Thea Kom Trikru never thought she would be confronted with a decision that could cost her everything. Her family, her home, her whole life...and when Thea finally chooses which direction to go in, she meets a certain brown-eyed mechanic that prefers...
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THERE HAD BEEN TALK of a cease fire, one that had gradually carried across the Commander's camp as Clarke stepped over the threshold of the tent, face still sporting the cuts and bruises from her time escaping the mountain.
The blonde haired girl held herself higher than expected, Lexa could tell she was confident in what words she would eventually speak...her actions were yet to be determined. But nevertheless, the leader of the sky people was ushered inside, finding the stern and calloused faces of the grounders her people had wronged.
Clarke would be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated, she was quite literally in the enemy's domain and, as her eyes moved further round, she found herself face to face with their leader. The shock didn't manage to sneak it's way upon the blonde's face, though Clarke was expecting middle aged man, who would more than likely shoo her away with a flick of their wrist. So this...girl - no - woman was an oddly reassuring sight.
The same could not be said for the stoic-faced woman who stood at the side of the Commander. She definitely didn't protrude welcoming tidings, in fact, she looked ready to skin and gut Clarke like a pig at any given moment. A quick and cautious side eye to the woman was more than enough for Clarke, her inner thoughts screaming at her to 'steer clear'. With hands snapped down to her sides, her shoulders poised in an obviously tense manner, Clarke began to walk the final few steps towards the throne.
Thinly woven twigs and branches appeared to rise out of thin air and cascade down the back of the regal chair; finely cut and polished wood moulded to look so intertwined within its surroundings that if one were too look leisurely, it would be invisible to the less assertive eye.
Only when the throne's keeper sat upon it was its form revealed. The Commander stood out amongst each and every warrior within the room, and not just because she was sat central to everything, but because she carried the title like a feather. Her position on the throne was commanding and confident all at once, the young leader twisting a knife between her fingers as she sat with one leg over the other.
But the most striking thing of all was the war paint around her eyes, the very key to her soul...and she had made it look so uninviting and monstrous; almost as if she never wanted anyone to glimpse inside at the real her. In many ways, the blackened chalk around her eyes not only darkened what others saw of her, but also blinded her from seeing others.
"You're the one that burnt three hundred of my warriors alive." Cool composure was everything within politics, and Clarke was playing the role of a diplomat. She needed to carry herself across as a level-headed leader, one that wouldn't be pushed or jumped over. So, with poise and precision, Clarke tried to imitate The Commander.
"You're the one that sent them there to kill us." It was ballsy, so ballsy in fact that Clarke was sure she felt the room grow even quieter...if that was even possible. Lexa didn't react, her only movement was a slight raise of the head and a cease in her intimidating knife movements.
