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She is born with fleshy dents speckled across her kneecaps.
Soul scars — they belong to your teina keryon, her mother explains to her once she is old enough to notice them, along with the several others that have appeared throughout her years. Abby is tucking her into bed one night telling of the spell the new gods put on the earth after cleansing it of all evil. An evil that they believed came from humans’ longing for perfect love. To eradicate any chance of this happening again they made it so each person carries the scars of the one their soul longs for — clues to a piece of ones own destiny. They do not feel the pain their beloved does when receiving the scar-creating injuries, but they forever carry their tales. Share in their burdens.
The gods wanted unity in this new earth. Her mother smiles that night, but it’s an empty smile. She says nothing about her own soul scars, and when Clarke learns — several years later — that her father does not own the stories to match her mother’s few scars, she says nothing either.
When she’s young this fairytale gives her hope — causes excitement with every new person she meets. It becomes a sort of game, matching those to their kindred spirit. And early on she learns it is not always a romantic match that one is looking for in this life. She first learns that when Monty meets Jasper — the scar under Monty’s chin now has a story. And Monty has his best friend.
Most clans leave the legend alone, several find their match within their village, others are able to find them nearby, but most go without. Azgeda uses scarification on their people in hopes it’ll become easier. You design a marking you wish your teina keryon to wear, they’ll wear it for life. You’ll easily spot them — if you ever close to meeting them.
Of course, not everyone finds their teina keryon. To meet everyone on this planet — even after near extinction — would be impossible and she watches many in her clan live fully realized lives without the connection most spent their youth craving. But life on the ground means the creativity and expectations of youth are soon replaced with the realities and responsibilities of maturity.
It’s assumed that the gods were giving them a gift, but also a terrible curse; punishment for their wrong doing of the past. Those fortunate found their match, most lived their life knowing something out there might be better. It causes bitterness so some talk of the legend rarely. Most avoid the topic of scars altogether.
Clarke is not a romantic, she has seen far too much in this life to think some poetic love awaits her. Love has always left blood on her hands, first with Finn from clan Trishana. She had been drawn to him for his light. A light she long lost. He, and several others, had come to her clan’s lands as part of the Commander’s peace talks. Their connection was immediate, even with her closed off nature. And when she doesn’t see any of her stories etched on his skin? She’s only slightly disheartened.
Finn’s death haunts her. She did it because maybe there are no good guys — her mother’s words give her little comfort, but they ring through her veins still.
And then there was the Heda, she wears the marks of her teina keryon like a badge of honor. The most prominent a jagged, purple gash wrapped around her neck, a perfect ring. The mark causes Clarke’s stomach to churn and her curiosity to peak. The first time they meet, Clarke finds her eyes being drawn to the raised flesh that glares back at her. With every twist and turn of Lexa’s neck the marking strains against her. Sometimes in the quiet, tense moments Heda’s fingers trace it, her eyes hallow and sad.
Costia was her name. Her head delivered to Lexa’s door.
That was the first time it struck Clarke that you not only do you wear your teina keryon’s injury scars in life, but you wear them in death. She wonders if hers is already gone from this life. The next day a large scar appears just below her left breast. It runs all the way to her belly button. Her hand follows its pattern and her heart sinks. The wound is serious — and maybe they have fallen.
Her time with Lexa isn’t any less sweet because they don’t match. They belong to each other in a way she’s never experienced. Their connection is frayed, tattered, and tormented, but it’s theirs. She revels in the emotions and withers in the vulnerability. Until it’s taken from her so easily, like a leaf being carried away by a fall wind. Her death is swift; a true warrior’s exit. She has peace in her last moments while Clarke is completely wreaked. Yet, she kisses her heda’s lips once more and sends her to meet with her true match.
Life carries on, because death is just as much a part of this world as is the suffering all its inhabitants’ experience. Clarke becomes calloused without even realizing it. She becomes task oriented and withdrawn. Her personal life is nonexistent and she prefers it that way. The world at an arm’s length, she safeguards her heart that way. Scars? They hardly cross her mind.
Until diplomatic duties — determined to continue Lexa’s progress for peace — bring her nearly four days journey away to the clan of Delfikru. Clarke had heard stories of the clan living just over the mountains — a tribe of warriors. If there was a war to be waged, Delfikru were the ones you’d wish to have on your front lines. Trained from birth to respect peace, but be the last ones to stand if war was ever brought to their lands.
And their greeting spoke volumes of their traditions. Two women met them at their gates — their war paint remains her of Lexa — with their weapons drawn. They do not mean to be threatening, but they are prepared. Clarke introduces herself and her cause. She’s calling on their crowned head, to meet with the one who has so quietly maintained peace on their most distant lands. They do not take kindly to anyone calling upon their leader without notice and neither is willing to allow her to pass.
And then he’s standing beside the one Clarke has noticed favors her left leg — the same one that has familiar scarification in the shape of a crescent moon framing her left eye. He says something quietly that causes them to step back, but only slightly. Clarke nearly dismisses his broad shoulders and all encompassing presence until she sees it out of the corner of her eye. A scar just below the right side of his temple — she knows instantly what it’s from, a raid nearly three years earlier.
Her pulse quickens and her veins run cold. She is standing in front of Bellamy, crowned head of Delfikru, her teina keryon.
He doesn’t notice as quickly. In fact, they are in their village for nearly three weeks before she catches him staring at her in the rare silence. At first she continues on with her task at hand, she’s gotten quite familiar with his pensive stares and quiet demeanor — something she regards as arrogance on his part. But there is something in the way he follows her every move, like he’s awe struck. And when she looks up at him in question he explains the tiny sliver that’s cut into her upper lip; he received it when he was only six. His sister had thrown a rock in his general direction. She still has perfect aim, he jokes dryly.
And that is that. No other discussion is had on the topic. He makes no notion that their connection truly means anything and she finds relief in that. They finish their diplomatic discussions and Clarke heads back toward Polis, no feelings of longing or desire coursing through her blood. She finally feels a sense of closure — this invisible pull of her teina keryon has lessened somehow. Her match is out there and she feels nothing toward him. It’s peaceful.
Until it isn’t.
War comes calling, like it always does. This time in the form of a technology none of them knew existed. Delfikru warriors arrive in Polis with Bellamy had the helm. Their numbers are great, but this enemy is greater. They’ll have to call upon every resource they have. Clarke finds herself leaning upon her match more and more with each passing day, causality, and failure. Before long her instinct is to look for him, to stand beside him. She doesn’t feel whole when he’s not around and before she can realize it he is half her being.
She’s terrified. But they’re at war. There is no time for emotional connections or weak thinking. So she sends him away; into the pits of hell. It had been his idea — one she’d originally shot down without question. But she was being weak and their people could not afford weakness, so she rethought and he and Lincoln left the next day.
Regret set in immediately and when the tiny needle prick appears at the fold of her arm she breaks. Raven finds her curled in the corner of her tent. She says nothing, simply sits with her.
Then he returns, worn and tattered, but alive. She nearly defines gravity for how quickly she folds herself into him. His response is just as magnified and the world ceases to exist.
That day she learns the power of the teina keryon connection, but she no longer feels the bitterness toward it. She no longer feels like it’s something against her will. She no longer wishes to fight it in fear of the blood that could be shed. She no longer feels as though it’s a curse. She feels like it’s her missing piece, her better judgment. He’s her homecoming.
And when her running ceases she lands in Delfikru. He doesn’t ask her to give up her life in Polis, but he doesn’t have to. She’s a chasing ghost there, living for a life she’ll never have — nor no longer wishes for. It’s not that her life no longer has meaning without him, she still finds her own way. And somehow their path seems to intertwine: without interruption, without turbulence. It’s that simple.
Now, nearly four years after she enters the protected gates of Delfikru, she is engulfed in their traditions — none too far off from those of her home in Trikru — and involved in their daily proceedings. Peace has covered the lands of the twelve clans since Luna took her rightful place on the throne, but the origins of Delfikru still require preparation, training.
It causes her muscles to ache and quietly she makes her way home, her walk is slow but practiced. Her body is tired, but not destroyed. Her years of fighting along side Octavia, Raven, and the others have made her physically stronger. And it causes a surge of confidence through her.
He’s already there, she can tell by the low glow as she nears. When she enters he has his back to her, disarming for the evening. Her eyes quietly roam over his bare back; taking in his defined shoulders that tapper off into his waist. His Delfikru tattoo that runs the length of his spine mingles with the multiple arrow shaped scars that pepper from his right shoulder down to left side. She swallows as she remembers that day. Mounon had wanted his location — wanted to know where their attack would be coming from. She refused to break. Those burns had been the result.
Without a word, she moves toward him. Her hands reach him first and her fingers lead a quiet trail along his skin and around his waist. He stills beneath her touch before she feels him melt into her. Her lips run along one of the scars and she knows he feels the same euphoria she does at the connection. That was something no one ever mentioned before, the sensations one feels when you’re in contact with your teina keryon.
“How was your training, ai keryon?” He questions, his voice like gravel and it does something primal to her. Her lips continue their small exploration along his shoulder, her tongue dipping out slightly against his warm flesh.
“Brutal.” She hums, getting lost in their palpable connection. When she feels him tense her lips curl up into a smile and she continues, “But necessary.”
His humorless laugh is gruff as he slowly turns in her arms. His hands come to rest, cupped around her neck as he looks down upon her with such desire that it threatens to overtake her entirely. She moves her hands to run up his sides before looping her fingers into his pants, pulling him flesh against her with a smirk.
“Azgeda comes tomorrow,” She muses, playing coy. “Are we prepared?”
His smile tells of his knowing and he leans down to place his lips over hers. The kiss in gentle, he’s savoring each movement. So this is how it’s going to be tonight. Clarke nearly moans at the idea. She’ll take her king any way she can, but moments of true revelry are her favorite. She feels like an idol being completely and perfectly worshiped, and Bellamy is nothing if not a faithful servant.
“Tomorrow is another day,” He mumbles against her lips, his fingers finding the hem of her shirt. They part only long enough for him to remove it from her completely. The garment is tossed aside, forgotten, and he returns himself to her. “We’ll discuss it then.”
She doesn’t argue. Her bare chest pressed against his sends a chill through her and without notice she’s hoisted into his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist before he can lay her across their furs. And then his lips are dragged from hers as he begins he decent across her body. He first maps out her jawline before dropping into the valley along her collarbone, leaving several nips behind. His hands, never staying idle, are making easy work of the buttons on her pants. Clarke squirms under his attentions, her own hands coming to comb through his tangled curls.
When his mouth closes around one of her taunt nipples, her back arches up on its own accord. Her mouth falls open with a silent cry and her eyes fall shut. Her hips then buck up, her core dripping with anticipation. One of his hands comes to scrap dull nails along her bare side and goosebumps grow in their wake. His attentions are wanted, but maddening. Her body craves him, her soul aches for him.
And then his mission takes him to the scar she received on the day he was mauled in a hunting accident. The scar she thought with certainty that marked his death. Bellamy’s lips start at its tip, tracing the sensitive flesh. Her nerve endings fire and her pulse increases. Her moans are no longer silent and she whimpers for him. His assault is slow and deliberate. When his tongue joins his lips in their tracing she all but sees stars.
His attention to detail leads him to her navel, slightly swollen. His lips stop only briefly to place gently, loving kisses there. His breath is warm as he simply revels in their moment of stillness. Her ecstasy clears momentarily for her to smile at his undying affection.
But soon the moment has passed and he’s continuing his mission. She pushes her hips off the bed long enough for him to tug her pants off of her and to the floor, her shoes following along with them. She’s bare for him and he sits back to fully experience it. Like so many, she used to feel less than extraordinary, especially when she was unclothed. But the way her king looks at her now, like she is perfection incarnated, makes her feel powerful. And her powers over him are not secret to anyone who knows them.
Slowly, he reaches for an ankle. He brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss inside her calf before traveling north. Soon he’s lying on his stomach, her thighs on either side of his shoulders and she’s spread for him. She squirms once more with anticipation and soon his lips close around her sensitive bud. Her head tilts back as she cries out in pleasure. His tongue draws lazy circles, slowly lapping at her wetness. The way his eyes look upon her has her drunk with desire.
Her flesh tingles and her release builds low in her. Her heels dig into his back and her hand laces with his that rests atop her stomach. Their closeness is nearly as intoxicating as his movements. She does her best to keep her eyes locked on his, but soon her pleasure is taking hold. Her eyes slam shut and her climax washes over her in waves. First her veins run hot and then her nerves tingle. Her insides twist and then releases like an explosion. His name falls from her lips like a well-versed mantra.
Afterwards her world is hazy and her mind clouds. Her heavy breathing fills their cabin and she’s slowly coming back to her reality. His lips never leave her body, now covered in a thin layer of sweat. He first starts at her hip, then moves to the synched in part of her waist, and finally lands on her chest just above her heart. She had a symbol placed there only months after arriving in Delfikru. The black ink looks harsh on her pale complexion, but it’s meaning speaks volumes of their connection. She reaches up, her fingers landing on the very symbol that mirrors hers atop his heart.
“Ai badan yu op en nou moun.” His words are whispered like a reverent prayer against her lips. And she hungrily accepts his offering. Her arms come to grasp his biceps as her hips grind against his. She hisses at the friction between her sensitive core and the rough material of his pants.
Without a word, he’s pulling away to stand. She whimpers at his lost warmth, but watches with hooded eyes as he removes his remaining garments. She knows very little about the old world, her interests — unlike his — lie elsewhere, but she believes this is what the sculptures he’s told her about looked like. What these Greek gods aspired to would be the very man standing in front of her. His strong arms so perfect for protection, toned muscles told stories of good use.
Her mouth waters as she moves to her knees in front of him. With the height of their bed she still only comes to his chest, but her lips move across his skin with purpose. His fingers lace through her hair as he lets her appraise his body, like she has so many times before. Her hands move up the insides of his thighs and she giggles quietly when he shivers beneath her touch. Her fingers drag along his course hairs there before moving to firmly grip his erection.
Bellamy’s breath catches as her mouth joins her hands, closing around his cock. His knees go weak for a moment before he regains some version of control. She feels triumphant that she can bring such a strong warrior to his breaking point and his loss of control is always her aim.
She takes what she can of him into her mouth slowly, adding light suction with her motions. Her hand rests at the base of his velvet-like member. She feels him at the back of her throat and it causes something in her to moan. The vibrations are nearly Bellamy’s undoing and his curses come out in shallow groans.
Her free hand roams along his thigh again before reaching up to cup him. She quickens her pace with her mouth. She wishes for him to fall apart the way he had allowed her to. She wants to feel his hot release sliding down her throat as he loses all control. But Bellamy must have other plans, because soon he’s stepping away from her — with what control he has left — and is guiding her back atop their bed.
Clarke wants to refuse, to finish what she started, but when his lips connect with hers and he’s placing himself between her legs so perfectly, she loses all ability to argue. Instead she allows herself to become putty. His hand grips her thigh, moving it to rest around his waist. He pulls away just enough to look into her eyes. His pupils are blown with desire and she can feel his shallow breaking against her lips.
And ever so slowly, as if to prove he’s still in control, he pushes into her. Her mouth drops open and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She’s at war with herself. Part of her wants him to slam into her, completely take his claim on what is rightfully his. While the other still cries out to be utterly ruined by his slow worship.
When he’s filled her completely, there is pause. Clarke’s hands come to grip along his cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. Their breathing is shallow and their bodies nearly quiver with anticipated release. It’s in these moments she knows their scars don’t truly matter. They were not two people destined for this nor are their scars something that brought them to that realization quicker.
He chose her. And she chose him. There is no connection stronger than that of one by choice.
Bellamy moves first, his hips dipping out slowly before grinding back in. Causing his pelvic bone to grind against her clit in the most delicious of ways. Clarke cries spar him forward and soon their rhythm is one of a man possessed by passion. And she meets him thrust for thrust. Her nails scrap along his back, digging in when she comes along one of his scars.
He bites at her collarbone and she smirks, knowing he’s without control. He would never take the risk of leaving a mark in such a noticeable area unless he was completely and utterly lost to her. She’ll half-heartedly scold him later, but right now that bite is directly attached to her core and before she can even process it, her release courses through her swiftly. Unlike her first, this one arrives suddenly and without notice.
Later she’ll be embarrassed for how loudly she cries out — fearing half the village has heard her calls of ecstasy, but when she feels Bellamy follow her over the edge, buried deep inside her all she can see is him, their world.
“Ai keryon.” She breathes into him, her lips meeting his in a sloppy kiss. Their moment of ecstasy may be clearing, but bliss still radiates from their very being. And neither is ready to let it leave.
Bellamy lingers above her for a moment longer before traveling downward once more. At first she wants to deter him, tell him she’s far too sensitive. But then she realizes his mission, still being new to both of them, and her heart swells. Her fingers lazily play in the damp curls around his forehead while his lips pepper tiny kisses along her abdomen.
“How is she today?” He questions quietly with enough affection that Clarke’s heart nearly stops.
She watches as his hands come to rest on the swell that has barely started to form. At first she never thought she’d care so much about a tiny little bump, one that simply looks as though she’s just ate too much for dinner. But every time she catches a glimpse of it under her shirts she smiles, her hands drawn to it.
“He is just fine.” She counters with a smirk, turning her head slightly to get a better view of her beloved interacting with the life they created. “Hates everything I eat. Safe to say I’ve puked in almost every corner of this village.”
Bellamy laugher rumbles against her stomach and she longs for the day their child reacts to the sound his voice. She knows it’ll be here sooner than they know.
“Tomorrow you will take the day off from training.” Bellamy’s command is light, but she still feels anger instantly boil up in her as she glares down at him.
“I will not.” She says with a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed. I am entirely capable of —“
“I know this, my queen.” Bellamy cuts her off, moving back up to place a kiss on her lips. One she does not respond to and simply continues to glare. “I need you to help during discussions with King Roan. I have to meet with our guards tomorrow afternoon about the northern wall. I won’t be able to attend to Roan and his people until tomorrow evening. I need your help.”
His last sentence is said with complete sincerity. It’s his way of reminding her that he is not doing her any favors by allowing her to step away from training, she is helping him.
“King Roan,” She groans, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “He’s quite a handful.”
“How well I know.” He agrees, sitting up to grab the forgotten furs at the bottom of their bed and draping it over them both. Clarke laughs at his comment, her hand coming to rest on the scar on her right thigh, the one given to Bellamy by said king. “But his nation is strong and he’s not half bad once you get past all the —“
“Arrogance.” Clarke chimes in.
Bellamy tucks his arm around her waist, resting his head on his other hand as he lies facing her. His amusement dances across his features, “Is that not what you thought of me once?”
“Still do.” She smiles up at him, her hand lacing with his atop her stomach. “But I guess I’m stuck with you now.”
“Guess you are.” His lips caress hers momentarily before he moves to rest beside her.
“I’ll want Raven’s help tomorrow as well.” She requests before they both can drift off into sleep.
“Very well. Any reason?” He mumbles, sleep already threatening to take him under.
Clarke shrugs, thinking about the scarification on the side Raven’s face — the one she complains about constantly and smirks, “I believe she’ll be quite useful at Roan’s side.”