Fixing Clexa's story to give them an ending they deserved (an *ending, not the journey they deserved). They are clearly endgame but it turned into a bit more of an adult-themed journey to get there so just a warning it takes a slightly dark turn ar...
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"Yu gonplei ste odon little ones."
Lexa drops the torch onto the pyre, and stares into the flames as they envelope the two children's bodies.
Her warpaint helps hide the puffiness of her eyes, which are still bloodshot, though nothing could help cover up the damage to Luna's face. Even with the blood wiped off, her skin is still black and blue. Plenty of curious eyes keep looking over at the girl, as she stands at Lexa's side diffidently.
Aden stands to the other side of the commander, his mouth contorted, trying not to cry. Lexa glances over to see him losing control of his bottom lip's quivering, and reaches an arm around his shoulder, pulling him gently into her side. Titus would scold her for such act if he were here.
"It's not your fault, Aden." She says quietly.
"Saying so doesn't make it true, Heda." He replies, looking down at his feet, sniffling.
"Hey" She squeezes the boy's shoulder slightly so he looks up at her, his eyes glossy and red, "Death is not the end."
It's always easier to stay strong when it's for someone else.
Lexa can't help but think how their traditions would have led to this same outcome, except there'd be another ten or so bodies on the pyre, the rest even smaller, with the victor – likely Aden – stained with their blood, standing watch as he is now only without Lexa by his side.
The commander vividly remembers watching the pyre burn after her own conclave, having been two years younger than Aden now, the memory is so clear. She remembers the heat of the flames, dancing along the tiny bodies as the cloths charred. Titus stood behind her, and stopped her from turning away when the smell of burning flesh stung her nostrils. "Watching is how you honor them, Heda, turn away and you look weak" he had said. In the orange haze she was able to make out the reddish-brown ponytail of one of the girls – only nine – who had simply crouched in the corner crying for her mother as Lexa came upon her when they were matched up.
It was Lexa's first kill of her conclave.
The girl had been the most recent nightblood found. Her parents had tried keeping her hidden but one day she snuck off into town and got into some trouble, a simple fall split her lip and she hadn't even realized she was bleeding from her mouth until several people had grabbed her to have her sent off to Polis in exchange for a pouch of coins. No one knows if her parents ever knew what actually happened. All they know is she never came home.
It was just her luck that the current commander would be killed within two months of her being found, as Lexa and the current group of Natblida were rounded up and prepped for the bloody ritual to determine the successor. The girl hadn't even graduated yet to training with real weapons, having only used wooden swords and sticks.
Lexa couldn't allow herself to feel bad. This was exactly what she had been trained for as long as she could remember, and it was no secret what happened if you refused to fight. It was fight or die. Fight and you still probably die.
She barely knew the girl. But there was something about hearing her crying for her mother too, Lexa remembers, that filled her with heat. Some small morsel of jealousy that this girl had gotten to have a mother, even if only for 7-8 years, long enough to have one to cry out for. To see her face in her mind clearly, to have the memory of an embrace, the hope for rescue. Weak, so weak, Lexa thought when she cut her down with one swift maneuver of her blade. No one comes to rescue us.
This girl was going to be missed, was likely already missed. Would any of the others? Or was she, the survivor, meant to be the sole keeper of their memory? How many kids had Flamekeepers taught, looked after, watched grow and mature and then die by each other's hands, like livestock? Did her own parents ever think of her after they dropped her off at the steps of the tower when she was two? Or had she been as good as dead to them already?
Would they even know it was their daughter who had survived, who had won, who had pulled together all the clans, who was ending the cycle of raising children just to kill each other?
Have I ever passed them in the market? Were they in the crowd during my dual with Roan?
Would they be proud of me?
As the pyre burns down to embers and ash, people slowly break off to head back into camp, but Aden remains rooted to his spot next to the commander and Luna. The three stand silently, all lost in thought. Aden has wiped all expression from his face, a skill all Natblida are expected to master at a young age.
But you can't pretend the pain away. The commander knows better than anyone.
"It's not fair that we should have to heal from something that wasn't our fault." Luna says quietly.
But such is the life of a Natblida.
"They thought they were helping us, by teaching us not to feel." Lexa say calmly. She feels Aden shift his weight next to her but keeps staring ahead, clasping her hands behind her back.
"Feel it, Aden. Feel all of it."
"Heda?" He responds, unsure.
Lexa continues, slow and solemn, "You cannot control something if you deny its existence. Your enemies will prey on your emotions to break you down, hoping the pain they inflict will distract you, weaken you."
In her peripheral Aden glances up at her, then back at the embers, the smoldering pile still crackling, popping as it fizzles down.
"Control, Aden, will be your greatest strength. What you feel right now, let it fuel you, but do not let it consume you. Let it can be your greatest weapon."
The traumatic life of a Nightblood will never not be interesting to me....love finding any chance to explore deeper the scars that get left going through what it's like to be stolen/given away as a baby, raised with this new family of other kids and then forced to kill that family and live with the guilt that's expected to be a badge of honor.
