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mayquita · 6 years

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Pictures of Reality (2/16)

Thank you so much to everyone for giving this story a chance. Thanks for your kudos, likes, reblogs and for your comments, they mean the world to me.

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina’s adopted son but he is not Emma’s biological son.

Beta: I can't forget to express my gratitude to my beta, @jarienn972 . I'm aware that you have had to deal with a monster of more than 100k words and besides English is not my mother tongue, so I value your effort even more.

Artist / art: Go visit @imagnifika ‘s blog and enjoy her amazing art / Art for the prologue / Art for chapter 1

Special mention to @saraswans , my perpetual companion in this world of writing. This story wouldn't be possible without you.

Word count: ~ 7500 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on: Ao3 / Ffnet / Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Emma Swan. Storybrooke, two weeks ago, October 23, 2017

TheLadySwan Three in a row. It seems that the Gods of the traffic lights have conspired against me on my birthday. I'm late for my own celebration.

Emma was late, very late. She had never been characterized by her lateness, but it seemed that she had made a habit of it in the last weeks. She parked her car carelessly and ran to the cafe. She didn’t care what Regina would think, but Henry was there and she didn’t want to make him wait. Emma opened the door with some brusqueness, the bells announcing her arrival causing all the faces to turn towards her. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when her gaze met Henry, his face lighting up as he noticed her presence.

Today was a special day, not only because she was celebrating her twenty-eighth birthday, but just one year ago she returned to Storybrooke, her hometown. One year since she met that boy, who had succeeded in making her happy. Her lips rose slightly as she thought about that day when luck or destiny brought her here.

One year ago

Contrary to what Emma had expected, the first time she saw the welcome sign to the town while crossing the road in her yellow bug, she did not feel butterflies in her stomach, nor did her heart tighten in her chest at the thought of returning home. She only felt a fear that crawled up her throat and spread its tentacles causing an imperious need to turn back and get away from there. Emma ignored that impulse though, her hands clutching the steering wheel of her car until her knuckles turned white while her eyes remained fixed on the road. That intimidating sign was not going to stop her from continuing her way. It was just a job interview and she was sure she had no chance, but since she was there, nothing, not even that constant fear, was going to stop her from trying.

Despite her determination, when she drove through the main street, she could not help but wonder about the same questions that had haunted her since she saw the ad in the newspaper. Why did her parents give her up for adoption? She could have grown up here. Or maybe she would have traveled with her family capturing the world through her inseparable camera. No. Family life and adventure were not in her cards. She seemed to have been born with a destiny already marked. No one had stayed long enough — for one reason or another. Either people disappeared from her life, or she ended up pushing them away.

She at least had the consolation that her parents had not abandoned her, that perhaps she was given up for adoption to offer her an opportunity they could not give her. And if her adoptive parents had not died when she was three years old, maybe she would have had the opportunity to grow up with a real family... but it seemed destiny had something different in store for her…

Although she tried to push those thoughts out of her mind during the job interview, they were still latent, threatening to resurface at any sign of weakness. To her relief, her efforts to keep her demons at bay seemed to have an effect as the interview progressed, especially since the interviewer focused mostly on personal aspects, rather than on professional skills. After finishing, the secretary shook her hand and suggested that she stay in the town since she would have an answer the next day. The man said goodbye to her with a slight bow of the head, a tight smile and an enigmatic look that Emma was not able to identify.

It was after leaving the town hall when the meaning of what had just happened hit her hard. When she embarked on this adventure of returning to her hometown, she did it not with the intention of radically changing her life, because the idea of really getting the job never went through her mind, but as a kind of challenge, something stupid, she thought, but it was as if her whole body had wanted to scream from the rooftops. ‘I'm here. I'm back. And in spite of everything, I have survived.’

But now that she had to spend a whole day in Storybrooke, with uncertainty hovering over her head, the urge to run away became stronger. Because walking through these streets meant that any of the people she crossed paths with could be one of her parents. When she was younger, she had created a thousand stories to justify the abandonment. They all revolved around heroic acts, as in a fairy tale, and at least she managed to forget her reality for a moment. But maybe now it was time to face that reality instead of ignoring it or escaping from it by creating fairy tales. These streets were going to tell her their story and she would have no choice but to listen to them.

To her surprise, as she moved with tentative steps through the streets, that gripping sensation began to fade. It was as if the town itself was sending a silent message. While she walked through the streets and discovered its corners, a sense of a certain calm began to take hold of her. The idea of walking through the same places that her parents would have walked so long ago — maybe they were still doing it — made her feel at peace with herself, as if, somehow, she had managed to connect to them. That had to be a good sign. She was going to cling to this opportunity, to this sign of destiny that she had received in the form of an advertisement in the newspaper, with all her strength.

Once she could overcome the initial oppressive fear, Emma began to see the town with different eyes, her lips curling into her first genuine smile since she left Boston — perhaps for much longer. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but while before the cause was fear, now it was anticipation. She began to imagine what life would be like in a town as calm as it seemed to be Storybrooke, what it would be like to walk along the docks, take lunch at the main street diner, meet its inhabitants… Enough! She slowed the escalation of thoughts that had gripped her. That was not happening. Tomorrow, she would return to her monotonous and lonely life in Boston. Sadly, that was her true destiny.

But it was clear that destiny had other plans for her. The next day, the day she turned twenty-seven, she got the job. And with it, the opportunity for a fresh start, to direct her life in the right direction.

But for that fresh start to begin, she would have to meet her boss. For that reason, today Emma was at the town hall reception, waiting to be attended by the mayor, Regina Mills. The damn wait was becoming eternal, a breeding ground for her insecurities to bloom. Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she wrung her hands, wondering over and over again why she would have been chosen. Just when she was about to give up, the secretary, the same person who had done the interview, addressed her and pointed his head towards the office's door. The moment had arrived.

“Come in.”

When Emma stepped into the office, her eyes widened while wandering around the room. The office was decorated soberly and elegantly, in all black and white. Behind a beautiful desk was the one she supposed would be Regina Mills, the mayor. Her first impression was in a way, shocking. She had imagined an affable person, but the woman in front of her was the opposite, with an imposing, haughty and intimidating look. Emma remained standing, unsure what to do next while an awkward silence loomed over them.

"Miss Swan? Take a seat, please.” Regina gave her a long, deep look before pointing at the empty chair in front of the desk. It was obvious that the mayor was studying her, but if there was something that characterized Emma, it was her determination, so she held her gaze while raising her chin in a gesture of defiance.

"Well, Miss Swan. Let's get to the point. As you'll understand, I'm a very busy person." Regina rested both elbows on the desk as she crossed her hands in front of her before continuing."I did not have the pleasure of interviewing you, but I fully trust my secretary's abilities. I think he definitely found what we were looking for." She paused, staring at Emma, her gaze unreadable. Emma held her gaze, but she could not help feeling a strange sensation, as if she wanted to read further, reach her very soul. Her lips remained sealed. Waiting.

"I'm going to explain now what your functions will be. As you may have noticed, Miss Swan, I have several assistants who are engaged in different tasks, but I need someone of my complete confidence to perform certain functions, and this is where you come in. The job of mayor requires absolute dedication and therefore, I will also demand it from you. At any time, I may need your services and you will be available to carry them out. If I need you to go visit the sheriff station you will do it, at any time of the day. If I need you to visit any of the citizens to solve any urban issue, you will go when I tell you to."

Emma remained in a stubborn silence, although inside her blood had begun to run hot. She clenched her jaw as she bit her tongue in an attempt to avoid responding to such display of haughtiness. Her irritation grew at times when she saw how a shadow of triumph crossed the eyes of the mayor, as if she had achieved her goal of reducing her to a mere pawn. Emma felt her stomach drop to her toes as she realized how her hopes were gradually fading.

"And one more thing, the most important, in fact. Your main task will be to take care of my son." Emma was slow to react, but when her brain registered the meaning of her words, her eyes widened in surprise. This time they were not merely her imaginations, Regina wore a triumphant look. And Emma hated her a bit for that. "Excuse me?" She mumbled as she felt the blushing of humiliation creep from her neck to her cheeks.

"Ms. Swan, my son, Henry, is my priority, but my job as mayor is a full-time job, and I do not want to leave my son unattended because of that. Therefore, if I am busy, you will pick up Henry from school, take him to the library if I can't do it, or help him with his homework."

Emma pursed her lips, her heart pounding against her rib cage. It was her anger that finally got her to emit more than two words in a row. "So, if I understand correctly, my new job will be to run errands and babysitting." Emma snapped with ill-concealed sarcasm as she gave Regina a fake smile. Two could play this game.

The two women looked at each other, one with a haughty expression, the other with a look of defiance, waiting for the next movement, while an oppressive silence loomed over them. After a few seconds in which the tension between them could almost be cut with a knife, Regina finally broke it.

"Take it as a challenge, Miss Swan." Her expression softened subtly, though her next words acted as darts against her heart. "You can choose a new beginning, or leave before you start and go back to your ordinary, lonely life."

Emma let out a snort as she shook her head and stood up, ready to leave. She had had enough. Regina did not seem to take the hint, though. She continued, causing in Emma an almost unstoppable need to cover her ears. She did not want to hear anything else.

"I see that you are going to choose the easy way... it doesn't surprise me, given your history... but perhaps you should listen to one more thing before you run away. You may be interested to know that Henry, my son, has something in common with you. He is adopted, as you were."

Emma stopped short, her whole body tense, her hands curled into fists as she turned to face Regina. "How do you know that? What do you know about me?" She hissed through her clenched jaw as she shot her a murderous look.

"I know enough, Miss Swan." Regina replied holding her gaze showing a cold temper. "This may be an unknown town in Maine, but I have my contacts. Did you think I was going to trust anyone to take care of my son? I'm giving you a chance, despite your history. You decide - are you going to run away like you've done before?"

Emma repressed the urge to tell her to go to hell while she felt the disappointment washing over her. Just a few minutes ago she was hopeful, eager to start that new project, but now... "You don't know me." To her surprise, Emma's voice did not betray her inner turmoil. She was not going to give the satisfaction to that woman.

Just as she was about to turn around in the direction of the exit, her gaze caught on a frame resting on a shelf next to the desk. Her heart tightened in her chest when she saw that it was a family photo. Regina appeared with her arm around the shoulders of a boy of about eight years old, brown hair, brown eyes. The child, Henry she supposed, was flashing a friendly smile. That little smile was the one that disarmed her. Her eyes closed for a moment, as she tried to pull herself together. She could have been that child, she could have had someone to care for her, and yet... Emma shook her head slightly, as she swallowed hard. After releasing a deep sigh, she finally made a decision. That boy needed her. Her running time was over.

He seemed happy and Regina seemed to care enough for him so maybe she was destined to come back to Storybrooke for that reason, to make sure that child did not go through the same hell as her. Emma approached Regina again, both holding their gazes for a moment, Emma's stomach clenched in knots. Finally, she expressed her decision with only one question. "When do I start?"

A warm feeling spread across her chest the moment she caught sight of Henry sitting in a booth in front of his mother, in the same place they had chosen just a year ago.

"Emma!" Henry shouted in greeting as he waved his hand gesturing for her to come closer, his face splitting into a giant grin the second he saw her. Henry did not even wait for her to get to the booth, but instead hurried to his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist in a tight hug. "Happy Birthday!"

Emma did not react at first, not yet used to these public displays of affection after so many years alone. Even so, her heart fluttered for that little boy who had accepted her without hesitation from the moment they met just a year before. "Thank you, kid, and I'm sorry to be late," she said while ruffling his hair.

"I guess the congratulations are in order, Emma." She barely had time to sit in front of Regina when her boss addressed her. "I hope your tardiness doesn't become a habit." She added as she raised an eyebrow in warning.

Emma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and instead gave her a tight smile. Despite their tense start, their relationship had softened throughout the year, thanks mostly to the kid. But there were times, especially when Regina displayed all that aura of superiority and arrogance that Emma found difficult to bear. Other times, she would catch Regina sneaking an enigmatic glance at her, as if she would try to decipher something hidden inside her, or as if she was aware of something Emma did not know. Luckily those occasions were rare, because Emma did not feel comfortable under that scrutiny.

She shook her head slightly in an attempt to make those thoughts evaporate. Today was not a day for complaints, today was a special day. They had something to celebrate and nothing - and no one - would spoil her moment. For the next few minutes, she focused on Henry, who entertained them with stories about the school and about the book he was reading. He was a great kid, smart, friendly and with a big heart. She could not be more grateful for having accepted that offer despite its frustrating start.

As it turned out, staying in Storybrooke had changed her life. Even so, Emma still carried too many demons from the past. Her old habits of not opening up to others in order to protect her heart were still deeply rooted in her. There was a persistent hole in her heart, not so deep now, but always latent. And that feeling increased every time she walked the streets and remembered her parents.

Despite having access to the town's archives, she had not made any effort to seek information and had not asked Regina, although she suspected that perhaps her boss, who seemed to control every little detail of Storybrooke, could be the most appropriate source of information. A paralyzing fear prevented her. It was as if she was afraid to face the answers she might find, or as if knowing about her origin threatened the stability she had found when she arrived here and decided to stay. No. She was not going to risk the best thing that had happened to her in her entire life.

Thanks to her work, she had no choice but to deal with most of the inhabitants of the town and Henry himself had introduced her to the people who would be the closest thing to friends she had, Ruby, Granny's waitress, and Graham, the Sheriff of Storybrooke. Friendship was still a new concept for her, but these two people seemed to have accepted her as she was, and, although she still maintained her protective armor, it was becoming weaker and weaker thanks to the security she had found.

Just then, as if her memories had invoked them, Ruby and Graham made their appearance. The moment Graham spotted them, he went to the booth they occupied, offering her a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek in congratulation.

Ruby also approached them holding a cupcake topped by a lighted candle. Emma’s mind traveled immediately to the year before, when she experienced a similar scene, surrounded almost by the same people, although on that occasion, both her head and her heart were much more troubled.

On the same day that Emma had decided to accept the job, Regina had entrusted her to go to pick up Henry at school, without even giving her time to acclimate or to return to Boston to pack. "It's Friday, Miss Swan, go meet my son and then you'll have the whole weekend to say goodbye to your old life." Regina had told her before dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

In retrospect, Emma still did not know the reason why she had confessed to Henry that day was her birthday when she had known him for only two minutes. By the time the boy had found out, he had insisted on organizing a celebration. "Everyone deserves a party on their birthday." He had assured with determination, causing her heart to flip. The little boy had offered her more in just five minutes than any of the people she had dealt with in the past.

That's how they had ended up at Granny's, right in this same booth. And that's how she first had met Ruby, the sassy waitress and granddaughter of the owner, who had rushed to prepare an impromptu birthday party for a person she had just met. Maybe this was something common among small towns, Emma had wondered, a little bit overwhelmed by the attention she received.

That first day with Henry had meant the beginning of a series of experiences that, until that moment, had been denied to her. Like blowing a candle surrounded by people instead of doing it with only the four walls of her solitary apartment as witnesses. Or that someone would sing Happy Birthday to her for the first time— at least of what she was aware of. Her time with the Swans was too short and she was too small to remember. And in the different foster homes and group homes, it was simply something that did not happen, at least not to her.

That unexpected celebration had also meant a change in a small tradition that she had followed since she first got a camera. Every year, no matter what the circumstances, however lonely or hopeless she was, she took a picture of herself in her birthday just before she blew the candle. She kept those photos saved in an album, as vestiges of her life, not as a proof of the loneliness that had always accompanied her, but as a reminder that she would never lose faith. She would always blow a candle, trusting that maybe, at some point, her wishes would finally be heard.

She had hoped that this was the first of many similar photos and time seemed to be showing that she was right since now she was going to experience again that feeling of being part of a group, of belonging to something. Before blowing the candle, she looked at Henry, who nodded in encouragement. Then her eyes went to Ruby and Graham, both of whom were holding their phones pointing towards her, prepared to immortalize the moment. When they both lifted their thumbs in unison, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and then expelled the air and with it the wish that nothing would change. That was all she needed.

When she opened her eyes, she found three pairs of eyes looking at her expectantly — Regina pretended to be very interested in the state of her nails — while Henry began to stir restlessly in his seat, his gaze traveling from Emma to his mother. Emma cocked her head as she narrowed her eyes, the corners of her lips rising due to Henry's behavior. It was obvious that the boy was after something, no matter how much he tried to hide his excitement. Regina also noticed it as, after raising her eyes to the ceiling and muttering, "Patience is not your greatest virtue, it's evident," she bent to reach for something under the table and passed the bag to her son. Henry hurriedly pulled the contents out of the bag and placed a package decorated with wrapping paper, right in front of Emma, while his lips curled into an adorable smile and his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"Open it!" He required, unable to hide his impatience.

This was also new. Gifts. Someone thinking about her and buying something just for her. Emma felt a lump forming in her throat and sudden tears threatened to slide down her cheeks. She blinked a couple of times to hold back the tears and began to open the gift with slightly trembling hands before the attentive glances of Ruby, Graham, Henry and Regina.

Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the contents of the box. A DSLR camera. A simple object that had a great meaning for her, a future full of possibilities. "How..." Her voice trailed off as her gaze sought Henry's. "I... I can't accept it, it's too much." Emma muttered as an overwhelming sensation crept up to her heart.

"You don't like it." A shadow of disappointment crossed Henry's gaze causing her stomach to tighten into knots, so she hurriedly explained.

"Of course, I like it, Henry, but you didn't have to bother with such an expensive gift." She said in a soft voice, her lips drawing a grateful smile.

"You can consider it a kind of retribution for your dedication to the tasks entrusted this past year." Emma was surprised by Regina's unusual gentle tone in addressing her. "It was Henry's idea, after all." She added as she shrugged, the corners of her lips rising slightly. Regina going soft was so new that she felt like using her new camera for the first time just to immortalize the moment.

"I thought it was a good idea, since you're always taking pictures." Henry tried to explain himself in a hesitant voice.

"It's the best gift I've ever had, thank you very much." Emma assured him. That was enough for his face to light up, a giant smile blooming on his face, making her heart melt a little more in the process.

"And that's not all." Graham announced bringing another much smaller package. "Ruby and I also wanted to contribute in some way."

"Open it, open it!" Ruby added, bouncing excitedly.

Emma let herself be infected by the enthusiasm of her friends and accepted the package. It seemed that the surprises were not over. The moment she saw the content a gasp escaped her lips.

12-week amateur photography course taught by professional photographer Killian Jones.

Emma was unable to look away from the card in front of her. This was too much. When she agreed to this little celebration, she only hoped to spend a pleasant evening with people important to her. However, what they were offering was not only a gift, it was the possibility of fulfilling her dreams, of making her passion escalate to a new level. She did not know how she could compensate these people for everything they were doing for her.

"It starts in two weeks." Ruby explained. "And I've been told that the instructor is a hottie." She added as her eyebrows danced suggestively, earning a roll of eyes from Graham at her side.

"Miss Lucas, do you realize that there are children in front of you? Watch your mouth." Regina hissed as she cast a sidelong glance at Henry. He didn't seem to mind, quite the contrary, since he began to giggle, getting the others, including Emma herself, to follow him. Even the corners of Regina's lips rose subtly, the barest hint of a smile crossed her features.

"You're going to go, aren't you?" Graham asked, his penetrating gaze and his insistent voice making it impossible to reject it.

"Of course. Besides..." Before continuing, Emma cast a sidelong glance at Regina and Henry and then placed her hands around her mouth, as if she were confessing a secret and muttered, "...I've been told that the instructor is a hottie, I couldn't possibly refuse."

Graham rolled his eyes again, an amused grin tugging at his lips, while Regina huffed and Ruby lifted her hand to Henry's for a high five.

Emma couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twisting upwards, drawing a smile full of affection for all these people. She clung to the card that contained the course information while trying to calm down, unsuccessfully, since she was so excited and grateful for the opportunity they were giving her that she did not know whether to laugh, cry, or hug everyone. Maybe she could do all three things at once. It was her special day, wasn't it? She was allowed to do whatever she wanted. So she parked her fears for a moment and postponed her nervousness for the next day. Today, she was going to enjoy her twenty-eighth birthday fully.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke, Present Day - November 4, 2017

"Seriously?"

When Emma had to stop the car at the third red traffic light in a row since she left her apartment, she wondered if the traffic Gods were sending her some kind of premonitory signal. She suppressed the impulse to bang her head against the steering wheel and instead began tapping it with her fingertips, while mumbling, "come on, turn to green."

Five minutes late. Her heart hammered in her chest when she finally spotted the library building, where the course she was attending — or would attend, if she could get there at some point — would take place. She parked in the first free spot she found, grabbed her purse and her camera and rushed to the entrance.

"It's the first door on the left." Belle, the librarian, pointed to the hallway the moment she saw her, no doubt aware of her tardiness. "The class has just started, Emma, don't worry." Belle added, leaning on the counter while offering a reassuring smile.

Emma nodded, her lips drawing a tight smile, as she headed straight for the door. Only when she was in front of it did she take a second to catch her breath and pull herself together. Her eyes closed for a moment as she inhaled deeply in an attempt to spread calm throughout her body. Then, she opened the door.

Several pairs of eyes turned toward her, but she ignored them, murmuring an apology as she walked swiftly with her head down toward the only free chair in the room, one fortunately far enough away to allow her not to draw too much attention. She did not even look at the guy who was sitting in front of the class, the instructor, she supposed.

Only when she felt comfortable enough, from the shelter of her seat and with her camera placed on the table in front of her, did she dare to look at the person who would be her instructor for the next few weeks.

Holy shit, Ruby was right. Emma thought when her gaze met the man's - two blue eyes staring at her intently while his head tilted slightly. Her cheeks began to burn at the scrutiny, but she did not look away and when neither did he, she noticed how a hint of interest crossed his gaze.

"I'm glad that you have finally decided to honor us with your presence..." The man took a look at the tablet he held in his hand and then looked back at her. "...Miss Swan."

A chill ran down her spine when she heard him, but Emma was not sure if the reason was his accent or the sardonic tone of his voice or the way he pronounced her last name, gently sliding the word between his lips. Still, his scrutiny and his slight reproaching tone made her shuffle uncomfortably in her seat. So much for making a good impression on the first day, she thought. "Sorry, it was the traffic." She muttered an excuse that sounded unconvincing, even though it was true. Sort of.

"Oh, sure, traffic, that big problem in a town like Storybrooke." His sarcastic tone did not disappear, causing Emma to press her lips together into a thin line, in an attempt to hold back the biting retort burning on the tip of her tongue. She did not need to continue embarrassing herself. "Anyway, now that we're all here, we'd better continue with the introduction to keep moving forward in our first class. Since all the others have been punctual, it's just you, Miss Swan, so you'd be so kind to let us know who are you and why are you here?"

All heads turned in her direction, causing her shoulders to lift and her cheeks to burn again. She suppressed the urge to run away though, and decided to behave like the grown woman that she was supposed to be. At least that's what her brain thought, her mouth had other plans. "Honestly, I don't think that's necessary, everyone already knows me here."

"Everyone except me. So, who are you, Miss Swan?"

Emma cleared her throat as she straightened in her seat, keeping the man's scrutinizing gaze. "I'm Emma Swan, the mayor's personal assistant."

"And why did you decide to join this course, Emma Swan?"

Why did that man look at her so intensely? It was as if he was trying to find something beyond her gaze, as if he was waiting for a certain response on her part. Maybe it was the nerves caused by such scrutiny, or the tension of not being sure what answer he was looking for. Whatever it was, her mouth decided to act on her own again while her brain was still processing what would be the most appropriate response.

"I just got this camera and the course to learn how to handle it."

The moment the last word slipped between her lips Emma was aware that her answer had been completely wrong. Any glimmer of interest that could have hidden the instructor's look vanished in an instant, the disappointment was written all over his face.

He looked away after letting out a sigh— of resignation perhaps? — just when her brain decided to come out then of its lethargy, all the explanations she should have given popping up into her head. Photography is my passion. It's the best way I have to express myself. I'd like to absorb all the knowledge that an expert like you can offer me in order to give the best of me in this art. Too late.

But the worst part was still to come. In case Emma hadn't embarrassed herself enough, something caught her attention as the instructor held the tablet, a glimpse of his left hand, or technically, of what appeared to replace his hand. Her eyes widened in surprise when she detected that there was a prosthesis at the end of his left arm. Emma frowned with a mixture of confusion and admiration as she wondered how he would manage to handle such a complex camera with one hand when she had difficulties with both hands.

When she looked up, she met Killian's penetrating gaze, who had caught her staring at the prosthesis. Emma looked away, while she felt like a furious blush of embarrassment crept up from her neck to her cheeks. She wished at that moment that a hole would open under her feet and suck her to free her from this agony. So much for that first good impression.

"Thanks for your input, Emma." He said through a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And now, we better enter fully into the subject." He finally seemed to give a break to his scrutiny, addressing the rest of the students. "Welcome everyone to the fascinating world of photography."

Killian — that was his name, wasn't that? Shit, she should have looked at the card before coming, to be sure, or have arrived earlier, so she would not have missed his introduction — turned to reach for his backpack placed on the desk, looked for something inside and then held it with his right hand. A camera. Obviously. "Although it may be intimidating, once you have learned the basics to operate this small device, it will become your faithful companion, following all your steps wherever you go. So, today's class will consist of familiarizing ourselves with our respective devices. The camera is not our enemy but our ally here, so what better than to get the best out of it?"

For the next few minutes, Emma focused on his explanations in an attempt to forget the previous embarrassing moments. It was not a complicated task, since it was evident that the guy knew what he was doing. Perhaps it was his simple and close language, far from complicated technicalities, perhaps the passion that his words gave off, whatever it was, the next hour flew by while Emma listened, enthralled by all his explanations as she tried to absorb all his knowledge putting them into practice with her own camera.

"And now guys, the time for your defining moment has come."

Emma narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, a sense of mild panic gripping her as she followed his every move. The others seemed to feel the same, since they began to murmur among themselves as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Come on, guys, I guess you're already tired of my boring talk. Now comes the best part of the classes - the practice.” Emma could not help but feel a pull of excitement at the possibility that he was offering to potentially rectify her uncomfortable start. Maybe she could not control her mouth or her thoughts, maybe she could not even control the camera, but she did know how to look through a lens.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw someone raising a hand. Aurora Prince. Killian nodded at her as a prompt for her to speak. "So, we're going to take pictures?"

No. We are going to paint our nails. Seriously? Emma suppressed the impulse to roll her eyes while wondering what people like Aurora and her husband did here. They had never shown any interest in photography. Or Leroy, the most grumpy person in the world. Maybe he was here to get through the typical Saturday hangover, keeping himself safe from his numerous brothers. A snort escaped her mouth as she imagined such a scenario, gaining the reproachful look of some of her classmates and a smirk from the instructor himself.

"Yeah, we're going to take pictures." Killian confirmed without giving any sign of sarcasm. Apparently, he was more diplomatic than her. "I'd like to know with what level of skill each one of you starts, to be able to adapt the following classes to your needs, so I thought that for this first practice, you could work in pairs and take some portrait photos."

All the others seemed to move in coordination because, in a matter of a couple of minutes, they had all been paired. Everyone except her, of course. Emma tried to ignore the pang of hurt, trying to justify the fact that she had been rejected. Most of the couples formed already had a previous relationship, she told herself. Robin and Will were friends, Elsa and Anna, sisters, Aurora and Phillip were married. Emma did not know that Ariel and Tink were related, though. And the union between Archie and Leroy was like a little thorn in her heart. But Leroy was Archie's patient, maybe it was a kind of therapy or something?

Emma was so focused on analyzing the pairings and justifying them, trying to stop the — unfortunately well-known —feeling of rejection, that she did not realize at first that the instructor had appeared beside her.

"I guess that leaves us together, huh?"

Her head snapped up at the close sound of his voice. "Uhm, I guess I have no other choice." She shrugged, one side of her mouth tugging up as she looked at him. Holy shit! Now that she had him closer, his eyes seemed even bluer, and his scruff had an interesting reddish shade in contrast to his dark hair, and those lips... Focus, Emma! She shook her head subtly as she grabbed the camera with hesitant movements.

This was so awkward. Emma glanced at the others, who seemed to be having a good time, all smiles — except for Leroy — poses, and funny faces in front of the camera. Meanwhile, she was there, in a corner of the room, in front of the instructor, who had crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for instructions, she supposed. And to create even more tension, she felt that this was like a test. She had to prove to herself that this was what she really wanted to do.

"Do you need some help there?" He offered through a gentle smile.

"Uh, no," she breathed as she bit her lower lip, rocking back and forth on her feet, "I'm just trying to figure out what to do."

"It's okay, lass. This is not a test of technique. Feel free to do anything that crosses your mind. I'm at your disposal here."

Maybe it was his soft voice, his nod of encouragement or maybe that sparkle of interest that had returned to his eyes. The fact is that she swallowed any insecurity she might have had and got down to work. She grabbed the camera with determination and began to instruct him to move slightly or stand in a certain position while she tried to make the necessary adjustments and find something creative that could express some meaning. He obliged without a single complaint, an amused half-smile never disappearing from his lips.

Finally, she found what she was looking for - the most suitable background for her photo. After giving him the last instructions and making the last adjustments, she looked through the viewfinder and, once satisfied with the image on the other side of the lens, she shot a couple of photos. Next, she looked at the result through the camera's screen. Her intention had been to photograph only half of Killian's face, focusing on his eye, whose color matched the color of the background. She had also wanted to include the word that appeared on the poster in the background, also in blue tones. Learn. The idea was there, she thought pleased, although she found something odd in the background.

"Let's see what we have here." Killian approached then, pointing towards the camera. "May l?"

"Yeah." She handed him the device, while her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her stomach clenched in knots of anticipation for knowing the opinion of the expert. To her relief, his eyes went wide briefly as his lips twisted in approval. Or at least she hoped so.

"Your choice is quite interesting." When Killian turned his gaze from the camera to her eyes, she could detect that the brightness of interest had become more pronounced. "Can I ask you why you chose this type of portrait? Let's say, it's a bit atypical."

"Well..." She hoped her voice wasn't shaking. "I assumed that the others would make more traditional photos, so I considered taking a more innovative angle."

Killian cocked his head slightly to one side, arching one of his eyebrows, as if deciding what to say next. Emma held her breath until he decided to speak again. "The result is quite satisfactory. We'd have to work a bit more on the approach, though, but it's original and creative. Good job, lass."

Emma felt her stomach flutter due to both his words and the appreciative smile he gave her. Maybe that's why she finally dared to express what she had wanted to do at the beginning. "I'm not here just for the camera. I mean, it's true that it's a gift and that I have no idea what to do with it, not yet, but I'm going to learn. I love photography both as media and as art, and I want to express myself through pictures. " She slightly raised the hand that held the camera to reinforce her words. "I want to create stories through it."

This time, her choice of words did seem adequate. Killian looked at her with a new glow in his eyes, something she could not identify exactly, but that made it impossible to look away. It was only when he spoke again that she was able to get out of the trance to which she had been subjected by the spell of his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, lass. Maybe our paths have crossed for a reason, maybe we're on the right track to finding what we're both looking for."

Hope. That was what she detected behind his intense gaze. And also the shadow of something deeper, as if those eyes had witnessed many stories, not all pleasurable. Emma felt hopelessly attracted by the enigma that Killian Jones had become, finding herself wanting to know those stories and to understand the cryptic meaning of his words. She had eleven weeks ahead to find out.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

What to expect in the next chapter? We'll discover more pieces of Killian's backstory from David's point of view, and the connection between the two of them. And the photography course will continue with the second class.

#csbb #cs ff #cs au #captain swan ff #captain swan #cs ff au #mayquita writes #my cs writings #csbb 2018 #2018 csbb fic #pictures of reality

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ofseaandsky · 7 years

Text

New Fic - The Ties That Bind

A/N:

So this is something I’ve spent a few months now writing and polishing. It’s long, nearly 100K words at this point. I don’t have a number for how many chapters yet, because I’m still working out how I’m planning on splitting them up. It’s 90% done at this point which is why I’m comfortable starting to post it and I will finish it. It’s a slow burn because that’s the only way I see it ever really happening between these two. There will be smut later and apparently once they start, they don’t seem to want to stop, so there’s that. But I emphasize again, it’s a slow burn, there is quite a bit to get through before they get to that point.

Things I have decided to ignore:

1. Science (insofar as Raven’s extra time buying solution wouldn’t work, but the show is pretty relaxed on how science works, so, sorry)

2. Raven’s brain issue (it was a bit difficult to write in, but in theory it could be still happening in the background, but it’s not really relevant to the story so if you want to think she’s had it and solved it as she did on the show, that’s fine too. I’ve just not included it in the story)

3. Translations of Azgedasleng/Trigedasleng (basically because I’m a bit lazy and I couldn’t get it to work naturally

4. A couple of other thing which I won’t mention because Spoilers!

It’s set in 4x08 and goes off canon from that point forward. It’s unbeta’d so any mistakes are mine and I’m sorry. I try and catch them all, but it’s not always easy. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Clarke stared at the empty spot where the destroyed radiation chamber had once sat. There was no trace of it apart from a few glittering shards of glass on the ground and scuff marks from where it had caught the floor as Roan and Miller had pushed it out of the room. An empty broken tomb of possibilities no one could stand to look at any longer. Especially Clarke.

She was still furious at her mother for her impulsive decision that had essentially destroyed their last hope. Abby was already packing up the last of her supplies, preparing to return to Polis, an urgent call from Kane prompting her into action. Clarke had no idea what had rattled her so much, but the discussion had been had behind closed doors and she had been too busy reconciling the events of the previous day to snoop.

Clarke couldn’t shake the shiver of discomfort that raced through her bones like an electric shock. She rubbed her arms to ward of the chill trying to force life back into her extremities but the heavy weight of failure and the sharp, bitter taste in the back of her throat filled her veins with ice as she thought back to the grounder’s last painful jerks and spasms as he spewed black blood like an oil geyser. She wasn’t sure what made the shard of self-hatred twist deep in her heart more: the death of the morally questionable man or her own half-failure in part due to her mother’s fear. She had never felt less like a leader than she did today. The weight of responsibility over so many lives was dragging her down to the ground, the gravity of it all pulling her down and making it hard to straighten her spine and continue standing tall.

Roan approached, dressed once more in leather and furs, sword strapped at his side. She watched him as he moved toward her with determination she envied, confident in himself and what they were doing. Or had tried to do. He had extended that faith to her and she felt shame burn deep at how little she deserved his earlier praise. He didn’t swagger with false confidence; it was part of the set of his bones. He moved like he knew he could part the seas and expected everyone else to acknowledge it. He moved like a king.

“Ready?” he asked and she nodded physically trying to shake herself from her thoughts.

It was time to move forward and hope that they would find something in the next week. If not, there was nothing left. They would all die. She couldn’t hold his gaze but felt him watching her closely as she cast her eyes about the room. She wanted so desperately to feel a measure of the hope she’d had when she plunged the needle in her arm. She knew that had been the right thing to do, but it had all been for nothing.

“I just want to say goodbye to Raven,” she said and he followed quietly behind her, standing a distance away. He was still a little awed at the technology the bunker housed but hid it well, especially to those who didn’t know him well. Clarke had seen the brief flicker of pride on his face as she pulled the needle from her arm and thought she may read him better than many. Like recognized like after all.

“We’re heading back to Polis,” Clarke said, walking up behind her friend as she furiously scanned the data on the screens before her. She looked over at the world map; a series of bright red squares highlighting all the known locations of nuclear power stations and was overwhelmed by the visual representation of what was to come. Death didn’t come quietly it seemed. It raged against them and had the audacity to brandish its colors as it rode toward them.

“Yeah, okay,” the dark-haired mechanic said, not looking up.

Clarke sighed. She didn’t want to leave on such bad terms. There had been no other choice but to test nightblood the way they did, but she knew it had brought back memories that Raven was none too happy to revisit. Too many people died at Mount Weather for the sake of the human race. Too many more would die soon and she was helpless to stop it and too angry to mourn what was to come.

Raven turned to Clarke abruptly; she looked equal parts disappointed and proud. It was an expression that would have looked odd on anyone else. She studied her friend for a long moment, before rolling her eyes and pulling her into a hug. Clarke gripped her tightly, relieved in the small show of forgiveness.

“I found a way to redirect the existing solar power grid structure to continue cooling the reactor cores on this continent,” she said gruffly pulling back from her gently.

“What does that mean?” Clarke asked and just like that the spark that had been extinguished was flickering again deep behind her sternum.

“Another two months before radiation levels get unlivable,” Raven said, a little excitement flowing into her words. “Depending on the jet stream and how quickly levels rise in Russia.”

“That’s amazing,” Clarke sagged with relief. She looked over to where Roan waited by the staircase and surprised him with a dazzling smile. He frowned at her, but the corner of his mouth turned up just a fraction.

“It won’t mean anything unless we can find a solution,” the mechanic snapped, glaring at her with a hard look. “One that doesn’t involve any more human experimentation.”

“We will do everything we can. We’ll find a way,” Clarke said with a nod and just like that the steel returned to her spine. She needed a minute to think. Two months. They would surely be able to find something in two months.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything else,” the anger had drained from Raven’s tone and Clarke shot her a small smile.

“Thank you,” the blonde said. “If anyone can, it’s you Rae.”

Raven nodded and turned back to the monitor before her, dismissing Clarke to continue searching through the data. Nightblood may still offer a solution if only they could tweak the formula. And Clarke had already given a bone marrow samples for them to work with when Luna once again refused. It may not be perfect, but there was a chance. There was a little spring in her step as she joined Roan at the foot of the stairs.

“Our resident genius bought us two more months,” she grinned up at the king, her mouth still stuck in a stupidly wide grin. His eyes shot over her shoulder to look at where Raven was pointedly ignoring them, the quirk of his lips expanding into what could passably be called a smile. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before and Clarke would have bet it was hope.

It was time to head back to Polis.

The little optimism Clarke had left Raven with had all but been destroyed as she watched the warrior king stare down Indra and her fellow tribal leaders. The groundwork was being laid for a war no one could afford to fight. She wondered at what cruel joke was being played on her and their fellow survivors. She wanted to scream and rip the world apart with her rage. She felt it vibrating fiercely in her hands and had to clench her fists to make them stop shaking.

“We talked,” Roan said, looking at her significantly before he turned and left the bunker. She couldn’t stomach watching him leave.

Clarke felt bile make a home at the back of her throat once more. Her heart was shaking in her chest, fury at the unfairness of the fates conspiring against her making her want to explode and shower the world in her pitch and gore. This was not the end; she refused to let it be. She would rage against the coming darkness. She would not go gently into the night and let her people, grounders and Skaikru alike, slaughter each other when they could work together. Not this time.

“Indra,” Clarke turned to her sometime ally. “You cannot seriously want a war instead of the chance to survive!”

“It is the way it must be, Wanheda,” the other woman squared her shoulders and made to turn and walk away.

“Is there anything that can be done? Apart from war?” Clarke didn’t like the defeated edge her tone had. “You know that at best this will kill as many of your people as it will theirs. Probably more.”

“It is our way,” she repeated, but there was a flicker of doubt on her face. Clarke hadn’t even shared the extended timeline with anyone save Roan. Not even her mother knew. She would hold fast to that information until the very end.

“If there was someone that could unite the clans behind them?” Clarke pressed, casting a look at the warriors behind her.

“There is no longer a Commander to lead our people,” a bearded man said gruffly.

“I know,” she said urgently. “I’m begging you please, attend one more summit, with all the clans. If no agreement can be reached there, you can go to war.”

“I fail to see what that will accomplish,” Indra said eyes already burning with the promise of violence and war.

“Maybe nothing,” Clarke said, frustrated. “But if nothing else it will get more of your people in place to fight.”

“And more of theirs,” a woman interjected. The warriors looked firm in their resolve. Clarke thought quickly, they needed a leader not a child begging on their knees.

“You will need Skaikru to help you live in this bunker,” she changed tactics, it was time to pull out her Wanheda persona. “The tech is too complicated for you to learn. You will not survive without us, not in the time we have left.”

“You are willing to sacrifice your own people for Azgeda?” Indra asked appalled, but there was the slightest crack in her tone that spoke of uncertainty.

“I gave my word and I want everyone to see reason,” she said, her voice strong, shoulders thrown back, face cold and blank. “I am willing to do what it takes for everyone to survive. You will need Azgeda when that bunker door opens.”

“We will never need Azgeda,” a large man scoffed dangerously, spitting on the ground by his feet. But Indra watched her intrigued and the blonde pressed on.

“When that bunker door opens,” Clarke continued, staring down each of the Trikru warriors present, letting the righteous fire burning in her belly to shine through her eyes. “There will be nuclear winter. We may not see the sun clearly for years. The land will be cold and harsh, beyond anything you have seen. Beyond anything most of the clans have known to survive. Except Azgeda.”

“Why should we believe anything you say, Wanheda?” the same warrior from before took a challenging step forward.

“Because I want us all to survive,” she said firmly. “It is what I have always wanted us to do. Build a future together. Help each other. Survive together. It is what my father died for. If it comes to it, it is what I will die for. I was willing to just hours ago.”

Clarke stood tall, facing them as she would a whole army of warriors. Indra looked at her for a long moment, and she knew she was being evaluated. Dark eyes roamed over her face and Clarke held her breath with her chin raised and blue eyes filled with determination.

“If King Roan will call the summit,” she said slowly, ignoring the rumble of disagreement behind her. “Trikru will attend.”

“That is all I ask,” Clarke said and left the bunker as quickly as she could manage. Now she just had to convince Roan to try one more time. As soon as she cleared the bunker doors she shook the tremors from her limbs and flexed her fingers. She was shaking but used the adrenaline of the half won fight to drive her up the stairs to the king’s chambers.

“Wanheda kom Skaikru,” a guard announced as she entered the king’s chambers. Clarke had been surprised she hadn’t met with any resistance when she asked to speak to Roan. Echo glared at her as she entered and Clarke thought she saw Roan’s shoulders drop with a sigh. She wasn’t sure why that made her stomach clench in sympathy.

“What do you want, Clarke?” he said, pressing his hands down on the table. “I am preparing for war.”

He sounded more defeated than she had ever heard him as he stared down at a table filled with parchment and maps, hands heavy on the edge of the table. Clarke knew he wanted to work together but the look in his eyes as he faced the Trikru warriors and her own people when they reached the outskirts of Polis was one she would relieve for a long time. It had cut deeply into her though she did the best to warn him. She wouldn’t claim to feel as betrayed as he did, but she was certainly not running into the waiting arms of Skaikru any time soon.

“I have come to ask you to call the summit,” she said, eyeing Echo as the warrior scoffed. Her beautiful features were twisted in anger and her eyes were hot with rage and suppressed violence. It was obvious she didn’t like or trust Clarke and was just looking for an excuse to unleash her violence.

“The king will not place himself in such a position,” she said venomously, a hand on her sword. Her body was coiled like a snake ready to strike. The only thing that kept Clarke’s well-deserved fear of her in check was the deep loyalty Echo had displayed time and time again. She wouldn’t strike without the order and Clarke still trusted Roan.

“Echo,” Roan interjected after a moment. “Let her speak.”

Clarke maintained eye contact with Echo as she fell back. She wished she were having this discussion with Roan alone, but it appeared he was not about to offer her that trust. She supposed she couldn’t blame him all things considered, but the pang of hurt didn’t come as a surprise.

“I convinced Indra to bring Trikru to the summit,” Clarke explained, approaching him. “She promised she would come and hear us out.”

“Us?” the king straightened and turned toward her. His blue eyes were guarded and cold and glittered like ice.

“Yes, us,” she emphasized. “We are in this together. And you know it.”

“We tried talking,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement. He looked imposing and untouchable and Clarke swallowed against the knot of fear in her throat. She tried to focus on the faith that he had always seemed to extend her; she just had to find a way to encourage it.

“I need you to try one more time,” she said, reaching forward to lay a hand on his crossed arms. She saw Echo move closer and her eyes wearily flickered over to where she stood.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “And you are in no position to ask it of me.”

“I never betrayed you,” she said, feeling her heart race behind her sternum and allowed a little of her fear of him to slip into her expression. “I stood by you and honored our agreement. No one told me about the bunker. They lied to me because they knew I would never stand for it.”

“I believe you, it is why you are free now, but your people do not inspire my faith,” he trailed off, implication hanging heavily in the air, but didn’t back away.

She felt the heat of him under her hand and recalled the feel of his body pressed against her back, cold knife to her throat, as she trusted him to hold his hands steady. The last whispered ‘run’ before he pulled her behind him, attempting to grant her escape while knowingly sacrificing himself. She focused on the memory and leaned closer.

“They pursued a dream and found the only help available,” she emphasized. “And Jaha thinks he has more power than he does.”

“That does not reassure me, Clarke,” he countered, arms flexing and firm under her touch.

“I risked my life to save yours, because I have faith in you,” she said softly, trying for a little privacy for her confession. “I would have given it up in that radiation chamber, too to save us all. I trusted you then and I still trust you now. Please, give this one more chance.”

His eyes glittered down at her, his brows drawn in a harsh frown, making his features even sharper. She felt the puff of his breath against her face as he watched her silently, evaluating. The heat radiating off of him made her want to both press closer to stave off her fear-borne chills and step away knowing she was encroaching too close into his personal space. Too close to the fire in him that drew her in so strongly and called to a part of her she hardly knew. She waited silently heart thumping heavily in her chest.

“Please, Roan,” she pleaded softly, squeezing his forearm gently, and his eyes softened just a fraction. “I swear if this doesn’t work, I won’t stand in the way of your war. And when you win, I will convince Skaikru to help you survive in that bunker. But that is not the way I want to do this. And I don’t think you do either.”

The silence hung heavily in the room after her promise. She hadn’t meant to play to his pride, but she didn’t doubt Azgeda would easily defeat Trikru and take the bunker. They outnumbered Trikru nearly five to one from what she had seen but it wouldn’t make for an easy survival in the confines of the bunker. There needed to be trust between the survivors otherwise they may end up killing each other before a year was up.

“Call the summit,” he instructed, Echo visibly balked as if she had been physically struck, but nodded and left them alone in the room. “Either way this discussion ends tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said as her breath left her in a great rush of relief and removed her hand from him. He watched her take a step back with a look that seemed to cut straight through her. One she was growing familiar with from the stoic king.

“Your Chancellor may attend if you do,” Roan continued, moving back to the table. He turned to lean his back against it and faced her in a way that was probably meant to be casual, but there was nothing casual about the king of the Ice Nation.

“I will,” she agreed, unsure what to say now that she found herself alone with the dark haired man.

“How do you plan to convince them?” He asked, challenging her with a raised brow.

“I’ll tell them everything we know about praimfaya, the probable timeline, that we have hopes that nightblood will be a workable solution, the room we have in the bunker,” she said, wondering what he was really asking. She had nothing else to offer, and could only hope that the clans would be willing to work together. It was the only way to guarantee that the human race would have a hope of making it through what was coming.

“And when they want to declare war on each other for the bunker?” Roan prodded, and she realized he had already run through probable scenarios in his head.

“I hope they will understand that they need each other,” she answered defiantly, knowing she was being naïve. He was watching her still, his eyes flashing enigmatically at her impassioned responses.

“The clans will need more than your words, Clarke,” he admonished softly, but not gently. “We cannot abandon our ways for yours because you wish it.”

“I’m expecting everyone to see reason,” she argued. “Surely they will once we tell them what we can offer. Skaikru has the knowledge to survive in the bunker, but each clan has knowledge that will help us after.”

“And they will understand that they need Skaikru, but no other, and even then they could kill you all once they learn how to operate the technology. They will work together if you give them reason to trust in the Coalition. They cannot feel that they are sacrificing their own people to do what Skaikru or Azgeda or Trikru want. They need to feel they are a part of the plan, an essential part holding the whole together,” he continued, watching her.

“Working together is the only way humanity stands a chance. They are an essential part based on that alone. War will not solve anything at this point. We can offer an equal share of space in the bunker, we may even find more in the time we have left,” she said and thought back to the folded piece of paper tucked away in her belongings that burned her fingers every time they strayed over the already worn edges. She would not back down from this, it was too important. Surely, she could get through to at least one person.

“You never listen, Wanheda,” he exhaled in a rare show of irritation; the dismissive use of her title evidence of how far she was pushing his patience.

“I am listening!” she said, frustrated, taking the last remaining steps so she stood right in front of him. “I have been doing nothing but listen, we need to act! We can’t keep talking circles around each other. We have weeks left, maybe a couple of months if we’re lucky.”

“I agree,” he said, not phased by her sudden proximity. “And by allowing some concession to our ways the ambassadors will listen and choose those best suited for surviving what is coming. It would ensure humanity’s best chance at survival. And those who choose not to will be left to their fate.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked finally, and was rewarded with a small smile. This was the concession he had been waiting for.

“The clans will require blood,” he answered simply, sitting up a little straighter now that he knew he had her attention.

“More bloodshed?” Clarke asked, repulsed. “That is what we’re trying to avoid.”

“Blood oaths, Clarke,” he interrupted her before she could start venting her frustration. He held up the palm of his right hand where the wound from their initial oath was still pink and barely healed. Her own hand twinged in sympathy of their shared pain.

“Oaths?” she asked, frowning.

“And strategic marriage alliances,” he added and Clarke was hard pressed to define the look in his eyes. It seemed she had been too early to deem herself at all competent at reading him.

“Marriages?” She didn’t know what marriages would do to keep the peace but if a few marriages between the clans would ensure survival it seemed a small price to pay.

“Between kru people of similar standing that connect the clans who agree to the alliance,” he added, watching her mind work through the problem. “It would require a week of celebration, which I know you will object to, but it is the only way I see the clans coming to an accord.”

Clarke desperately wanted to object and had to forcibly bite down on her tongue to stop herself. Roan was watching her closely, an air of nonchalance that was a little too unaffected. She may not know every look he leveled on her, but after spending time with the reluctant monarch she felt she had started to understand when there was more behind his words. He had already weighted the merits of the other strategies and found this one to be the one most likely to work that much was becoming obvious. He had been silent most of the trip back to Polis, and Clarke had assumed that had been mainly due to her mother’s presence in the back of the rover, but maybe he had been running through probabilities.

“And this would unite the clans? Enough to buy us the time we need to prepare? Find a way to share that bunker?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“So we arrange a few marriages to intermix the clans, have a big party and that’s that?” she couldn’t help the disbelief that slipped into her tone as she folded her arms across her chest. Roan straightened to tower over her. She raised her chin to maintain eye contact.

“If you are trying to insult me it won’t work, Wanheda. Especially so soon after you’ve admitted you trust me. I don’t take such declarations lightly. Marriage is uncommon for many clans and basically unheard of between kru, this would bind them to each other by blood. Blood bonds are sacred and held above all else,” he explained, his voice a low rumble and face blank.

“And how do we decide who enters into these arranged marriages?” she asked, turning the problem over in her mind. She already knew it would be unpopular with Skaikru but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Anyone entering these alliances must be willing. Your clan becomes their clan. Their clan becomes yours. It is no small burden to bear,” he looked over her shoulder briefly before returning his gaze to hers.

“So we bring this proposal to the summit and see who is willing,” she nodded, conceding to take a step back. “Those who are will be offered nightblood, if we get that solution to work, and any resources we manage to find, including the bunker, evenly distributed between the different krus.”

“That is acceptable,” he stated, placing the bone coronet on his dark hair, resuming the persona of King of Azgeda once more. A mask fell over his features as his eyes shuttered and sharpened. It made him look so much colder and she shivered under his scrutiny. A sharp knock on the door signaled the Summit was assembled.

“Who will you need from Skaikru? And how many?” she asked as she turned to leave. “We do not have an established monarchy or a warrior hierarchy.”

“I would think that at least one would be obvious, Wanheda,” he replied, his cold mask slipping into a smirk as he donned his cloak in preparation for the meeting with the gathered leaders and ambassadors.

Clarke slowly froze in shock, realizing the implication of the words immediately. She would be top of the list for her people, another in a long line of sacrifices she continued to make since that overheard conversation between her parents. It felt like time slowed and stilled, the world around her sharpening as the air was sucked out of her lungs. She wasn’t one to let others fly into battle on her behalf, but a part of her, a deep secret part of her, shuddered at the thought of politically motivated marriage especially since odds were she would never have met her groom to be before. The thought made her stomach twist and she focused on the scuffed toes of her boots.

“And who holds similar standing to the Commander of Death?” she spat the question, not daring to meet his eyes in fear of seeing humour, or worse, pity in them.

“I would suggest perhaps only a king,” Roan replied, an edge to his tone she couldn’t understand. When her head shot up in surprise to look at him, all she saw was his back as he left his chamber for the ambassador’s summit in the throne room. She felt like she knew less than she had going in but knew that something monumental had shifted. She only hoped it was in the right direction.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, doing her best to school her features into the indifferent mask of the Wanheda when it felt like the floor had disappeared from under her feet. She trusted Roan, didn’t she? Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

#my fic #ties that bind clarkexroan #clarke x roan #the 100 #canon divergent

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