Clarke Griffin woke slowly, blearily, wondering at the warm softness that surrounded her, the sunlight streaming in through a window. It was probably one of the best feelings she had ever experienced. A level of comfort that she had only experienced once before, in the hidden bunker with Niylah. Sighing softly, a small smile gracing her features, she drowsily shifted slightly in her bed…and cried out as she was rewarded for her unthinking, sleepy movement was sharp, savage pain blossoming across her torso and arm. She writhed slightly, instinctively trying to draw back from a pain that couldn't be escaped, and to her panic found herself tied down to the bed. She twisted, wrists turning and fingers groping, an effort to escape whose fruitlessness only served to frighten her further.
Hands clapped down on her own, large and rough hands, foreign hands attached for foreign men, and she shrieked in pain and fear as more and more pairs appeared. Some held her in place, pinned her helplessly in place, while others tightened the straps binding her lips, and though she snarled and writhed and spat and bit, she couldn't free herself.
Then another pair of hands, smaller and softer but bearing all the hallmarks of an active life, placed themselves on her cheeks. A new face appeared, one that was both far more feminine and far younger than any of the other people around her. Probably her own age, or a bit older, and wasn't that a strange thing to be focusing on right now? Her lips were moving, her brown eyes firm but not cruel, her shoulder-length chestnut hair oddly touseled, and Clarke realized that this girl was talking to her.
"Calm down! You're going to tear your wounds open, and the fisas will have to drug you again!" the words came into focus, delivered strongly, and Clarke slowed her efforts slightly as they started to settle into her mind. Something that the girl noticed, and her expression softened slightly. "You're okay, girl. You're in Polis, in the Palace infirmary. Just breathe, pull yourself together."
"Ropes." Clarke was able to grind out in response as she tried to follow the stranger's instructions, a fact not made easier by how much her gunshot wounds were hurting at the moment, and the other girl glanced at her bonds for a moment before looking to the men around them and saying something in Trigedasleng. A response followed, one that sounded long and detailed even to Clarke's untrained ear, before the girl looked back at her.
"You've been restrained for your own safety, the fisas say. You've had night-terrors the last three nights and reopened your injuries several times. If it wasn't for the bindings, you could have endangered yourself." She explained, and Clarke frowned darkly, looking at her surroundings with an evaluating eye.
She didn't recognize the room she was in, personally, but she had seen enough old movies to recognize a rather more primitive medical facility than the infirmary on The Ark. Several beds, shelves with jars and pots and rolls of clean white linen…in truth, medical facilities were a rather recognizable thing regardless of the technological level of the users. And the people around her did look like doctors might, from a less advanced society.
"Three days?" she finally asked, quietly looking for confirmation, and the girl nodded, releasing her face and straightening up next to her bed. It wasn't she who answered though, but instead a more familiar voice that spoke from the direction of the doorway.
"It's been five days since you arrived here in Polis, Klark, but the night-terrors have only been the last three days. The fisas think that they didn't start immediately because your body was too rundown and exhausted to even dream, never mind have terrors." Costia said as she stepped into the room with a nod in greeting to the whole room, gracing Clarke with a small smile before looking to one of the doctors directly, a more serious look on her face. "How is she doing?"
"Her wounds are more minor than expected and were healing remarkably well, until she awoke in a panic. However, I see no evidence of blood on the bandages, so while she might have caused herself no small amount of pain, I do not believe she has done herself any harm." He responded promptly without the need to consult any form of notes, something Clarke had only ever seen her mother accomplish in the past. "I believe that the worst is past and that she should recover entirely, though you are of course aware that it will take time for her to work the soreness and minor weakness out of her arm."
"How long?" Costia asked, and the doctor hummed to himself thoughtfully for a moment before responding.
"Barring the unforeseen, she should be recovered within the next two weeks. I will also," here he turned a stern gaze onto Clarke, who quailed slightly at the all-too-familiar expression, one that she had seen on her mother's face many, many times. Directed not only at herself, but any patient she deemed likely to get 'over-enthusiastic', which seemed to have been all of them. "Permit her to walk around the palace and start getting her strength back today, if she has an escort with her at all times and if she does not do anything foolish. Which the escort will be required to report to me. And walking about in the city is wholly unacceptable at present."
In most circumstances, Clarke would have protested that directive, for more than one reason, but this time she kept her mouth shut. Not only did the idea of being confined to her bed for arguing (which she was prepared to believe this man would do) not appeal to her, not only did she want to take things slow, but the simple fact of the matter was that simply walking around a single building already felt like it might be a rather more strenuous activity than she would have wanted. She was already tired and sore and she hadn't even gotten out of bed yet!
"Of course, doctor. We'll keep her safe, out of trouble, and properly healing." Costia assured the man, who only gave an amused, grunting snort in response as he eyed her with a mix of exasperation and good humor.
"I would be more reassured by that, if it were not for the fact that you are notorious at dodging the medical staff whenever possible and taking foolish risks with your own health. The only way I can keep you properly cared for is by appealing to Heda." He responded, and to Clarke's surprised amusement (and Ontari's restrained but visible delight) Costia blushed faintly in response, looking away and folding her arms over her chest in a silent but tacit admission of his words' legitimacy. It was honestly kind of cute, if Clarke was going to be honest with herself.
"Yes, well…" she coughed quietly, shaking her head a bit sheepishly. "Rest assured that I won't take any such risks with Heda's honored guest. My own medical misadventures aside, I would hardly put Klark in danger."
"Hmm. Well then, it should be safe enough. Just keep what I said in mind, please. I do not know her well enough to speak on her nature, but from what little you told me, she is stubborn and prone to downplaying or hiding her injuries entirely, so I want you to rely on your own judgement when necessary. I leave her in your capable hands." He finished, gesturing to his assistants, who started flowing from the room with respectful bows to the three women still there. He turned to follow them, before pausing and regarding Ontari. "Chosen Ontari, you have my thanks for calming her down. You most certainly mitigated the injuries that she would have otherwise received when she panicked. Well done."
"I was happy to help, fisa." She smiled, dipping her head in acknowledgement as she straightened up to follow him out of the room, only to pause as Kostia made a small gesture of instruction. Arching an eyebrow, she stopped and waited in silence, a silence that lasted until the three of them were the only ones within earshot.
"I agree with the doctor, you did very well, Ontari, and I am grateful for it. As Leksa will be, when she hears what happened. I wonder, though, how it is that you came to be here in the palace? Not to say that you are unwelcome, of course, but you have never wished to stay with us before." Kostia queried politely once the group was gone, and Ontari nodded even as she grimaced slightly.
As a Chosen, Ontari had the right to unfettered access to the Heda's palace, and a small suite of rooms set aside to her exclusive use. Something that she had never taken advantage of in the past, despite many offers and suggestions, opting instead to reside in the Ice Nation embassy a few blocks away. Indeed, she didn't go so far as visiting the palace for meals or collaboration with Leksa, things that she was both entitled and invited to do.
"I know, but with the next Conclave right around the corner, I've been doing some serious thinking, and I decided I needed to talk to Heda Leksa." She admitted quietly, squaring her shoulders and meeting Kostia's eyes proudly. "I'm not going to participate in this Conclave. There aren't enough Chosen, so…"
"…well, I was hoping to take Klark to Leksa for a proper introduction and a light meal already, now that she is awake and able to begin moving around. It seems I'll be escorting the both of you to her suite instead." Kostia said slowly, not delving any deeper into Ontari's declaration and her potential motivations at the moment. That was better left to Leksa anyway, especially with Klark present.
Clarke shifted in her bed, trying to toss her blankets aside, only to let out a discontented hiss at the discomfort the movement caused, and she scowled in aggravation as both of the grounders rounded on her immediately.
"Klark, stop, you're just going to hurt yourself again. Those blankets are weighted to keep them from tangling or slipping off." Costia said firmly, moving forward, Ontari mirroring her actions. Working together, the pair peeled the blanket back to reveal Clarke in all her nearly-nude glory, dressed as she was only in a very simple loincloth and her bandages. Costia couldn't help the spike of arousal she felt at seeing so much of Clarke again, and without quite so much blood on her this time either. That arousal was quickly overwhelmed by amusement, however, when she saw the very obvious blush staining Ontari's cheeks as the Azgeda Chosen as she tried (and failed) to appreciate the view in front of her. "Ontari, I need you to find a member of the palace staff and ask them bring a change of clothes for Klark."
"What about my own clothes?" Clarke asked sharply as Ontari nodded and darted away, casting her eye around the room and realizing that she didn't see anything that belonged to herself in the room. "And the rest of my things, for that matter?"
"Safely put away. Heda has all of it, don't worry." Costia assured her, before continuing as she saw Clarke open her mouth to speak. "You'll have it back when you've finished recovering, maybe sooner depending on Heda. You understand we don't want just anyone roaming the city, never mind the palace, carrying weapons like yours, right?"
That was more than enough to silence Clarke, whose mouth clicked shut, her full lips forming a brief pout of discontent. Though less than happy about it, she could understand both what Costia was saying and the reasoning behind it. She was staying with the leader of their entire nation, living in her palace, and she carried a weapon that (until she showed up) only their greatest of enemies had carried before. A weapon against which they had no defense. Saving Niylah or not, helping Costia with the Mountain Men or not, she was more or less totally a totally unknown and heavily armed stranger. The fact that she was being invited to a meal with Lexa rather than being locked away or confined to the medical wing was honestly better than she might have expected under the circumstances.
"Fine, but I want to see it, at least, and grab a couple of things from it. No weapons, I promise, but there are a couple of things from my equipment that I absolutely need to keep in my personal possession." She acquiesced, and it didn't escape her notice that Costia's sound of response sounded both relieved and distinctly non-committal. Well, she could live with that, for the time being. It wasn't as if she had the physical ability (or stamina) to press the issue in any way, shape, or form.
Slowly leveraging herself up and out of bed and putting her weight on somewhat shaky legs, she took a deep breath and started flexing her body, twisting this way and that as carefully as she could to test both her range of motion and just how much strength she had lost due to her injuries and subsequent bed rest. It wasn't as bad as she feared, but she was well-aware of the fact that she had already been weaker and more vulnerable on Earth than she could have ever imagined. Yes, she might not have degraded much over the last few days, but she hadn't exactly been starting from the best of positions either.
And now she was in the capitol of a proud warrior people, living in the palace of their leader, after nearly dying to ambush and kill two men. A situation in which she had held every possible advantage, but still only survived thanks to Costia. The same Costia who had managed to kill two enemies on her own without suffering so much as a scratch in the effort. The same Costia who was the closest companion and lover of the aforementioned leader.
She had to play this very, very carefully indeed if she wanted to survive and succeed her mission. If she was good enough, smart enough, and diplomatic enough, perhaps she could even secure help for her people. A place for them to safely land, a place for them to build their own homes and lives. Even protection from whatever threats (besides the Mountain Men) that the homeworld no doubt possessed.
She steadfastly ignored the fact that she was prophesized to rule these people, to rule the race of mankind as a whole. Quite frankly, the very thought of considering it was terrifying, never mind actually thinking about it, and the idea of actually taking up any sort of position of leadership amongst these people was something she was quite literally refusing to contemplate. God, she barely even knew how their culture functioned, and somehow she really, really didn't believe that her practice keeping the other kids in the Skybox out of trouble could be transferred without adjustment to her supposed future duties.
"Here." Ontari voiced as she re-entered the room with an armful of clothing, eyeing Clarke perhaps more closely than was strictly necessary as the blonde continued to flex and test her range of motion.
"Thank you. Klark, do you want help dressing? And be honest, if you please. It won't do you any good to refuse help when its offered and needed, only to extend your healing time." Costia tilted her head at the northerner gratefully, before young women turned their unified attention to Heda's guest, who hesitated for a moment before shaking her head firmly.
"I should be okay, as long as it's something simple. I appreciate the offer, and if I need help I will call you." She responded, and the pair regarded her for a moment before Costia hummed softly in acceptance and left with Ontari in tow, leaving the small pile of clothing on the foot of the bed Clarke had just risen from. Both of them were aware that Klark was trying to regain some manner of control over her life, some stability if nothing else, and both of them could sympathize quite strongly with that desire. Besides, she obviously wasn't quite as comfortable with nudity as many of the clans would have been, so privacy was likely something she desired but didn't want to ask for directly.
Once the two grounders were out of sight, though Clarke would bet that they weren't out of earshot (for her own safety if nothing else), she picked up the top half of the provided outfit and inspected it with an evaluating eye. It was well made, cotton if she had to guess, and wasn't drab or unkempt despite the simplicity of it's make and cut. It was also quite loose, and she was sure that she would be displaying more than a little of her cleavage when she wore it, but it made sense that they wouldn't provide her with whatever passed for a bra on the ground. It wasn't exactly a garment that suited someone with a couple of bullet holes in their arms and shoulders.
Pulling the shirt on was a bit of a process, and it was remotely comfortable either, but she managed it without a whimper, without injuring herself further, and without ruining the garment either. It was softer than she expected, rest lightly on her skin, and she could still smell the floral scent of whatever it was that they has used to wash it last. It was…nice, very nice, and oddly it made her feel at home in a way that she didn't understand.
The pants, for their part, were little different and far easier to pull on, the entire outfit capped off with a pair of furred slipper-shoes for her feet. She wiggled her toes after sliding them on, nose wrinkling a little at the strange and unfamiliar but enjoyable sensations that they provided. They were, perhaps, the softest thing she had ever felt in her life, even better than the finest clothes that still existed on The Ark.
Making sure her clothes were settled comfortably and relatively neatly, she slowly made her way across the room and through the door, where she found herself interrupting what looked to be a quiet but serious conversation between the two clanswomen, both of whom immediately fell silent when they saw her. The thought that they might be talking about her would have made her nervous if not for the fact that she thoroughly expected them to be doing so, especially under the circumstances.
"Klark, good." Costia smiled, approaching her and taking up a position to her left, even as Ontari did the same on her right. "You're looking much better, and you seem to be moving well enough. How is your balance and your stride?"
"Not the best, but I'll manage. Just, uh, maybe save the detailed tour for another time, huh?" she responded with a wan smile, Costia flashing her a quick smile in response.
"Understandable, and easily done. Come along then, let's get to Heda's suite and get you something to eat."
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Leksa, Heda of the Coalition and Steward for Aleksia Pramheda, was not anxious, nor nervous. No matter how it might look, for her to be pacing slightly in her private sitting room, hands clenching and unclenching slightly behind her back, a small frown on her face as she nibbled lightly on her bottom lip. Such behavior was clearly not the sign of any turmoil on her part, just…anticipation. Yes, anticipation and nothing more.
Her mental peptalk wasn't even entirely for her own benefit, she knew. As much as meeting Aleksia Pramheda's heir, her descendant, was something Leksa had spent her entire life waiting for, the decision (and the reasoning behind it) that she and her closest advisors had made sat prominently in her mind. Klark was injured and rather badly out of her depth, her comfort zone. Leksa couldn't risk letting too much of her own emotional state (as both Leksa the woman and Leksa the Heda) hit the girl all at once. As far as this meeting was concerned, she was a grateful leader and a grateful woman for Klark's actions since her arrival and nothing more. She didn't even intend to bring up the blonde's mutterings from the bath. No, today was purely about meeting the girl properly and trying to get her comfortable with both the palace and Leksa herself.
The fact that Ontari was now here brought complicated feelings as well. When Kostia had sent a servant to warn her that the girl wanted to speak with her about the upcoming Conclave and her decision to sit out of it this time around. Doubting very much that it was due to any sort of cowardice, she could really only wonder if it was for personal reasons or because Nia had told her to. If it was the latter, there was quite the potential for difficulty. If it was the former…well, Leksa would wait and see. Perhaps her fellow Chosen, the only other Chosen, was finally willing to open up and build bridges. That would be…remarkable, in a number of ways. Helpful as well, if she was being genuine about it.
She had wanted them to build the future, working in concert with one another, even before she had known that hers was the generation that would see the bloodline of the Coalition's founder return to the cradle of humanity. The knowledge that the both of them were intended to eventually be sisters and, potentially, lovers in the course of their future with Klark.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Leksa marveled for a moment at that train of thought. Was there something wrong with her, she wondered, for so easily accepting the idea that she was going to have many lovers, many of whom she might not even know? Yes, she had been raised with the knowledge that it was the fate of the Heda and the Chosen to be the lovers of the Sky Princess, had known and accepted that when she had entered the Conclaves, when she had won them again and again and again, when she had been named Steward…but could that truly make such a difference?
No, she decided firmly, there was not. Multiple lovers or spouses was far from unusual amongst the clans, especially in positions of authority or wealth or martial prowess. She trusted the system and the culture that had been created by the woman who had saved the human race from the fires of the Old World's Final War, and she trusted herself. She trusted her ability to help Klark guide and protect mankind, she trusted herself to advise and support her, she trusted herself to make sure that Klark knew what course to follow into the future.
Yes, she was to be one of many lovers to Klark. One of many that would share her bed, hold a piece of her heart, obey her commands and aid her in ruling this shattered, stained world that they all called home.
But she would not be a beautiful flower to be displayed on the mantle. A passive subordinate that yielded without question and obeyed without thought. She was going to be a partner, working alongside Klark. No matter how things would play out in the bedroom, when that inevitably came to pass, and no matter how she would respect Klark's own role above her own, she would not be made a tool.
Perhaps that fear was uncharitable, perhaps she was preparing herself for a situation that would never come to pass. She wanted to believe that, wanted to instinctively have faith that no descendant of her idol (and the subject of said idol's prophecy) could possibly be the kind of person that would need to be managed in such a way, but she was also aware that she had no idea who Klark was as a person. Not really, anyway, not on a personal level. Oh, everything she had heard about the girl from others had been good so far, very good, and the half-delirious statement that she had been cast out of the sky for trying to warn her people of their on-rushing deaths was highly encouraging, but it wasn't enough to let caution be thrown to the winds. No, she would 'play it safe' and plot the course for herself, and the rest of the Coalition, in accordance to her own evaluations.
And she wouldn't let the seed of interest and infatuation rooted in her heart interfere.
A soft knock echoed on the door and Leksa kom Trikru, Heda of the Coalition and Steward of Aleksia Pramheda swiftly made her way across the room to the table, slipping into the large, nearly throne-like chair at it's head, and pulled out a large golden coin. Rolling it through her fingers, it's rhythmic clicking against her rings a familiar and comfortable sound, she raised her voice.
"Come in."