Ste Yuj - Stay Strong

She was almost 7 when Ophelia bled for the first time. To be honest, since Clarke had found her in the woods when she couldn't be more than 2 months old, she didn't really have a birthday, except that she was probably born in the month of May. There was a summit meeting and a festival that week in Polis to celebrate the alliance of the 13 clans.

It had been a decade since a young yet ambitious and visionary leader forged a coalition to achieve peace among each clan, and till this day, the lands and its people remained prosperous and continued to thrive under the long and successful reign of Commander Lexa. The Commander before Lexa only lived and served for 5 years, and the one before him only 2. Every day was a gift and Lexa tried not to take it for granted. Polis held a celebration fit for a God, a weeklong of music, dancing, food and mead.

Heda and Wanheda were hosting a dinner that night at their private home at the top of the tower, the long and well-crafted dining table was filled with important guests, clan leaders and ambassadors and their loved ones from one end to the other. It was a like a huge dysfunctional family, and Lexa was grateful for each and every one of them.

The food had stopped coming, the second leg of ham half eaten, the roasted potatoes and stuffed bird filled their bellies and Lexa was certain she wouldn't feel hungry for the whole of next week. But the wine kept flowing, jugs and jugs of it brought into the dining hall by servants and poured into seemingly bottomless goblets.

She looked to Clarke on her right — always on her right — laughing at something Saveen from the Desert Clan had said, the dark red liquid sloshing in her cup threatening to spill. The warm lighting of the room and the alcohol induced redness in her wife's cheeks caused Lexa's lips to pull into a smile, the adoration and love she felt for Clarke obvious to everyone in the room. It seldom came as a shock to see their mighty Commander smitten anymore, it had been a couple of years since the last war and ever since then, Lexa had allowed herself to love more freely, a day at a time.

Children of the leaders stuffed their faces with dessert and busied themselves with board games and arts and crafts and at one point started to chase after each other around the room as the adults laughed heartily and told jokes around the table. They shouldn't be running around in the dining hall, but the giggles and happy sing alongs filled Lexa's heart with so much warmth that she'd deemed it okay for just this one time. Once, Clarke caught Ophelia's arm and told her to slow down and be careful, and playful green eyes and parted lips breathed out her response before skipping away to rejoin her friends.

It was probably 5 minutes into another funny story told by one of the clan leaders when they all heard a thud and a sharp cry from the other end of the table, Ophelia had slipped and ran into the corner of someone's chair and by the time Lexa and Clarke pushed from their seats and rushed to their child, the young brunette was already on the floor with one hand cradling her nose, blood gushing out freely with a shocked look on her face rather than a pained one.

Some stood to find out what had happened, while some craned their necks to inspect the scene in front of them. There were hushed whispers and soft gasps, it filled the room and sent dread down Lexa's spine.

Because Ophelia's blood was black, same as hers, same as a Nightblood.

Instead of closing the distance between herself and her child to check if she was fine and soothe the fear in her eyes, Lexa fell to the ground, felt her heart get pummeled by the fists of her ghosts before it sank deep, beyond the pit of her stomach down to the ground floor of the Polis tower.

Clarke was able to keep her cool, stopped the bleeding and stroke her daughter's back in calming circles, her eyes trained on Lexa at times. She knew what that meant for Ophelia and the hint of fear behind Lexa's eyes did nothing to help the growing fear in her own.

The already tainted innocence in Ophelia that they'd helped and vowed to preserve was about to get stripped away and there was nothing Clarke and Lexa could do about it.

The party was over earlier than expected, their guests retreating back to their quarters to rest before departing the following morning for their homes. Ophelia was tucked safely in bed in her own room by Clarke while Lexa stood by the window in their bedroom, hands behind her back, looking out into the vast city still twinkling with bright lights and soft music could still be heard all the way up the tower.

Lexa should've known, really. Ophelia wasn't their daughter by blood, but the bond they shared was deeper and thicker than blood since the moment they found her in the woods, since the moment Clarke held her in her arms and Lexa first heard her tiny giggles. Ophelia may be young, but the glint of playfulness and mild ferocity in bright green eyes reminded Lexa of her premature self before the conclave and her rise to duty as Heda.

There were times where Lexa had to know. Ophelia had gotten hurt before, a sprained ankle due to a bad fall or a bump on the head, nothing that would cause her to bleed. Lexa had thought about dragging her knife over her daughter's skin, shallow and quick over her arm just to find out if Ophelia was a Nightblood. She craved to know, to put her mind at ease, but she couldn't hurt her child and it was forbidden and against the grounders' beliefs to find out this way. Blood would be spilled when it's time. So Lexa shoved the thought to the back of her mind. What were the chances of Ophelia being a Nightblood, anyway?

It turned out that chances were pretty fucking high.

Lexa sighed and rubbed her temples just as Clarke had walked through the door to their bedroom. Clarke paused her movements as she reached the middle of the room, not wanting to close the distance between her and her wife yet.

"How is she?" Lexa asked with her hands still secured behind her back.

"Her nose will be fine. But she's worried and scared about what it'll mean for her."

When she was younger, Ophelia had learned about Nightbloods and the history of the Commanders in vague enough terms for a 4-year-old to comprehend. She'd been horrified when Lexa returned to Polis one night with a gaping in the stomach, black blood flowing out of her as Clarke's hands were stained in black trying to fix her Nomon. When Lexa was stabilized and resting in bed, she'd tuck herself into Clarke's side and asked if her blood was black, and Lexa's eye peeked open and simply answered in a hoarse voice. "You will know when it is time, my child."

"She will have to start her training as a Nightblood."

Clarke shook her head fiercely. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. At all. She'd seen how the Nightbloods trained. She'd prayed Ophelia wouldn't have to lead such a life. Apparently her prayers had gone unanswered.

"No! That—that is not happening."

"That is not my call, Clarke, and you know it." Lexa stepped closer, her jaw clenched tight in sadness at what it'd mean for their daughter. "She is the daughter of the Commander, a child of the woods and she has no choice but to accept her fate as a Nightblood, as did I and the hundreds of Nightbloods before and after me."

She knew Lexa was right, but that didn't mean Clarke would go down without a fight. "She's my daughter, too. I can't just—we promised to keep her safe and happy."

Lexa closed the remaining distance, pulling Clarke into her and wrapping her arms around her waist, tanned slim fingers finding their home there and clutched on tightly as Clarke rested her head on her shoulder, lips brushing against her neck.

"As long as I'm alive, she will be safe." As long as I'm alive, she will never become the Commander and the weight of the world will never on her shoulders.

Lexa mentally stabbed herself with her own knife that she couldn't promise the happiness of their child.

"Again!"

Lexa brought her sword down with a force that almost made Ophelia stumble back and fall towards the ground, but she was quick enough to maneuver herself between her mother's attacks, dodging and blocking her sword as her lungs struggled for air.

Sweat poured down Ophelia's face and down her back, panting loudly as every movement she made ached, exhaustion slowly growing evident on her face. Lexa, however, looked like she didn't even break a sweat, calm and collected with her right arm behind her back.

The back and forth — mostly consisted of Lexa striking down on Ophelia while she tried to make sure her own mother couldn't drive a sword through her — only lasted for a minute before the tip of Lexa's sword made contact with Ophelia's right cheek, slicing her skin open and eliciting a cry from the younger brunette. Lexa felt her stomach flipped at hurting her own daughter, but she immediately put her mask back on and waited with piercing green eyes for Ophelia to strike back. Ophelia recovered quickly, wiping the blood off her face and regaining her footing before attacking again.

This time, the hilt of Lexa's sword connected with her nose and Ophelia dropped her sword in favour of covering her face with her hands.

"That's enough!"

Both mother and daughter looked up at Clarke's raised and angered voice to find the blonde running towards Ophelia to check her wounds, but not before throwing a glare at Lexa's way. Lexa wasn't aware that Clarke would be at the training grounds that day, and the Commander swallowed visibly but kept her head high, her sword still in her hand like it weighed nothing.

"Merely a flesh wound, Clarke. Training is not over yet, Ophelia. Pick up your—"

"When I say that's enough," Clarke stepped away from the injured brunette and moved towards the Commander, her wife, and looked her in the eye. "that's enough. Do not test me!"

Ophelia wiped her bloody nose with her sleeve and moved to reach for her sword that was on the ground. "It's okay, Mum. I'm fine."

Clarke whipped her head back immediately, blue eyes hard and glaring at her daughter. "Don't you dare pick up that sword."

Ophelia's shaky hand paused its movement, her body frozen at the rage in her mother's voice and decided not to anger her any further. She took a stepped back and Clarke nodded before turning back to Lexa.

"Clarke—"

"She's our daughter, Lexa! She's only 9! Give her a break!" Clarke almost spat in her face.

"I can't just give her special treatment because she's my daughter. She's a Nightblood, she's worthy of becoming the next Commander should I die tomorrow—"

Clarke turned around and walked back towards Ophelia before Lexa got the chance to finish the rest of her sentence, who was watching her mothers fight with tears in her eyes and blood on her face thanks to the searing pain on her cheek and nose. With one look at the young Nightblood's face, blood flowing from her nose, it reminded Lexa of the time they first found out the colour of Ophelia's blood two years ago.

"We're not having this conversation right now. Training is over," She turned to end the argument before returning her gaze to Ophelia, her hands on small shoulders guiding her towards the direction of the healer's hut. "Let's get you cleaned up." Clarke's voice gentler this time.

Lexa's nostrils flared in quiet anger but continued to put on a stoic face. She was painfully aware of the eyes on her back, the other Nightbloods and Titus watching the scene unfold in front of them. The loyal advisor thought about getting himself involved in the argument, ease the tension maybe, but decided not to since it was a family affair. And he also feared for his life if he intruded a serious conversation between Heda and Wanheda. He'd learned that the hard way.

She turned to point her sword at a Nightblood, signalling for him to come forward. The sounds of swords clashing rang through the air and up to the canopy of trees as training resumed.

Later that night, Clarke peered through the gap of the open bedroom door to see Lexa huddled close to their daughter in bed, reading to her and pressing kisses in dark brown hair as thick as her own. Despite the exhausting day she had, gauze on her cheek and a dark coloured bruise on her nose, Ophelia had that sweet smile on her face that reminded Clarke that she was just a child, listening to her Nomon read her favourite book to her.

Lexa didn't do this much, mostly during nights when the days had made it difficult to endure, testing her strength and willpower and made her realise how fragile life could be. Or when she missed her family terribly.

It was a sacred moment for Lexa, one Clarke had never had the heart of intruding and breaking that peaceful and happy bubble between mother and daughter. She moved away from the door just as Ophelia's laughter could be heard down the hall, the day's anger and disappointment melting away at the sight of her wife and daughter. She could never stay angry at Lexa for long anyway. History had proven that.

Ophelia was the embodiment of Heda and Wanheda. When she turned 14, Ophelia received her first tattoo. Nothing too over the top, a simple tribal sign that represented Trikru and Skaikru on her bicep. She'd also manage to stitch up a 3-inch laceration without Clarke's guidance.

Her training as a Nightblood had been smooth, her strength and skills continuing to develop everyday. She could wield a sword like a warrior, had beaten and held her sword up to Lexa's neck twice, and she'd spar with Aunt Octavia whenever she visited. Although Ophelia could hold her own with a sword, her preferred weapon of choice was a bow. She practiced her form to perfection, hunted with a few of Lexa's guards whenever she could and had never missed a target by the time she turned 16.

When she wasn't training, she spent her time with Clarke in the healer's hut, learning the healing techniques of both the grounders and the sky peoples'. Abby had been more than impressed when Ophelia rambled on about surgical procedures and medical terms she'd learned that day.

Being a Nightblood hadn't stopped her from living her life, because her mothers had taught her that life was more than just about surviving. She'd go to the market with Clarke on weekends sometimes, play chess with Lexa at night, and she'd also created a camaraderie among her fellow Nightbloods. There was a bond between the Nightbloods Lexa and Titus had never seen before, not during her time as a Nightblood and the conclave. Ophelia and the Nightbloods helped each other be better and train harder so that no one would be left behind.

Lexa was beyond proud of her own daughter. She'd been wrong thinking Ophelia would lose the spark in her eyes and her playful smile as a Nightblood, and she couldn't be more glad at being wrong this time. Perhaps Ophelia was much stronger than her when Lexa was her age. She knew in her heart that Ophelia would become a great leader, but she prayed and pleaded with her Gods to never let that happen.

When Ophelia turned 15, she saw her Nomon lying unconscious on a stretcher as Indra and Lincoln carried her towards the healer's hut, black colouring her clothes and skin with Abby and Clarke in tow. It didn't look good, and whenever Abby was there to help, it certainly wasn't good at all. She ran up next to Lexa, eyes filled with worry as they arrived outside the hut.

"What happened to Nomon?" Her eyes darted around to look at everyone before green eyes finally landed on Clarke's. Ophelia was told Lexa would be gone for a couple of days to resolve a conflict in one of the villages.

Clarke let go of Lexa's hand as her wife was being carried into the hut, her hands falling onto her daughter's shoulders, pale hands coated with black blood.

"She's hurt real bad. I need you stay outside and let us work, okay?" Clarke squeezed her shoulders hard and only relaxed her grip when Ophelia nodded.

"Is she going to be okay?" Ophelia's small voice almost broke Clarke's already fractured heart.

"I—I don't know, honey. I'm not going to lie, it looks bad." She pulled her daughter into a crushing hug when tears and then sobs emerged from Ophelia's lips. "Grandma Abby and I are going to try our best to fix her."

Ophelia stood right outside the door of the hut, the same exact spot where Clarke left her until her legs hurt, but she promised to stay outside and any second now, Mum is going to come out to tell me Nomon is still alive, she thought to herself, so she couldn't bring herself to move out of that spot.

Right that second, Clarke burst out of the hut and sighed in relief to see her daughter was still outside. She grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. "Your Nomon needs you, now."

Before she had time to react, Ophelia was inside the hut, staring at the bloody mess that was her mother, black bandages everywhere surrounding her body and dirty on the floor, an oxygen mask over her face. Her heart sank at the sight of Lexa and her grandma next to her, hands as black as Clarke's, her expression cool but there was still a layer of worry there.

"She needs your blood. She's lost too much and—and—"

Ophelia shed off her jacket, pulled up her sleeve before Clarke could finish her sentence. "Here, take mine." She offered her arm out to Clarke, but Clarke simply pulled her into another hug and pressed a kiss to her temple, thanking her softly.

Lexa woke up to Ophelia on her left and Clarke on her right — always on her right — both heads were down, her wife's laying on her hand and her daughter's on the mattress next to her other hand.

Her eyes widened at the tube that connected her to Ophelia, black blood running through it from her child to her. The next thing she realised was the burning sensation in her chest and the painful tightness in her abdomen. But having her family with her was helping to ease the pain already. She slowly removed the oxygen mask before her hand fell softly onto the bed.

Clarke lifted her head at the light movements Lexa made and she had to swallow down the sob that threatened to free itself for the hundredth time that day. Silent tears fell though, and she moved upwards to plant a kiss on her wife's pale forehead.

"You scared me," Clarke mumbled against Lexa's forehead before lowering herself to kiss Lexa's lips tenderly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Clarke. Not until this war is finished."

As long as Lexa was alive, Ophelia would never need to lead their people into wars or make sacrifices that could cost her everything.

"You want to work on that sentence?" Clarke raised an eyebrow at Lexa's words.

Lexa smirked. "I'm not going anywhere, Clarke. Not ever."

"That's better."

The Commander looked to her left, her hand stroking thick brown hair. "But Ophelia's ready. She will become Heda, I know it."

Clarke didn't say anything, and Lexa knew deep down Clarke knew it too.

She was 18 when she stood outside the throne room, almost the same age as Clarke when she was called to lead her people. Ophelia clenched and unclenched her fists repeatedly, slouching and squaring her shoulders every few seconds while staring straight at the giant double doors in front of her. Her attire more formal and serious than anything she'd ever wore, her long brown hair pulled back in intricate braids and war paint covered half of her face. She was nervous as hell, once the doors were pulled open, she had no idea what to expect. But her Nomon's voice rang in her head, ste yuj, repeating itself like a broken record, a constant reminder for her to remember to breathe.

Clarke sat in the Skaikru's ambassador's seat like she'd done so many times over the years, but this time, she felt sick to her stomach and her heart was filled with both sadness and anxiety. This was the day both her and Lexa had done their best to stop it from happening, and this day had arrived too soon.

Today marked the beginning of Heda Ophelia's reign — today till the rest of her life, could she live instead of survive, could she lead her people with both her head and her heart and could she love as bravely and fiercely as her Nomon, as the Commander before her did?

Clarke was pulled from her thoughts when the guards pulled the doors open, Titus's voice strong and loud as he announced the arrival of the Commander.

"Rise for your Commander."

The ambassadors of the 13 clans stood and turned their heads towards the door as the Commander took slow, tentative steps along the red carpeted pathway, eyes darting to Clarke's for a second before focusing on the throne at the front of the room. She prayed she wouldn't trip and the words ste yuj appeared at the forefront of her mind again, it helped her keep her head high and posture regal, and Clarke couldn't help the gasp that escaped from her dry and parted lips.

It seemed like everyone else in the room felt and seen it too, the haunting resemblance to the great Heda Leksa. When Ophelia stood in front of the throne, everyone bowed, just like Clarke had reassured her the previous night when insecurities and doubt took over her sleep.

The new Commander looked to her left to see her mother's eyes watering with tears but her lips formed a smile. Ste yuj, Clarke mouthed to her daughter, and Ophelia nodded subtly.

Ste yuj, Ophelia. Her Nomon's voice now a permanent fixture in her head.

The red sash over her shoulder, the replica of her beloved wife's war paint, the familiar green eyes and refined jaw had made her daughter look like the reincarnation of Lexa, and in a way it kind of was. It was a tragedy and a beautiful phenomenon and Clarke's heart ached and raced with what it'd all mean in the future for her daughter and for her people.

Despite the unshed tears and her quivering lips, Clarke knew Ophelia would become a great leader just like Lexa was. She was the daughter of Heda and Wanheha, the best of both worlds — the fighter and the healer, the ground and the sky. Clarke had been proud of her since her first steps, her first words, and her first crush.

Ophelia of the Woods and the Sky was both of her mothers' greatest creation.