More Women Than Warriors by steklir is a gorgeous Clexa AU British boarding school AU that has the reader glued to the page for all of its rather impressive length. The romance shares the space with an equally captivating storyline about the lives of a group of girls in the old and distinguished boarding school, which is rife with rules, squabbles, intrigue and secrets.
Clarke Griffin is recently orphaned with a baggage of guilt that would dwarf absolutely everyone. She keeps to herself, trying to avoid human interaction and any kind of emotional involvement. Her heart is broken, her family is dead and she is all alone in the world.
And then she sees her… The first time Clarke sees Lexa Woods, the Head Girl is literally sitting on a throne among her faithful subjects, ruling her domain with an iron but fair hand. British boarding schools have their own structures and strict rules and Lexa is the Head Girl who is surpassing every expectation for a poor, scholarship student, attending the school only out of the goodness of the Governors’ hearts.
Yet Lexa is unaffected by her humble origins, present financial difficulties or even her perpetual loneliness, for she is a leader, and leaders often stand alone. She is singlehandedly responsible for the school’s sport’s excellency and choir successes. She leads by example, inspiring and cajoling, pushing and overcoming. Her people – the students – are loyal and will follow her to the ends of the world.
Clarke has no choice but to feel like a moth with the proverbial flame, for Lexa’s fire burns so bright. But with a intrigue unravelling at the school and dangerous foes lurking, envious and resentful of Lexa’s authority and position, will Clarke and Lexa trust their nascent feelings, will they risk becoming closer than friends when a wrong move could doom Lexa’s fate at the school?
Pros
Normally a story has two protagonists and the reader follows their trials and tribulations on the page, however in More Women Than Warriors, the author gifts the reader with wonderful treat: the third main character. The boarding school itself — Polis — is a lead in this story. It lives and breathes and evolves on the page like a living being, it plays important parts in key instances, it motivates and safeguards and nurtures broken hearts and broken dreams. And its disciples, very much like Lexa’s would got to the ends of the world to keep it safe when it needs them most.
And the writing, oh where does one begin with the writing? Steklir creates a world of their own with masterful brushstrokes with this story. Eloquent, evocative, gorgeous.
Cons
There is singing and some underage drinking but not much of either.
I’m a LOTR kid who got scarred good and proper by fighting songs and repast songs and friendship songs sang by my favorite characters thus delaying my reading pleasure. So there is some singing in here but it doesn’t take away from the pleasure of the story.
Conclusion
The story ebbs and flows like a river in this fanfic, combining the romance with the girls’ lives as the school year progresses and more and more challenges are thrown their way. It also shows a slow burn romance that just takes one’s breath away in its tenuous connection, a beautiful friendship that blossoms under the tender care of both girls and how it finally turns into just as gentle a love.
I am particularly grateful that Snow White is not part of this story, being from OUAT and not The 100, because she’d have been super annoying smothering all these orphans in effusive over the top affection and kisses and trying to wipe their faces and joining in on the signing.
Excerpt from More Women Than Warriors
A Gorgeous Clexa British Boarding School AU
The first time Clarke sees her, she’s sitting on a throne, presiding over her dominion with a piercing stare and a crown of braids in her hair. Her warriors are spread at her feet, a multitude of them, all long-haired and wild and clad in identical brown regalia. There’s something of the sacred about her, like the crimson cloak draped across her shoulders and her divinity are one and the same.
Or at least it feels that way.
All the other girls are cross-legged on the scratched parquet floor of what was probably once a ballroom and is now the small gym, hands folded in their laps to keep their skirts covering everything that needs to be covered. They’re squirming and uncrossing and crossing their legs again, shifting their weight and fidgeting with their hems and pulling the sleeves of their dark sweaters to cover their fingers in the drafty morning cold. They’re young, even the ones the same age as Clarke, they’re so young and wriggly and eager to grow into their bodies.
The Head Girl is as still as a marble statue, back straight and eyes surveying the Friday mess of hormones and bridled possibilities.
A girl from the lower school starts braiding (plaiting, Clarke reminds herself) the ponytail of the girl in front of her but flinches her hands back when she’s leveled with an imperial head shake from the stage. She ducks her head down with pinkening cheeks. A moment later she chances a surreptitious glance back up and then quickly down at her lap.
The teachers file inside and sit in the line of chairs at the back of the room. The Headmistress sails in a few minutes later, followed by the Deputy Head who has donned his black gown even though the Headmistress is without hers for the first morning of the week. The girls scramble to their feet. The Head Girl stands too, flickering her eyes around the room with hands clasped behind her back. At least half the school copies her stance. When their leader releases them back to the floor with a subtle nod of her chin, the only sound in the room is the shuffle of heavy woolen tights against leather Mary Jane shoes.
“Good morning, girls.”
“Good morning, Headmistress.”
This is all still new to Clarke but she’s able to follow the formalities and responses well enough thanks to the fact that literally every single person is doing them around her. Clarke is nothing if not adaptable—she is nothing if not adaptable.
It may also feel really good to lose herself in the anonymity of a crowd, to follow instead of lead, to respond rather than ask. To be a child instead of an adult.
But Clarke doesn’t linger on that thought.
The Headmistress begins to drone on about things that surely no one cares about and Clarke tunes out the words, eyes on the Head Girl instead. There’s an aura of power and awe that surrounds this dark-haired queen, something in the way that she sits on the high-backed chair, eyebrow raised and finger lightly tapping the armrest, that seems to hold the entire school in her rapture. Something that makes her seem Dei Gratia even as the Headmistress babbles on about lost property and last term’s sports finishes. The Head Girl bows her head even before the Headmistress begins the final prayer and it’s her that the girls follow, not the grey-haired head of school.
Clarke keeps her eyes open as the Lord’s Prayer is recited, high voices and huskier voices and different accents and rhythms all modulating one another into a single chant. The Head Girl’s mouth forms around the words like a well-rehearsed dance, head ducked dutifully, but her eyes are unsleeping, idly scanning the room as if she can’t imagine a single one of her subjects would dare misbehave but ready if the impossible should happen.
She captures Clarke’s stare halfway through the prayer and it feels like everything ignites, like the Head Girl position comes with the ability to shoot lightning bolts straight out of her eyes and into American girls’ chests. Clarke sucks in a breath and tries to drop her gaze but it bounces right back up to the stage. The Head Girl is still watching her but her face remains unaffected, bored even, and Clarke is only given a pair of unimpressed eyebrows before continuing her ceaseless watch over the schoolgirls.
Find the full story here (link)
Bits And Bobs
- Fandom: The 100
- Length: 172,128
- Author: steklir
- Rating: M
- Photo: Copyright: © 2016 The CW Network, LLC.
Rating Guide: G= General, T = Teen and up, M=Mature, E = explicit
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