Birthright

“Again, Clarke.”

Polis was cold. One of the coldest winters yet, according to many of its citizens. Yet Lexa insisted on pacing evenly around Clarke, barking corrections to her poor fighting form. Clarke carefully slid one foot backward on the snow-covered ground and locked her arms against her waist.

Lexa eyed Clarke’s current stance. “Inhale.”

Eyes tearing and lungs burning from the freezing temperature, Clarke took in a deep breath and sought the energy that swirled in the pit of her stomach. It grew and flared, she felt it it down to her fingertips. But then she saw her father, piercing blue eyes and heavy brows furrowed in disappointment.

She felt her energy flicker.

Clarke exhaled sharply, far too soon for this particular form. She hoped Lexa didn't catch her folly, despite watching her like a hawk. Lowering her stance, she wound her arms in a wide arc, and stopped at her abdomen. Clarke then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, lifting her hands to follow the motion. But the moment she closed her eyes, she thought of Mount Weather. Of all the lives that were taken. She saw blistered skin and mouths open in silent screams.

She gasped as her eyes snapped open, and the building energy dissipated like the flames of a candle snuffing out.

Lexa closed in immediately--faster than Clarke could see--dropped low, and swept her off of her feet with a swift kick to her ankles. Clarke felt the air rush from her lungs the moment her back hit the ground. She glared at Lexa’s stoic expression above her.

“Your stance is weak.” Lexa stepped backwards to allow Clarke to struggle to her feet. “Your breathing is not controlled.”

“I’m trying.” Clarke coughed. The hours of training were beginning to weaken both her body and resolve. Her borrowed furs and heavy gloves were doing little to block out the cold, though Lexa seemed quite content in her fur-lined leather coat in place of her usual armor and sash. “This is our seventh run-through of the same exact firebending form. I’m starting to think the weather is messing with my--”

Lexa rooted her stance, then thrusted both of her arms with a sharp exhale to release two jets of blue flame. Clarke ducked instincually, but gratefully absorbed the brief moment of heat that Lexa produced.

“The weather is not the issue. There is no excuse.” Lexa straightened her stance and watched Clarke’s expression curl in distaste. “You refuse to properly root yourself and you are not centering your breathing. Power in firebending comes from the breath. Breath becomes energy in the body--”

“--and the energy extends past the limbs and becomes fire. I know, ” Clarke huffed. “You’ve only repeated yourself a hundred times.”

“And I will repeat it one hundred more until you understand it.”

“Maybe I’m not meant to understand, Lexa!” Clarke slammed a booted foot to the ground and swung her arms behind her to clear the snow surrounding them on the training grounds. Lexa’s intricately braided hair fanned behind her. It was the only sign that she was bothered by Clarke’s aggressive, if not juvenile, show of waterbending. Otherwise, Lexa did not move, nor did her stoic expression change. It frustrated Clarke more than she cared to admit. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me and there’s no sign of improvement!”

“Fire takes patience and control, Clarke.”

“Are you saying that I lack both?”

“Yes.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes and spun on her heels to walk away. “We’re done here.”

“By walking away, you're proving me right.”  

“No,” Clarke spun back around and stormed within inches of Lexa. “You, of all people, do not get to chastise me on walking away.”

Lexa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, only opening them once more when she felt the fire burning in her chest die down. “You’re right, we’re not doing this. Because you’re using my actions of the past to justify your frustration about your lack of skill.”

“You know what?” Clarke snarled. “I’ve gotten by just fine without any of your help before. Having you teach me was a terrible idea.”

Lexa raised a brow and folded her hands behind her back. She held her chin high, resolute. “Flailing your arms and hoping that an element will bow to your will, is not ‘ just fine.’” She took a step forward. “You use bending on pure instinct and necessity with the minimal and very far removed spiritual connection you have with your past lives. Any success you’ve had with bending in the past is pure luck, Clarke.” Lexa took another step forward. “You know I’m right.”

“Maybe getting my hand forced is how I learn. Maybe I’m someone that survives out of necessity.”

“Someone once told me that life should be about more than just surviving.”

Clarke deflated at Lexa’s words. “That person was delusional. And was left to fend for themselves--forced to survive --not long after.”

“The past doesn’t change the fact that you’re in dire need of bending discipline.”

Clarke’s eyes hardened and she lifted her chin defiantly. “You can go float yourself, Lexa.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. Clarke had said the same phrase to her before. It was clearly an insult, judging by the venom in her tone.

“Like I said...we’re done.” She glared at Lexa for several moments, daring her to protest. When she heard nothing in return, she backed away before turning to leave the training grounds.

Lexa watched, dangerously still, long after Clarke disappeared from sight. Her fists were still clasped tightly behind her back, and her eyes, unblinking. As snow began to fall, each flurry that touched her skin vaporized with a hiss. The longer she stood, the darker her gaze became. As she spun on her heels to follow the familiar path to Polis Tower, she failed to notice the once snow covered training ground was now filled with thick, rolling steam, and glowing red footsteps left in her wake.  

Clarke was 6 years old when she saw fire for the first time. It was a blurry experience filled with loud alarms, foam suppression systems and her mother’s grim expression.

“Fire is destructive by nature, Clarke!” Hands gripped tightly around Clarke's shoulders. The muffled sound of guards barking orders around them almost drowned out her mom’s panicked whisper. “You can never, ever let this happen again. Everyone's life was in danger.”

“But I...mom, I don't know how--” Clarke was crying and hiccupping between each word. “Wells, he--he made me so mad a-a-and then there was f-fire and there was smoke and w-we couldn't breathe and--”

“Clarke.” Her father’s deep voice was comforting, even as he knelt down to eye level with a serious expression. “It’s not your fault.”

Clarke sniffled. “It's not?”

“It’s not?” Her mom echoed. Clarke missed her father’s exasperated look.

“It's not,” He repeated firmly. “Listen to me, fire is key to survival. But for fire to survive, it  also consumes something very precious to us on the Ark. Do you know what that is?”

Clarke stumbled over her words between sharp breaths. “Air. Fire t-takes our air.”

“When it is not controlled, fire takes--it consumes, and rarely gives,” Her mom added.

“Clarke-” Her father’s tone grew even more serious. “This is why it is very, very important that you learn to control your anger.”

“But-”

“Clarke,” His voice reverberated through her chest and she immediately fell silent. He pointed to her heart. “Anger consumes, but does not give. It's okay to feel. It is important to feel. It's how you know when to do things that are right. Do you understand?” He waited for a nod before he continued.  “But never, ever let your emotions be in charge. Your heart and head? It's important that they work together, kiddo. You need balance. What makes you special depends on it.”

“Jake Griffin,” A gruff looking guard appeared at the door. Her father stood immediately. “The chancellor wants to see you.”

Clarke watched as her dad knelt down once more and kissed her on the forehead. Her mom knelt down next to her as well.

“Does the Chancellor know?” She heard her mom whisper.

Her dad shook his head. “Unlikely...”

Clarke scrunched her face. Does Chancellor Sydney know what?

“Sooner than later, Griffin!” The guard barked.

Her dad ignored him and instead murmured, “If anyone asks you how the fire started, tell them your dad said a wire shorted out, okay?”

Clarke's eyes widened, then whispered back. “Dad I--I saw fire come out of my….hands…”

“Honey,” her mom murmured, gently pushing the bangs from her forehead. “How did the fire start?”

Clarke eyes darted between her parents for a moment before nodding, resolute. “My dad said a wire shorted out.”

Her parent’s breathed a sigh of relief.

Clarke's hands shook and her heart raced. Fire is dangerous, she repeated in her mind. Clarke forced her arms down and gripped tightly at her shirt. She bit her lip until it bled to stop the onset of tears.

Never again.

She decided at that very moment that she never wanted to see fire again.

Lexa flung open the heavy doors of the audience hall with the concussive force of concentrated heat and a flurry of blue flames. Her steps were controlled, but only the force at which her boots struck the floor betrayed her irritation.  She was followed closely by Titus, only pausing to dismiss the guards before taking his place beside her throne.

“She is stubborn,” Lexa hissed between her teeth the moment the door slammed shut. But rather than taking her rightful seat, she began to pace the floor. “She is hard-headed. Foolish.”

“We had a solution to this, Heda. If you just allow the Spirit of Raava to reincarnate as we discussed--”

The candles in the room flared as Lexa’s eyes flashed towards Titus.

Titus ducked his head to acquiesce.  “And because you dismissed the notion, she must be trained until she masters fire. You carry the flame, and you are aware of this responsibility.”

Lexa folded her arms behind her back, though her pacing did not cease. “She is temperamental and lacks restraint.”

Titus dropped his gaze to her feet, noting the scorched footprints on the stone floor. “Clarke of the Sky People is not the only one that lacks restraint.”

Lexa’s darted her eyes to the floor, then turned a glare to her advisor.

“Calm your mind, Heda. Your spirit is strong, but your will must be stronger.”

She stiffened her shoulders, though she softened her glare. “Give your counsel.”

Titus folded his hands in front of his body. “You are a prodigy, Heda. Even as a child, your skills were unparalleled. Your firebending abilities are no different. In months, you’ve mastered techniques that should have taken years to perfect.”

“And Clarke?” Lexa questioned softly.

“She is no prodigy.”

Lexa let out a puff of air that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, though her facial expression did not change.

“The Avatar, the person who carries the spirit of Raava...must master the elements in order to restore the world’s balance. They are said to be naturally astute and spiritually proficient, however…any knowledge of bending from her past lives may very well be lost in time, just as our knowledge is broken.”

Lexa tightened her hands into fists.

“This requires patience; a luxury we do not have. Heda, I know you care for her—”

“I also care for the safety and protection of our people.”

“—but your leniency is unfit for the greater good.”

Lexa began to pace once more.

“Heda, you must be prepared to push her beyond her limits. It is the only way.”

“I don’t believe that is the only way.”

“She must be broken--”

“I will not--” Lexa snarled as she whirled to face Titus. The candles flared blue along with her anger. “I will not break her.”

Titus stepped backwards, surprised and wary at the rush of Lexa’s power.

“I will not break her. Not again.” Lexa swore it just nights before.

Several moments of silence passed before Titus dared to speak once more. His voice lowered. “Forgive me, Heda, but you were trained this way.”

The candles flickered as Lexa let out deep breaths to calm herself.

Maybe getting my hand forced is how I learn. Maybe I’m someone that survives out of necessity.

“One must be broken to be built stronger.” Lexa muttered the words that have been ingrained since birth. She sighed, “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim. It is our way, not hers.”

“Perhaps it should be.”

Lexa fell silent.

“She is destined for balance and peace, Heda. These are things that could not be appreciated without chaos and suffering. There are times when a forest must burn to thrive.”

Lexa’s demeanor was calm and her expression, deceptively neutral. She paced up to her throne, only to whirl and pace back towards Titus in three quick strides.

“There are times where a flower must be nurtured to bloom.” Lexa narrowed her eyes and watched, pleased, at her advisor’s visible swallow. “But Clarke is neither a forest, nor a flower.” She walked back to her throne and sat at its edge. “Clarke must decide what is best for herself.”

Just outside of the audience hall, Clarke pressed her back against the wall and sank to the floor until her knees pressed against her chest.

“Clarke must decide what is best for herself.”

“The council is suspicious, Jake.” Clarke heard her mother's hurried whisper from the dining area. Though she continued to scribble out drawings with her crayons. Even at her young age, Clarke had already mastered the art of discretion. “They're asking questions, and I can only field them for so long.”

Clarke heard her father's deep sigh. She could almost imagine him scratching his late evening scruff in frustration. “So tell them.”

“They’ll label her as a threat and you know it.”

“Maybe if we just explained--”

“Explain what, Jake?” Her mom was growing agitated. “The gifts that make Clarke special...they'll never understand it. All the council sees are variables and risk factors. She’s young, impulsive. And there’s only so many accidents that can be swept under the rug.”

Clarke gripped her crayon until her knuckles whitened.

“That's the exact reason why we should speak to the council. As she gets older, she’ll have more control--”

“The moment they figure out bending is no longer...no longer just a bedtime story, they’ll either toss her in a lab or lock her away.” Her mother sighed. “I hate the thought of both.”

Her father fell silent. She heard the bed creak, and imagined her father lowering himself heavily onto its edge.

“Whatever purpose she might have…whatever reason she reflects the Avatar...” Her mom muttered after a moment. “Will be all for nothing if she’s floated for being an unknown variable.”

“So what is best for Clarke?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know, Jake.”

Clarke closed her eyes, trying to settle her nerves at the thought. She felt cold, and stamped down the energy that was so desperate to rise to the surface. She hated bending. Clarke pressed her forehead against the table and inhaled to fight the onslaught of tears.

She hated bending with all of her being.