His shoulders relax slightly.
"You sound remarkably calm." He comments.
"I don't have the crown," I say with a smile.
"No." He smirks. "You only helped put it there."
A comfortable silence settles between us.
Finally, Roan folds another scroll shut.
"Any challenges?" He questions.
I lean against the table.
"None openly," I say.
His expression doesn't change.
"That means they're waiting." He says, finally.
I nod.
"They'll test you first," I warn.
"They'll test us." He corrects.
Before I can answer, another knock sounds.
"Enter." Roan barks.
The door opens to reveal one of Lexa's guards.
"The Commander requests the presence of King Roan and Princess Y/N in the council chamber."
Roan exchanges a glance with me.
"We'll come." He says.
The guard bows before leaving.
Roan reaches for the Ice Nation crown. He studies it for a long moment before placing it carefully upon his head. It still looks unfamiliar.
"You ready?" he asks.
I adjust the sword at my hip.
"As I'll ever be." I smirk.
The council chamber is already full.
Ambassadors from every clan stand beneath their banners, speaking in hushed voices that die away as Roan enters.
I take my place one step behind his right shoulder. Echo remains near the entrance with the other Azgeda guards.
Across the room, Indra watches us with unreadable eyes. Beside her stands Kane. The Sky People's ambassador offers a respectful nod. I return it.
Lexa enters last. The room immediately falls silent.
"The Coalition recognizes Roan Kom Azgeda as King of the Ice Nation." Her voice carries effortlessly through the chamber.
"May today's council mark the beginning of peace between our people." She steps back.
The floor belongs to Roan. He scans the room before speaking.
"My mother believed strength came from fear," his voice is calm. "She was wrong."
A murmur ripples through the ambassadors.
"Azgeda remains strong." Roan says. He rests one hand on the pommel of his sword."We will defend our borders." His gaze sweeps across every clan. "We will honor our alliances."
Silence follows. Then an ambassador wearing the colors of Broadleaf Clan steps forward.
"Words are easily spoken, Your Grace." He challenges
Roan inclines his head.
"They are." Roan agrees.
"How are we to believe Azgeda has changed after yesterday?"
Before Roan can answer, another Shadow Valley ambassador speaks.
"The Princess executed a queen before the entire Coalition." She says.
Several heads turn toward me. I clench my fists.
“Not just the queen, but her own mother!” The Sangedakru ambassador yell.
I take a deep breath.
"The Princess," the ambassador continues, "is feared more than the woman she killed."
The room grows still. Roan starts to answer. I place a hand lightly against his arm. He glances at me. I step forward.
"If you fear me," Every eye fixes on mine. "...then understand why."
No one speaks.
"I killed Queen Nia because she threatened the coalition.” My voice echoes through the chamber. "Had she succeeded, every clan represented here would have returned home preparing for war."
The ambassadors exchange uneasy glances.
"I did not draw my sword for power." I say with warning. "I drew it because someone had to."
Silence. The ambassadors look at each other than at me. Lexa stares curiously.
Then Indra speaks.
"I was there." She says. "The Princess speaks the truth."
She folds her arms.
"Had Nia lived another minute," She looks toward Lexa. "the Coalition would not have."
No one challenges her. Lexa watches the room carefully before speaking.
"Then let this matter end here." Lexa orders.
Her gaze settles on each ambassador.
"We have survived because twelve clans stand together." She says.
She looks toward Roan.
"We will continue to survive only if we remember that." Lexa finishes.
One by one, the ambassadors bow their heads.
"The matter is settled." Lexa declares. No one objects. For a brief moment, the chamber is silent.
"There is one final matter before this council." Lexa announces.
The ambassadors look back toward the Commander. Lexa steps forward.
"The destruction of Mount Weather ended a common enemy."
Several heads nod.
"But peace is not secured by victory alone." Her eyes sweep across the room. "It is secured by unity." She pauses. "Skaikru has fought beside us. They have bled beside us."
Kane straightens where he stands but remains silent.
"They have proven themselves allies." She says..
A low murmur spreads through the chamber.
"I intend to offer Skaikru a place within the Coalition." Lexa states.
The room erupts.
"They are not Grounders."
"They're unpredictable."
"They slaughtered everyone inside the Mountain."
"They also freed our people," another ambassador counters.
Voices overlap until Lexa raises a single hand. Silence returns.
"The decision will not be made today," she says firmly. "Each clan will return to its people. You will consider what I have proposed."
She looks around the chamber. "When this council meets again, every ambassador will cast their vote."
My eyes drift toward Kane. He says nothing, but relief flashes across his face.
"The Coalition has endured because its clans chose unity over division," Lexa continues. "Ask yourselves whether denying Skaikru serves that unity... or threatens it."
No one answers.
Lexa inclines her head.
"This council is dismissed."
The ambassadors begin filing from the chamber in small groups, their conversations hushed but urgent. They're talking about Skaikru.
I step beside Roan as we watch the room empty.
"They'll fight this," I murmur.
Roan keeps his eyes on the departing ambassadors.
"They will." He agrees.
"You support it?" I ask.
He is quiet for a long moment.
"I support peace." He says finally.
I glance toward Kane.
"They're dangerous." I warn.
Roan finally looks at me.
"So are we." He smirks.
Only months ago, they were strangers who fell from the sky. Then they were enemies. Then uneasy allies against the Mountain. Now the Commander wants to make them one of us.
I glance toward Kane as he leaves the chamber with the rest of the Skaikru delegation. Hope softens his features.
He believes this can work. I wish I shared his certainty.
The Sky People fight differently than we do. They think differently. They move too quickly, trust too easily, and when they fear something, they destroy it before they try to understand it. Mount Weather proved that.
They also stood beside us against the Mountain Men. Bellamy risked his life to free Grounders he had never met. Clarke ended the Mountain to save her people and ours alike. Perhaps that is what makes Skaikru so dangerous. Their unpredictability.
If they become the Thirteenth Clan, they will no longer be someone else's problem. Maybe that is not the worst thing that could happen.
A/N: Little short chapter, but the story is going to pick up again!
The celebrations last long after sunset.
The streets of Polis echo with drums and laughter. Bonfires burn in every square. Warriors from every clan drink together, celebrating the end of Queen Nia's reign and the rise of a new king.
I want no part of it.
The halls of the Tower were strangely quiet compared to the city below. Torches flicker against the stone walls as I walk toward the chamber Lexa had offered Roan for the night.
Two Azgeda guards straighten when they see me.
"My Princess." The taller one greets.
I nodded once.
"Is he awake?" I ask.
"He is." He answers.
I push open the heavy wooden door.
Roan stands near the window overlooking Polis. His crown rests untouched on the table behind him. His armor has been removed, replaced with a simple black tunic. The fading light paints him in shades of amber.
"You missed your celebration," I observe.
"So did you." He responds.
I closed the door behind me. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Finally, he breaks the silence.
"Have you slept?" He asks.
"No." I answer.
"I didn't think so." He says.
His eyes drifted toward me.
"You killed our mother." He states.
The words hung in the air.
"I did." I nod my head.
"I keep expecting to wake up." Roan says.
"I know." I say, solemnly.
He looked back out the window.
"I spent years imagining that moment." He recalls.
"Killing her?" I ask.
"No." He shakes his head. "Watching someone finally tell her no."
A bitter smile crosses my face.
"I wasn't exactly subtle." I say.
"No." He laughs quietly. "You never have been."
Silence settles again.
"When Father died..." Roan begins, "...I thought it was my responsibility to keep peace with her. To survive long enough to protect our people."
"You did." I agree.
"I failed." He counters.
"You didn't." I correct.
He turns to face me.
"I was banished." Roan says.
"You survived." I say.
"I let her become this." He whispers.
"You couldn't have stopped her, Roan." I say comfortingly.
"You did." He says.
"I ended her." I grimace. "There is a difference."
I look towards the floor.
"I don't know if there is." He says.
Roan walks across the room until we stand only a few feet apart.
"Do you regret it?" He asks.
The question comes without judgment. I think about Nia's face. About the fear in her eyes. About Father's funeral. About every warrior she'd sacrificed. About the command she'd given only hours earlier.
Execute him.
"No." I state.
The answer surprises even me.
"I regret that it became necessary." I conclude.
Roan nods slowly.
"So do I." He says.
A knock interrupts us.
"Enter." Roan says.
The door opens. Lexa steps inside alone. Neither of us bow. She hadn't come as Commander. She had come as an ally.
"I thought I might find you both together." Lexa says.
Roan inclines his head.
"Commander." He greets.
"There is something we need to discuss." She says, looking between us. "The Coalition knows Azgeda has a new king."
I frown.
"But they do not know what kind of king." Lexa finishes.
Roan folds his arms.
"What are you asking?" He says.
"I'm asking you to address the ambassadors tomorrow." She pauses. "And I'm asking Princess Y/N to stand beside you."
I meet her gaze.
"Why?" I question sharply. I do not have a place in politics.
"Because everyone in that square watched you kill a queen." Lexa responds just as sharply.
The room falls silent.
"They fear you." She says.
"I don't care." I retort.
"You should." She adds. Her voice remains calm. "Fear can unite people." She took another step. "It can also unite them against you."
Roan looks towards me.
"What do you think?" He asks.
I sigh.
"I think Azgeda has shed enough blood for one day." I say finally.
Lexa nods once.
"Then tomorrow..." She looked at both of us. "...show them that the Ice Nation is no longer ruled by fear."
After she leaves, I stand beside the window. Below, Polis celebrates a future no one had expected that morning. Beside me, Roan rests both hands on the stone ledge.
"Our lives just became considerably more complicated." He contemplates.
