Adapting to the Ground (a The 100 fanfiction)

The Calm Before the Storm

Earth, the Throne room; Sometime in October, 2149

    Clarke watched as Natalie walked off, then turned to look at the others. The two girls she had gotten to know over the last month were fidgety, and Octavia kept casting nervous glances after the redhead despite her words. “Tally?” Clarke asked, trying to distract her friend.

    Octavia blushed deep red and shrugged. “I’ve called her that as long as I could talk. Mom says- mom said that her’s was the first name I learned, even before Bell’s.”

    “That’s adorable,” Raven snorted, and the younger brunette shoved her to the side. Jasper snickered and Monty smiled (though the latter tried to hide it).

    “Shut up,” Octavia mumbled, and Clarke chuckled.

    “Heda will see you now,” a big man with a full beard growled, and the bantering stopped immediately.

    The five delinquents glanced at each other before entering the room, staying completely silent. Clarke took a minute to look around, noting the candles spread out on every surface, waiting to be lit. There were grand chairs sitting in a semi-circle around the space, and upon a dais was an even grander chair that could only be described as a throne. An assemble of large, gnarled branches tied to various spears with rough rope formed the throne, but the woman sitting upon the seat made the whole thing look exquisite. Against a backdrop of a balcony overlooking the entire city, the woman was no less than regal in the way she silently watched the newcomers enter the room.

    The woman on the dais eyed each Arker closely, her expression stoic. She had black smeared around her eyes to her temples and down her cheeks, like inky tears. A small gear sat above the bridge of her nose, gleaming in the light from the candles that did burn. Chestnut curls were pulled back in a series of braids. She wore lots of black, lots of buckles, and lots of leather. A metal spaulder sat on her left shoulder, and a dagger hung precariously from the tips of slender fingers.

    Clarke felt an elbow in her side, and she blinked and scowled at Octavia, who just stared at her with a raised brow. The younger girl frowned and nodded her head towards the throne, and Clarke felt her cheeks heat up. She looked to the Grounder again and straightened her posture, showing a confidence she didn’t quite feel. She stepped forward until the warriors around them reached for their weapons, then she stopped and lifted her chin. The woman’s eyes were green, greener than the leaves on the trees and the grass on the ground, and full of cautious curiosity.

    The woman spoke first, her eyebrow quirking up just barely. “So you’re the one who leads the invaders on my land.”

    Clarke blinked, then tilted her head a bit. “I’m Clarke Griffin. You’re the one who leads all these people.” Which from what she’s heard from Natalie and Anya, was an impressive feat. Twelve different clans, spread out among thousands and thousands of people, all under this one woman. This one woman who barely looked to be older than herself, she noticed.

    The woman nodded once, setting the dagger down on the arm of her throne. “I am. Why are you here?”

    Okay, so she could go two ways here. That could either be ‘why was she in Polis’ or ‘why was she on Earth?’ Clarke went with the former, focusing on what she had come here for. Or at least, part of it. “Winter is coming, and I know that my people won’t survive it on their own. Our own, I mean.” She glanced back at her four friends, licking her lips. “We’re just a bunch of kids who know next to nothing about surviving down here, let alone through freezing temperatures.” When she wasn’t interrupted, she went on. “Where we come from, on the Ark, the temperature is always the same, regulated. It’s never hot or cold up there, just, normal, I guess. Our food came in prepared rations, dried and packaged years ago. We’ve never had to find our own food or water, we’ve never had to fend for ourselves.”