Clarke Griffin can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Cause she’s dead...
The last thing we want to do to Clarke is to turn her into a Taylor Swift parody, but at this point, it’s probably not such a bad thing. Clarke’s storyline fell so flat that they had to ditch her on earth, because the Sky People thought “well, she saved us all, so bye”.
(That’s not what happened, before people start yelling).
But hey! We have some rumours/teasers! I’m still a fan of renaming the show Look At What Bell Made Me Do but I don’t think he did anything so I’ll let it pass. I’m also guilty of not watching any of season four, so nobody shoot me for “omg you don’t get the story” because I am not being serious. If I was, I would likely mourn the loss of an eighteen year old, independent, leader-figure, strong, determined, flawed, first bisexual lead on the CW ever…
Here’s what I got:
1. Octavia’s now the Commander–headgear and all? I like Octavia, which seems to be an unpopular opinion. I love Indra even more. But hey, you guys go shit on that legacy, man. The whole world just blew up, didn’t it? Find some other symbol. Clearly, Lexa living on = doesn’t last. See: the chip. (I could be wrong. Is the chip still around?)
2. Ah I GET IT. It’s a fucking reset. This is worse than “it was all a dream”, man.
3. I GET IT #3–because the whole world went boom, Clarke’s little human and the ensuing population will have no memory therefore Clarke or Octavia becomes the revolutionary Commander (ahem, no) and everyone worships them because they survived. Also, headgear.
4. I’m still wrong, because wasn’t there a bunker? Isn’t Octavia in that bunker? Under a floorboard with her mates? I’m assuming since the world got obliterated there ain’t gonna be a legion of new people going yo Heda Clarke! so they must be in the bunker, trapped, knowing Octavia isn’t Nightblood (unless I missed this development, and if I have, then I’m fucking glad) so she’s nothing but a poser with a dead woman’s headgear on. Therefore #3 is moot.
5. The most likely solution is that I’m wrong, all the above points are plausible, and I’ve just guessed the plot of season five. I have no idea. It’s fun to speculate. I’ve got 100/1 odds on Clarke being a werewolf and there’s that whole fucking werewolf penis fic trope in the premiere.
Loved Close quarters! I love Clarkes inner journey in it. Any chance of a follow up?
No intent of it, no! I think I left it where it needed to be - Clarke still really hated Lexa IMO at that point (even though she didn’t...). It’s messy. But yes, there is potential. I’d be open to any indicators of any timepoints/scenarios etc. At the moment if I tried to think of one, I’d probably come up with a series! Lmao
i'm the anon who send the prompt and i just have to say....oh my god! how? i did not expect to see it written that quickly, that's just amazing. thank u so much :D (and now my heart is aching for my clexa babies in that canon world)
lol, thank you! I saw it this morning and I was very busy. This is my procrastination from revision (my exam’s on the 28th) so I sort of just tapped it out. I do miss writing them, but it’s weird getting into their voices after spending so long...not? If that makes sense? So I might re-read and see if its characterisation is accurate at all. I think I selfishly projected my own situation of unrequited love in there, but that’s a sob-story for another time, lol. But I am glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for the prompt!
Prompt: Lexa and Clarke (unbeknownst to each other's feelings) somehow stranded in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm and just that cheesy trope of taking care of each other, maybe needing to retain heat *ahem*
NB: Not quite a cabin!
"It appears," Lexa said, far too calmly for someone who'd just spotted snow falling like thick pellets as the ground crunched beneath them, "that winter is coming."
Clarke scrunched her nose. "Bit dramatic much?"
"Winter is coming," Indra defended her Commander with an unpleasant curl of the lips. She bristled past Clarke and approached Lexa. "We must make camp, Heda. It's unsafe to stay on the road. Bandits are a nuisance; the frost will be death."
"I know." Lexa sighed, and as she exhaled, the breath spilled from her mouth as a cloud of fog. Between them, they had enough furs to keep warm. Lexa had anticipated the turn of weather, though she hadn't prepared for it to happen so suddenly, and for them to be stranded in the middle of the forest.
Clarke blamed the dead body riding behind them on the cart. This was fucking awkward. They'd been on their way to Arkadia to present Nia's dead body as a sign of truce, but clearly, the snowfall was a sign of Nia's bitch spirit giving one last middle finger. What a cow, Clarke thought bitterly, and that was simply because she genuinely believed her nose was going to fall off.
"Can we just..." Clarke faffed about with her hands, "Make a fire? Set up camp?"
"It's too cold," Indra said.
"Well, if we make a fire, we'll warm ourselves up."
"It's too cold," Indra said again.
"A bonfire?"
"It's. Too. Cold."
"I don't mean any disrespect," Clarke said loudly, annoyed that Indra was obviously ignoring her and Lexa looked like she was going to laugh. It was always pleasant seeing Lexa smile, carefree and beautiful, but not when Nia's dead dickwad of a spirit was clearly haunting them. "But how else do you propose we get warm without starting a fire? I'll start a fucking fire right now. You watch me. You—" It occurred to her then that Indra was still ignoring her, and Lexa was still trying to suppress a laugh—by grinning broadly. "I'm starting this fire."
Aware she was being watched by two idiots, Clarke stormed off to find some wood. Most of it was wet and sodden, but underneath piles of logs there were dry ones, and there was tinder. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't be a big fire, but it was something. It was better than standing stock-still like Lexa and Indra were doing. Though Clarke couldn't help but wonder if they were conspiring. Lexa was still smirking, and when Clarke tossed the logs onto the ground and set to work, a quick glance up caught Indra smirking back at her Commander.
She didn't like this.
She could see Indra, standing perfectly still, apparently unaffected by the atrocious cold. Clarke wasn't sure if it was a sign of defiance or if she was simply mocking her, because Lexa wasn't hiding anything. Underneath her furs she was shivering, and proceeded to gently bopping on the spot in a vain attempt to keep herself warm. Yet neither of them moved to help her.
"Indra, you'll guard Nia's body," Lexa said quietly. "Perhaps the cold will preserve her. We shall not present the Skaikru with a rotting, unidentifiable corpse. Maybe it is actually best you stay out."
"I can handle myself, Heda," Indra said. Clarke believed her. "But you need to find shelter."
"I know the trees, Indra. Do you not remember?" Lexa smiled at her. "I am of Trikru."
Indra, to Clarke's disbelief, smiled back. "You always were and always will be."
"Clarke," Lexa called, after about fifteen minutes. Clarke cursed silently. "How goes your fire?"
The trio stood in sullen silence for a while—well, Lexa and Indra seemed amused, but Clarke was not. The snow had dampened in her hair, and she looked like a sad dog. Her fire was non-existent; rather, it was a pile of miserable twigs and soggy logs. "See for yourself," she snapped, when Lexa decided to laugh outright. "Why don't you come here and make it, then?"
"I admire your effort. Indra will find a safe-spot to build a fire and guard Nia's body. I had another idea."
"Making a fire?"
"In the open? Did months of being Wanheda teach you nothing?" Lexa was teasing her, and Clarke didn't appreciate it. She didn't appreciate the way she enjoyed the sight of Lexa smiling at her, and for a few moments, in a very long while, she did not see Lexa's startled eyes gazing back at her as Clarke pressed the cold blade of Roan's dagger to her throat. She did not see the guilt, and she did not feel her chest crush. "We will find a shelter. Indra, do not stray."
"I won't."
"A shelter?" Clarke repeated, dumbfounded. "Where the hell are you going to find a shelter?"
Lexa was smiling too much today. It was that, or she just hadn't seen Lexa smile in a while. Too much time had been spent fighting, arguing, peace-brokering...Lexa's brow often seemed permanently fixed into a frown, and whilst nothing could make Lexa look bad (and she totally knew it), killing Nia must have been a weight lifted off her chest. Thinking back, it was reckless, violent and completely paradoxical. It went against everything Lexa's coalition stood for, yet jus drein jus daun had been the result. Clarke didn't know if Lexa had betrayed her coalition in her act of vengeance, or dispensed Grounder justice.
"I'm of the trees," Lexa said again. "I know of shelters."
"You knew of one? Has it occurred to you I'm freezing my tits off?"
Lexa tried not to look down at her breasts, and Clarke rolled her eyes. Really? Still not over them? "It was amusing," she offered mildly, and Indra nodded in eager support. Clarke glowered at them. "You were defeated by wood."
"Whatever. Look, if we're going to get Nia's body to Arkadia, we should—"
"—Rest up," said Lexa. "It is pointless to ride when we are so tired. Tiredness renders us defenceless. We will reach Arkadia soon. But for now, it is more important for you—for us—to keep warm. Safe."
Clarke tried to pretend she hadn't caught Lexa's slip-up in words. She could already see Lexa's blush creeping up her neck and it wasn't because she was cold; the furs had ensured that well enough. Still, she made no comment. She has no right. Yet she couldn't help but feel her stomach clench painfully at the thought. She blinked, too slowly, and saw Lexa's earnest eyes looking up at her as she bowed, swearing fealty. She thought back to the elegance and integrity of her vow, and she thought back to how her heart had stopped when Roan kicked her down in the fighting pit. She thought of how her heart throbbed wantonly as Lexa slipped into her room in nothing but her night-gown to thank her.
I should have kissed her. Clarke snapped back to reality as soon as the thought hit her mind, and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing in the snow. Quick as an arrow, Lexa darted out and held out a hand. Clarke didn't take it, and Lexa withdrew awkwardly. "Are you alright? Do you need some water?"
"I'm fine." Clarke shook her head. "Let's find this shelter."
"Which idiot built this out of stone?"
"You're angry. Freezing temperatures can affect our mood."
"No, I'm not angry," Clarke said defensively. "It's fucking freezing!"
"It isn't as cold as Indra out there," Lexa said. "I'm sorry I asked you to give your furs up, but Indra needs them. She must guard the body."
"I'm not angry about that. I know she needs them."
"It's only for one night," Lexa said softly. Clarke tried not to focus too much on their surroundings. The stone walls were bare and the floor was too cold to go barefoot. It wasn't particularly spacious but there was a hard bed in the corner of the shelter, and someone had obviously been here recently. There was stale bread and mouldy cheese which they threw out. All three of them had been too cold to hunt, relying solely on their dried meat and berries in their provision packs, but their bellies rumbled. And it was really, really cold.
"We probably shouldn't have given the bed furs to Indra," Clarke lamented, looking at their bare, stone bed. It reminded her of the programmes she used to watch on the Ark with Wells. God, that had been so long ago. And she was still eighteen. Clarke self-consciously rubbed her neck. She'd aged about forty years in the space of two minutes. I've killed about six hundred people in about two minutes...
"She needs those furs. The temperature outside is deathly."
"The temperature inside here is deathly."
"I have my cloak," Lexa offered awkwardly. They weren't really good at this small-talk situation. Only days ago, the invitation Lexa had accepted from Clarke to talk to her, alone in a room, had been met with a blade to her throat. It wasn't exactly conversational material. Wordlessly, Lexa shuck the coat off. Underneath her furs and cloak she was wearing nothing but a simple tunic tucked into her breeches, and though Clarke knew Lexa was slim, not skinny, she looked far too underdressed.
Clarke shook her head. "Absolutely not. I'm not carrying two dead powerful idiots back to Arkadia."
"Three. Indra would likely kill you," Lexa said, smiling at her.
For some reason, Clarke smiled back.
"Be logical about this," Lexa pled. "We'll share my cloak tonight. It is only for tonight. We needn't speak of it—ever," she added, when she saw the hesitant look on Clarke's face. "You have my word. I know what you think of me, Clarke, but I just want you to be warm."
Sometimes, it was dangerously easy to forget that Lexa had left her, cold and bitter by the Mountain. It was easy to forget that this was the Commander who'd let a village burn just to keep an inside man safe. It was easy to forget that Lexa had used Clarke for her reputation as Wanheda in Polis. She'd never made it to Polis because Lexa wanted to see her out of sentimentality.
And it was easy to forget that everything Lexa had ever done had been justified.
It was easy to forget reasoning when Clarke so desperately wanted a scapegoat. It was easy to forget when Clarke pushed blame away from herself, from her people—and the next closest thing, always present, always there—had been Lexa.
Always.
"No inappropriate touching," Clarke joked, trying to lighten up the sudden tension in the room. She did not feel very cold anymore. "My mum will cut your hand off."
"Of course." Lexa inclined her head respectfully, her cheeks flustered. It was enough to make Clarke's heart twinge, but infinitely funnier that Lexa had taken it seriously. She didn't quite have the heart to tell Lexa she was mocking her.
They fell into a rhythm, though. After Lexa advised Clarke to keep some of their food rations for tomorrow, seeing the way Clarke had devoured the majority of her pack, they'd placed Lexa's cloak (and later blanket) onto the floor and sat down and...talked. Lexa had already, to Clarke's insistence, swapped food bags with her, after not quite overcoming the sheer lack of food in Clarke's. But then they really did converse, and Clarke would never admit it, but it felt good. She'd missed talking to Lexa—properly. So much of the time they'd spent together they'd discussed war tactics, their loyalties to their people—and it was an endless cycle. Tonight, they spoke about horses, the different clans, the length of winter, the Polisian festivals ("You must come to the full-moon feast—Kendall of the Sun Clan imports the best sweetcakes, and you will enjoy them. I know you will."), Lexa's horror at Clarke's inability to swim, and chess, which Clarke spent a solid hour trying to explain the rules. Lexa concluded that it sounded "ridiculous" and could not fathom why there were kings, queens yet no Commanders.
"That isn't a valid representation of our hierarchy," Lexa had said sternly. "What about the clan leaders? And must there only be two of each, except the pawns? There are thirteen clans in our coalition."
Clarke gave up.
Upon hearing Indra's loud snores (overly loud—as if she was trying to send a message), they prepared for bed. Lexa had the decency of letting Clarke choose which side of their stony bed to lie in, and draped her cloak over Clarke's body before clambering in tentatively beside her. They stayed silent. Lexa's back was ramrod straight, and her arms were frigidly still by her side. She looked like a corpse, and Clarke bit down on her tongue to refrain from making a joke about Nia.
Darkness settled when Indra's fire dwindled down, but Clarke was very aware of the fact that she was still awake, and so was Lexa. Lexa, impressively, had not actually moved—not an inch—but Clarke's eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and she could see the erratic movement of Lexa's chest heaving up and down.
"Lexa," Clarke muttered, a little sleepily. "Relax. And take some of your cloak. It's big enough to share."
"It's warmer if you wrap it around yourself twice," Lexa advised. She still lay in that ridiculous position.
"Yes, it is, but you'll be colder than Nia's body if you don't get under," Clarke said impatiently, and shifted, despite Lexa's protests. Clumsily, she threw one half of the cloak over Lexa's shuddering body, and sighed. "Better?"
"Much better. Thank you."
"And you don't need to sleep like you're dead, either. Granted, I let you talk about death all the time, but you don't need to actually behave like a corpse."
"I would assume you—I don't know if I may move in my sleep."
"That's fine. Sorry in advance if I kick you. I do that a lot."
"Do you sleep beside many people a lot?"
Clarke turned to stare at her, though she could not make out the outline of Lexa's face. She frowned. "That's not what I meant," she said hastily.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"You know, you're right."
"I know. What am I right about?"
Clarke nearly hit her, but she was too cold to move and Lexa was still looking ridiculous with her corpse imitation. "It's really cold even sharing a cloak," she said, shaking her head. "We should probably try to just...freeze so our body systems shut down and we can sleep?"
"That sounds both unsafe and stupid," Lexa said flatly. "Come here. Get under the covers."
"Excuse me?"
"And take your top off," Lexa said, shucking off her tunic. Clarke was quite sure Lexa could see her gaping like a fish, even in the darkness. Okay—this was not an invitation for sex. She wasn't sure what Lexa was thinking, or if she'd found some shrooms and taken them without telling Clarke, but this was not cool. She didn't budge, and Lexa prodded her as if to prompt her. It came from bizarrely nowhere, and Lexa shifted so she rested on her side. Clarke averted her gaze from Lexa's naked body. "What?"
"You're naked," Clarke said dully.
"You are not impressed?"
Clarke, a little aghast that Lexa had the indecency to joke now when she'd been so courteous all day, really did smack her this time, on the arm. "You know, when I was talking about freezing to death, I didn't mean sleep with me."
"This isn't a romantic gesture," Lexa explained. "It's about body warmth. Sometimes it is a necessity. During the pre-coalition wars, I had many a bed-partner during our march north. It helps."
Okay. Clarke shook the thought of many bed-partners from her mind and tried to stomach Lexa's suggestion. Lexa, who was still very much naked and expectant, lying beside her. This was ridiculous, but it made sense. Biologically. Between them, it was awkward as fuck. Still, she supposed it was less awkward than having to share body warmth with Indra. Clarke swallowed, her eyes inadvertently trailing down from Lexa's eyes to her exposed neck. Naively, she hoped in the darkness that Lexa would not see her, but Clarke's eyes would not avert themselves from Lexa's small but shapely breasts, the muscled flatness of her stomach, and the scars and scratches on her tattooed, otherwise smooth skin.
Another twinge. It wasn't in her chest this time.
Clarke groaned overdramatically, and ripped off her tunic. "We're not talking about this. Ever."
"You have my word." Lexa shuffled and held her arms open for Clarke to sink into. Clarke stared at her stupidly for a moment. "I harbour no indecent intent, Clarke. I'm cold. You're cold. We're both adults, and we're both logical."
"Right. And we're not talking about this."
"You said that."
"I know, but I want to clarify—"
"You have my word," Lexa repeated, firmly. Clarke sunk into Lexa's embrace, and hated how easily she became overwhelmed, almost instantly. The faint woody smell against Lexa's neck felt like home. The way her shorter frame slotted perfectly against Lexa, and the way she was just tall enough to rest her head on the crook of Lexa's neck was too much; it made Clarke want to tug Lexa closer, and she did. Her hands immediately wrapped around Lexa's waist, and she inhaled her scent deeply, tugging her closer. I don't want this. I don't want her. It sounded so unconvincing. Lexa was polite enough to keep it completely platonic.
Clarke didn't want to remember the safety net that were Lexa's arms, smothering her body with warmth. She knew Lexa still cared for her. Lexa prided herself on being unpredictable, but a battlefield was different to a relationship. Her eyes carried her soul, especially in front of Clarke, and she'd spent every waking moment in Polis reeling from the way her insults hurt Lexa's gaze. She spent every breakfast feeling Lexa's eyes on her, seeing them soften at the very mention of her name. Lexa still cared for her, and Clarke didn't know what to do. And then she'd tried to kill her.
This was fucked-up, and they both knew it. Still, Clarke buried her face closer against Lexa's neck, not wanting to catch that look in Lexa's eyes. Not tonight. She could feel the heat of Lexa's lithe body, still as anything, pressed up against her. And truthfully, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself to remain platonic in this as Lexa could. Even if it wasn't affection or love or whatever the fuck it was—it didn't stop Clarke's mind telling her body that Lexa was here. Lexa was beautiful. Lexa wanted her. Badly. Lexa would kiss her back. Lexa would touch her so reverently, so gently. All it would take was just a tiny peck, a slip of the tongue. All it would take was one night.
Clarke had tried to kill Lexa anyway. Using her for sex for one night was not as brutal as leaving her by the Mountain.
"Are you warm?" Lexa asked quietly, when the silence became stifling. They were both keenly aware that they were both still awake, and Clarke's last thought evaporated guiltily. I can't believe I just thought that. "Is this alright?"
"Yeah—yeah, it's fine," Clarke said, distracted. "Sorry, I was thinking."
"It's alright. If you are uncomfortable, let me know, and I will move accordingly."
"It's—are you okay? Are you comfortable?"
"We're just keeping each other warm," Lexa mumbled, dipping her head down ever so slightly. Clarke's chest felt like it would never stop aching for her. She knew Lexa cared, but Lexa knew that she knew. It was an impossible situation, after they'd placed themselves in impossible, horrible circumstances. And fuck, it really hurt. Clarke could feel it. She didn't want to imagine how Lexa felt. "That's all."
"Lexa..."
"We'll deliver Nia to Arkadia tomorrow. If we ride early we can avoid this. It's fine."
"I know."
"We will deliver Arkadia justice. Your people, as you've mentioned so frequently, deserve as much."
"I know. Lexa—"
"We will return to Polis, and you will have your wish." Clarke stayed silent, inquisitive. "We'll never speak of it." She could hear the smile in Lexa's voice.
Could people go on living like this? Self-imprisoned in pain and betrayal and distrust? Clarke knew she couldn't. She knew she couldn't trust Lexa—not yet, anyway. But trust or not, it had nothing to do with the sometimes youthful naivety Lexa held in her eyes whenever she approached Clarke in Polis with an invitation to look over the city from the walls. Sometimes, Lexa proudly showed her around the various different places in Polis and they'd spend an afternoon reading books from the Old World. Sometimes, Lexa retrieved unimportant letters in Trigedasleng in an effort to help Clarke learn the language at her request. Sometimes, Lexa behaved as if her invite to Polis, just outside the Mountain, had been instantly accepted, Clarke had arrived, and nothing else had happened. No genocide had occurred. And most of the time, Clarke appreciated it.
Everyone reminded Clarke of the crime she'd committed, except the one person who'd betrayed her at Mount Weather. Clarke shouldered the burden every minute except for the minutes she spent with Lexa, where the burden was so massive on her slim shoulders it overshadowed Clarke's.
Clarke didn't like that thought. She didn't like Lexa, haunted at night.
"I don't hate you," Clarke admitted softly, her lips pressed against Lexa's collarbone. It was the truth. It had taken her months and an attempted assassination to say it, but it was her heart. "I don't. I really don't."
Lexa nodded against her, and pulled her closer. Clarke tried not to get sucked in by the intoxication that was Lexa kom Trikru, but they both knew where they stood. They weren't there yet. But naked, and pressed hot up against Lexa's body, Clarke had never felt safer. The brief feeling of arousal was not gone. It felt like a background presence. All Clarke truly felt was safety, and maybe the willingness to walk along the tightrope that was this journey with Lexa. Because for once, she knew Lexa had given her a safety net below.
Lexa's reply was quiet. "I know. And one day, I hope you know how I feel."
"I know how you feel, Lexa."
"No, Clarke, you don't."
Against everything she believed in, against every voice in her mind screaming at her, Clarke leant up to press a kiss against Lexa's lips. It was chaste, but lingering. It was the very memory of Lexa and her lessons, her smiles, her flat jokes, her voice—that had stayed with Clarke in isolation for all those months in the woods, alone. It was Lexa in Polis, guarded, polite, and unable to stare at her without giving herself away. Clarke broke off their kiss, and stroked Lexa's cheek. "I don't hate you," she repeated quietly.
Lexa nodded, a little more understanding this time.
Hesitantly accepting prompts again. NB: They will be very slow!
I'm just posting this on tumblr—at the moment I'm working with AO3 to try and get my crazywisdom account back, but it's very slow back-and-forth, so I don't wanna sprout fifty different pseuds. I will, eventually, add any stray one-shots to one same collection if I get my account back. Thanks. :)
NB: No zombie AU prompts, though. I wrote one called “The Holy Trinity” and intend on fleshing it out to a multichapter. Cheers!
honestly, your clexa fics are just fucking amazing. And I'm obsessed with the way you write Abby. Her interactions with Clexa are hilarious and the way you portray her is pure genius. I just wanted to thank you for that (I can honestly say that rereading your stories never leaves me feeling anything less than delighted)
I’m glad you like Abby--I feel like nobody likes Abby (I really like Abby! lol). And I’m glad I can bring some enjoyment. Thank you for your lovely words--and I don’t plan on inadvertently deleting stories and leaving them scattered across the web any time soon, lol, rest assured. XD
Prompt: Clarke returning to Arkadia, Lexa visiting months later but is attacked on the way and seriously injured plus Abby figuring out Clarke loves her
I apologise this is about ten years late, but I tried! man, it’s difficult getting back into writing clexa when it’s been a while. I hope it’s okay.
AO3 link.
It had been on Lexa's insistence. All of it. And it began a few weeks ago.
"You should take Midnight," Lexa said, barely looking up from her table. She was frowning at a letter she'd received as Clarke reclined on Lexa's bed. She didn't want to think too crudely (sometimes she still suspected Lexa could read minds) but she'd just had a hot bath. Lexa's maids had pampered her. Even her hair was clean. Hells, even her fingernails. And Lexa was not taking advantage. Instead, she was fiddling around with her quill, thinking of something to write.
Clarke yawned. "Take Midnight where? Wait—do you want me to leave you for a bit?"
"Don't be silly. You're only in a nightgown." Lexa blinked, and finally looked up as if she realised what she'd just said. The nightgown was...translucent to say the least. Lexa flushed, and stared furiously at the desk. "I meant for your ride to Arkadia."
"My what?"
"...Aden didn't tell you?"
"That boy doesn't tell me anything except your favourite flower."
Lexa laughed. "And what is that, may I ask?"
"Nightshade, because it's dangerous, poisonous and deadly, like you."
"He said that?"
"Yes. He's usually right. You're practically his Bible."
"My favourite flower is a carnation."
"Oh."
Clarke decided to cover herself with the furs, ignoring Lexa's self-indulgent snicker. She couldn't shake the thought from her mind. When had it been decided she was going back to Arkadia? She knew her mother and Lexa had been in frequent correspondence, since winter was coming and supplies had to be transported. But she deserved a say in this, and she suspected Lexa knew a storm was coming for her. She loved Lexa, yes, but that didn't mean Lexa could just ferry her about.
"I'm guessing it's a letter from my mother," Clarke said eventually.
"It's...heartfelt," Lexa said awkwardly. Eventually, she gave up and sighed, shrinking back into her armchair. Clarke's heart sank. Lexa didn't give much away, not even when her audience consisted solely of Clarke. It was not like the Commander to give much away anyway. Her guidance in the form of Titus had gone, and Lexa hadn't said a single word about it. Clarke had tried asking Aden, only to receive an uncharacteristically stony response of "I don't know" in return. It was code for "it's none of your business"—but Aden was too polite to say so.
Lexa said it the next day anyway.
"My parents never saw me to adulthood," Lexa lamented from her chair, which seemed all too big on her slim shoulders now. "I was taken to Polis as a child, trained to be the Commander." Trained to be a killer. "I...The closest I felt to parenthood was with Anya. But I cannot imagine or empathise what it must be like to be leagues away from your family. I want you here, Clarke." Lexa did not point to the room, or even mention Polis. When Clarke looked at her, Lexa's fist was clenched over her heart, so hard the whites of her knuckles looked on the verge of exploding from her hand. "Only a monster keeps a daughter hostage from her mother, so far away. You should go."
"You're not keeping me hostage," Clarke said defiantly. "And this is my decision. You can't just send me about as you wish, and neither can my mom."
Lexa fell silent, sufficiently scolded. Clarke didn't need to guess the letter came from her mother as soon as Lexa set the quill down, and gave the empty space that look. It was the kind of despondence she hated seeing on Lexa's face. She was usually so confident and bold, emblazoned by her war-paint. Tonight she was stripped of that, her beauty hidden in the dimness of the room. Without thinking, Clarke crossed the room, shuddering in the slight breeze the open window let through. They had fallen into quite the domestic routine since all hell broke loose following Lexa's shooting. Lexa being Lexa hadn't died; Ontari being Ontari had decided to come kill them all. Polis being Polis defended their Commander until their dying breaths, and Lexa nearly died a second time, of a heart attack, when Indra proudly presented Ontari's head in a box.
Clarke proceeded to be sick on Aden's new boots.
"I want you here." Lexa's voice lowered to a murmur as Clarke nodded. Lexa shifted so Clarke could sit on her lap, and wrapped both arms around her neck. "I want you with me."
"I'm here."
"For now."
"Are you gonna talk about until you die, or something?"
"No." Lexa buried her laugh against Clarke's neck, her hand sneaking up Clarke's night-gown. Her thumb idly traced up her spine, feeling Clarke's skin prickle at her touch. "Clarke, you've got to listen to me." Lexa rested her chin against the crook of Clarke's neck, and peered over her shoulder at the piece of paper. Clarke could already see her mother's name on it, and she read a few sentences. A few was all that was needed to understand. "I didn't want to hide it from you—"
"I do miss her," Clarke said. Her voice was croakier than expected. "I do. I miss all of them." But she'd gotten so used to Nyko and his lessons; she'd gotten used to sparring with Lexa, or Indra if she was unlucky. She'd gotten used to Aden bringing up breakfast every morning just because he knew she wouldn't finish it all and he'd get to eat the leftover bread. She closed her eyes and leant her head back, exposing her neck which Lexa did not waste time in pressing a soft kiss to the skin. She kissed her again, this time gently on her collarbone, and pecked kisses and kisses up the column of her neck. Her arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed, like she would never let go. "This is my home, Lexa. Now it is, anyway."
Lexa hummed against her skin, her teeth grazing gently. Clarke sighed happily. This was her home now. Arkadia was nothing except a few of her friends, but things had changed drastically. She wasn't sure if she could even face seeing someone like Bellamy again.
"I'll still be here," Lexa promised, shifting her face so her nose brushed against Clarke's ear. "I have my people to look after. You have yours."
"I know what this note says, Lexa. My mom wants me to spend months in Arkadia."
"It's good for your people to see you."
"And what about you?"
"I have my duties."
"And after your duties?"
"Excuse me?"
Clarke grinned and twisted to face her, grabbing Lexa's face by both hands. The look of surprise on Lexa's face was surely enough, but the surprised and frankly embarrassing "mmph" she let out when Clarke kissed her made her laugh in Lexa's face. Lexa laughed back and fumbled with Clarke's nightgown, unsheathing her dagger and unceremoniously shredding it to pieces. Clarke groaned in disapproval and then in pleasure as Lexa sucked on her bottom lip, shucking upwards so they staggered to their feet. Clumsily, and feeling like it was their first time all over again, they stumbled towards the bed.
"How," Clarke said lowly, as Lexa's hands traversed up her sides, squeezing her breasts, "will you survive months without this?"
Lexa sunk her teeth into Clarke's neck, eliciting a loud groan from her. I guess I deserved that. "I have hands," Lexa murmured, and Clarke shuddered, trying to erase the image of Lexa touching herself like that. "Lie down. Let me show you what you won't get in Arkadia."
"The winter supplies will be sufficient," Kane said, resting his hands on the table. As the Chancellor now, he'd been focusing on growing their own vegetables—only to find the land a little too radioactive, still, for their taste. According to Miller, one of their potatoes had turned purple. "The Commander has sent more wagons of grain for the space we have to store it. She..." Kane looked down at the letter in front of him, and quietly snorted to himself. When he'd first stated Lexa was a revolutionary, he'd meant it. He hadn't realised he kind of liked the young woman on a personal level, too. "She has promised us casks of Southern red wine, and apologises for the delay."
Abby, seated beside Clarke, laughed. "Marcus—"
"It says it right here," Kane insisted, holding the letter up. "She is genuinely transporting wine. It's dated weeks ago, though, so liquor could be on its way." He tried to sound merry.
"It's better than the piss ale the City Guard lives off," Clarke piped up, and Kane laughed awkwardly.
Nothing had been right since her return. Her mother's embrace was her mother's embrace. It was all-encompassing love and relief. She'd asked several times if Clarke had intended to say permanently, and every time, Clarke had said no. Yet here she was, two months later, still in Arkadia. Her friends had been normal, to say the least. Octavia was civil, which was about as much as Clarke could hope for. She was still mourning Lincoln, and Clarke suspected she hadn't forgiven her for TonDC yet, either. Raven was different. She'd taken it upon herself to be Clarke's unwanted tour guide. The biggest change was her bed. Gone was the luxurious furs of Lexa's bed, and gone was Lexa's smell. In its place was a shabby double mattress in a grey room with blank walls.
They saw her more as a Grounder than as one of them, and Clarke supposed they were right. She still wore Grounder clothing, she spoke about Aden, about Ontari, about Lexa—and guiltily, it had taken her an entire week to catch up with her mother and ask her if everything was okay. She felt like a guest, not like someone who'd just returned home.
Though she could tell Kane wanted to speak about it like an itch that wouldn't go away, they never asked about Ontari, Titus' fate, or Lexa's gunshot wound. What happened in Polis would stay in Polis. Clarke felt as if she'd already infiltrated everyone's lives with enough Grounder-ness. She could tell by the look on her mother's face. It wasn't that Abby didn't understand; it wasn't that she didn't approve of her relationship with Lexa. She did understand. She didn't mind at all. But there'd always be the slight discomfort in the back of her mind. This was still the Commander who'd betrayed her daughter an inch away from certain death. Those thoughts, no matter how Lexa made amends, would stay with a mother. It was not pettiness. It was motherhood.
After the meeting, Raven, who'd clearly been standing outside the door the entire time, wrapped her arm around Clarke's shoulder.
"Not another tour," Clarke groaned. "I've seen enough of the walls."
"Nope. Wait—hey, Dr. Griffin!" Raven called her name about three times until Abby finally turned around. "Any, um, news on finding any painkillers? Any plants of interest?"
"I'm not a botanist, Raven," Abby said patiently. "There's still that other option—"
"Come on, I'd take opium at this rate—"
"Raven."
"If you'll excuse me," Raven said, a little coldly, "I'm showing your daughter around."
"You've been doing this every day," Clarke muttered. "Can you show someone else around?"
"No."
So they walked around the compound, with Clarke careful to slow the pace down just in case Raven's leg tired. Raven, for the most part, made no complaint. She hobbled—that was obvious—but she did not mention the pain. A part of Clarke just wanted to tell her to take Abby's advice. She was the medical professional after all. But there was a silent understanding between them: Raven was just as stubborn as Clarke. The only reason Raven latched herself onto Clarke upon her return was because she knew Clarke would be the only one who understood. Octavia had been distant lately, and Raven's constant presence was not a sign of pain but loneliness.
"We never really talked about it, you know," Raven said idly when they reached the gates.
Clarke fiddled with the iron. "About what?"
"You know, girl stuff." Raven scowled at Clarke's snort. "C'mon, spill. How's sex with the Commander of the Coalition?"
Clarke sputtered, and Raven doubled over laughing, dodging Clarke's misjudged slap. She missed completely.
"Does she say shit like, 'I united the clans!' when she comes?"
"Raven!"
"What?"
Clarke laughed, and then crooked her finger for Raven to come closer. Intrigued, Raven hobbled over and Clarke rested a hand on her shoulder. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She closed her eyes, and thought of Lexa's calloused, beautiful hands racing up her skin, caressing every inch with her fingers, her mouth, her tongue... She thought about Lexa's full lips, and the gentle way she kissed. She thought of the rough way she kissed, impassioned and sometimes heady with wine; she thought of the way she bit Clarke's lip, and the way her fingernails raked down Clarke's back as Clarke fucked her at night. She thought about the time Lexa yanked Clarke up by the hair as her fingers pumped inside her, and she groaned and gasped and came, her mouth eliciting ungodly sounds into Clarke's ear as she shuddered underneath her.
"One time," Clarke said hoarsely, feeling that familiar ache rise in her again, "we went until the sun rose."
Raven withdrew, mouth agape. "Griffin," she said in wonderment, "I'm so fucking happy for you."
Red came weeks later, but it wasn't in the form of wine.
The gates opened immediately as the Commander of Thirteen Clans fell off her palfrey, deathly still. An audience had already gathered, a stunned Kane among them, but it was the Griffins who rushed to the Commander's aid. Indra and Nyko, flanking either side of her, did not look much better. They'd suffered gashes that ripped through their armour, but Lexa had been hit the hardest. Unable to get herself to her feet again, she flopped against the ground, groaning in agony. Gunners immediately fetched a makeshift gurney, but blood was already trickling from Lexa's mouth—and everywhere else.
"Clarke," she rasped, a flailing hand reaching out. Clarke grasped it as the gunners gently tried to lift her. Abby was tearing her armour open, attempting to assess the injury. Clarke needed no medical training to deduce it was bad. "Clarke."
"I'm here," she promised, her voice catching in her throat. "Lexa, stay with me. Stay."
"What did you call them?" Lexa's voice was surprisingly steady. "Guns?"
"Guns attacked you?"
"No. Titus' weapon."
"Yes—yes, a gun."
"When he had a gun to me, I died. But I stayed with you."
Clarke couldn't take much more. Abby's medical instructions to the gunners and Jackson were simply background noise. Her vision blurred as tears took over, trickling helplessly down her cheeks. Lexa's grip on her wrist was strong, but she was as pale as a ghost. "Yes, you did," she said, desperate to keep Lexa talking. Lexa smiled softly at her, and she wanted Lexa to keep smiling. "You stayed, because you're the strongest person I know. You'll stay."
"I made you a promise. I told you that when you returned to Polis, I'd be there."
"Lexa..."
"If I don't, Clarke, promise me you will return. Just for me. Then you can come back here—"
"We're not talking like it's the fucking end of the world," Clarke said sternly, ignoring her mother's scandalised 'Clarke!' "You're the Commander of the Coalition. Act like you united thirteen clans, and stay alive, or I'll kill you myself."
Tough love, she supposed.
Lexa chuckled, and nodded. It was a promise, she knew. It was just the way Lexa worked. As the gunners took Lexa away on the gurney, Jackson and Raven supported Clarke on either side as they traipsed towards medical. Like a disinterested crowd, everyone dissipated, bar the Grounders, who awkwardly set up camp at the gates. Indra was helping Nyko unload boxes and barrels of supplies, Clarke supposed, but she didn't pay too much attention. Abby's words were fading in and out as she spoke to Lexa.
"Multiple cuts, a deep gash to the abdomen—we'll need to re-stitch that—and—do we even have any antibiotics? Just suppress the bleeding—yes, put pressure on it—and—Lexa, can you hear me? Nod? Yes? Yes, okay, we're going to press down hard—it'll hurt, yes—can you—"
A loud yell that sounded angrier than pained pierced the air, and Clarke closed her eyes. She peered through the window to see pure white sheets drenched in red, and she felt sick.
"Talk to me, Lexa. Keep talking. Tell me what happened. Take your time. Take your time. We're here. Clarke's here. You made it."
"I made it," Lexa's voice was weak.
"Yes, you did."
"Outlaws," Lexa said. "I guess. I don't know. No furs. We fought them."
"Okay. How many of them were there?"
"Too many. I wanted...I wanted—"
"What did you want, Lexa? Just—I know this hurts, so just stay with me—"
"I will speak plainly," Lexa said quietly. "Old English."
"You can speak Trigedasleng for all I care, Lexa. Just stay with me."
"Why do you care?"
Abby smiled wryly at her. "Because you broke my daughter's heart and you fixed it again."
"I broke..."
"When your body system comes under attack, your body fights back," Abby said, as she made sure the bleeding was slowing. Jackson entered the medical ward, a handful of anticoagulants ready. "Your body comes back stronger."
"And mine?"
"Not yours. Clarke's."
"Oh."
"It does also mean bodies can be broken." Abby said this kindly, as she administered Lexa the painkillers. She took out the equipment to stitch Lexa's wound; luckily, they were surface wounds. The most worrying one was the gash on her stomach, and Clarke couldn't help but stare at it. Lexa had ridden out for her, and she hadn't even asked. "So if you break my daughter again, I will break you, Commander. Respectfully."
Lexa chortled, wincing in pain as she did so.
Abby soothed her. "Easy, easy. Try not to make too many sudden movements."
"Are you threatening me, Abby Griffin?"
For a split-second, Abby turned to face the window and smirked at Clarke. Disapprovingly, Clarke shook her head. A friendship between her lover and her mother was not something she wanted right now. She knew Abby would prod around their...intimate life, and Lexa would be earnest enough to say something like "yes, we have had bed-breaking sex numerous times".
"Is that treason, Commander?"
"It depends. Will you let me love your daughter?"
Abby's face softened, and surprising both Lexa and Clarke, she reached out to cup the Commander's pale face. The painkillers had kicked in sufficiently so her eyes drooped, but Abby smiled all the same. "You would love her without even asking."
"Southern Red," Indra grunted to Kane as she rolled the last barrel off the wagon. Kane stared in silence. Just moments before, the Commander had dropped dramatically off her palfrey and wheeled off to medical. Indra behaved as if the Commander was immortal. "By Heda's command."
"Are you joking?" Kane asked, aghast.
Indra shrugged. "Clarke Griffin does not like our ale. Blame her."
I've started watching new shows and reading new fics but dammit Clexa is special and it will always be my favorite thing to read ❤️
Ahh, there’s something just nice about them, isn’t there? The show fell for me even at 3x03. 3x05 killed it. But the characters--they stay. Lovely to see you enjoy it :)
Here you’ll find a collection of multichapters I’d finished. Some of them might not be here--they are the prompts I received. But as you navigate further back into this blog, you’ll find them. Somewhere near the top there’s a handy index.
RISE INTO RUIN: (2015)
Post 2x16: She is tired, vengeful and she wants answers. That’s all that draws Clarke to Polis. But there’s a new enemy on the horizon, cracks within the grounder hierarchy. It threatens Lexa’s freshly-acquired charade of peace, and the reluctant desire to trust once more, makes her stay.
KNIFE EDGE: (2017)
Post-3x07: Lexa’s stuck in-between the world of the living and the world of the dead, where Anya wallows. As Clarke and Aden navigate Arkadia’s stormy battles and the external threat of Ontari’s Ice Nation, Lexa fights her past and the what-ifs to unravel the truth of the Flame and reclaim the commander’s throne.
Post 3x07. Lexa's stuck between the world of the living and the world of the dead, where Anya wallows. As Clarke and Aden navigate Arkadia's stormy internal battles and the external threat of Ontari's Ice Nation, Lexa fights her past and the what-ifs to unravel the truth of the Flame and reclaim the Commander's throne.c
Category: Fantasy, drama, romance
Comments:......Rather influenced by Neil Gaiman;s awesome American Gods.
Summary: Lexa kom Trikru builds Polis from ruin. On AO3,
"Impossible." Anya took one look at the site before them, and laughed. "You're insane."
"I'm the Commander."
When Lexa kom Trikru, perhaps the smallest of the Nightbloods, staggered from the woods in the pitch-black night, stunned silence fell upon the murmuring and cheering crowd. In front of tens and hundreds of seasoned warriors, village chiefs, Seconds, healers, tutors...Lexa tripped over her aching feet. She registered no pain as she slammed against the marshy ground, her eyes drooping as one side of her face rested against the coolness of the forest-floor mud.
Black blood had dried on her arms, drenched her hands, and stained her tunic. Her sword had been abandoned a few feet away from her, and her right hand was loosely holding her dagger—her usual weapon of choice.
Lexa was best when it came to close combat. In round three, big Leeviu had wielded a spear, and Lexa had nearly found herself impaled. Hand-to-hand combat, speed, agility, intelligence and stamina were her strengths—but stamina failed her tonight as she practically collapsed in front of everyone.
Her mind blanked as she thought: I killed my friends tonight. Was this what a Commander had to do? Kill a friend? Kill multiple friends? Kill all of them until you were the last one standing? Lexa barely had any breath to consider how sick that was.
The Fleimkepa, a bald man marked ritually with every Nightbloods' black blood over his head and face, was the first to reach out, his eyes wide in surprise.
"Lexa kom Trikru," he said shakily, loud enough so everyone could hear. "Do you remain the last of the Nightblood trials?"
They all knew of the draws. It had been publicly displayed so everyone was ensured no cheating had been allowed. Lexa, exhausted, fished a braid from her pocket. Tied around the braid was the signature ribbon of Perie of the Stone Clan, a lean and tall girl who'd wielded two short-swords and was quick as lightning. Lexa breathed into the earth, embracing Trikru forestry—the world that had birthed her—and briefly knew that she would be hauled into a very new place very soon. So she closed her eyes and smelled the mud; smelled her home. She had the trees for bones and Trikru determination pulsating in her veins. Tiredly, she slid the braid over towards Titus, who picked it up and examined it.
"Jok," she heard her tutor, Anya, whisper as she raced over. Titus held out a stern arm for her to stand back, but Anya resisted. "Lexa—can you hear me?"
Everything sounded so muffled, but Anya's voice was clear as day. "I killed," she said blankly.
She could not see the disbelieving crowd gathered around her, but she felt their shock emanate from them. She felt the same.
"Let it be," Titus declared when the Stone Commander confirmed that it was indeed Perie's braid. "This night we honour Oliss the Tender's tragic death and we crown a new Nightblood as our Heda. The Nightblood trials have been fair and lengthily discussed. Tonight, in the forest and the black blood spilled in sacrifice for our First Commander and saviour of the old world, creator of the new, we crown Lexa kom Trikru our Heda." Titus knelt before her, and Lexa didn't move a muscle. She could feel his ice-cold forefinger dab at her still-bleeding upper arm slash-wound, a gift from the fourth round.
Lexa felt like she was going to die. Painfully slowly, he took the bowl of water prepared for him by one of the Seconds and washed his face. Clear of black blood, he smeared Lexa's over his forehead in some sort of symbol, and stood up.
"Heda," he pronounced. "Our Heda!"
Lexa groaned in pain, drowned out by the loud cheers of the night crowd. She did not listen to them. The only thing she could hear was deathly silence from Anya.
"Impossibility is a pessimistic outlook on life, Anya," Lexa said as she examined the ruins of her chosen city. Commanders had ruled from the crumbling Polisian tower, but the rest of the place was a complete mess. People scarcely lived here unless they had no choice at all. Mostly, they lived within their villages in specified clan territories. It had only been chosen as the Commander's seat because of its association with Becca. Lexa did not understand why the Commander had to rule in the midst of nothing, revelling in the utmost luxury whilst people died of starvation literally just beyond the walls of the Polisian Tower. Why had none of the previous Commanders done anything? "Watch me: by the time I am finished with Polis, I will build a throne constructed by the Trikru craftsmen themselves. There will be candles to represent the ever-lasting light of the Commanders gone, and the top of the Polisian tower will be marked by the grandest of all, as a sign of hope. Polis is our light; our beacon."
"You've gone mad," Anya assessed. "I can't believe I trained you, and you turned out like this."
"Wise and promising?"
"Mad!"
Lexa chuckled, and Anya snuck a sideways glance at her, silent pride blossoming in her chest. Lexa had just turned fourteen, but she fitted into her snug, lightweight black Commander suit like she had been born into it. Whenever she attended formal meetings and was fitted with armour and the Commander's red sash, she looked a miracle. Every time she swept into the room she held power over older, more experienced figures; she spoke articulately in every single meeting, and cleverly too. She spoke as if she had been Commander for decades.
Allying clans had been one thing. Lexa still had some Commanders to meet. But pitching this idea—especially to strong-headed chiefs such as Bryce of the Water People and Dain of the Mountain People—had been a struggle. The idea of turning a ruin into a well-functioning, civilised city was outrageous. Yet the Commander's seat was within the Polisian tower. Legend had it that Becca, the First Commander, ruled from that very tower. And so Lexa had argued: why leave Becca's location of reign as a ruin? Should a Commander rule from high-walled civilisation, or should a Commander rule surrounded by slums, prostitutes and drunken scum?
The meeting was as brutal as the way Lexa swiftly and graciously took down every single question. It was like a fight, with each clan leader approaching the arena one-by-one. When the meeting finished, Titus, their Flamekeeper, was stunned by the unanimous agreement of Lexa's plans. He'd disapproved of the "dreamer's capital" like every other clan leader—but he could not make a move as Lexa passed the motion due to the unanimous vote in her favour.
"It isn't far from Trikru territory," Anya said thoughtfully.
"It is the First Commander's revered seat—and all Commanders before her," Lexa said. "It is a wonder how no Commander thought of this solution."
"It isn't far from Trikru territory," Anya repeated, folding her arms.
Lexa swivelled, her hands clasped behind her back. Anya knew that look on her face. The way Lexa's lips quirked lopsidedly, well-trained to suppress her smile. "How very observant of you, Anya."
"How are you such a smart-ass nomonjoka at fourteen?"
"I learned from the very best."
Indra, chief of TonDC, had been drafted to Polis to lead the construction team of the wall. Lexa wanted it built first. It had to be high, thick and grand. She drew blueprints of a portcullis, and made sure that a wall-work was a necessity—she wanted to walk along these walls someday and look over her creation. They would be crenulated so the merlons would provide archers with necessary protection should their one-day almighty capital came under siege.
Lexa supposed, realistically, it would—and she already had the scheming Queen Nia of the Ice Nation in mind. She ruled over one clan, but they had the largest territory and population. Their disadvantage was that if she succeeded in her coalition, every single clan would be a stopping point in their army's march down; her ace up the sleeve was pulling Nia into the coalition herself.
But enough about Nia. Lexa was sick of thinking about her, and her nation's empty threats. Instead, she surveyed as Indra barked orders towards the construction team. One team had been assigned the task of the drawbridge, which they initially constructed on the plains with wood "fresh from Trikru", Indra had announced proudly.
The rest of them were busy with exact measurements of the merlons up above. The wall had long been constructed. It was huge, and impressively thick. It had taken months and months of work, and Lexa knew Indra had been away from her village for a very long time. She struggled to think of how to reward her.
"I am sorry this extracts you from your chiefdom duties," Lexa told her truthfully as they walked around the walls, just the two of them. "To be frank, I trust very few people to exact the important jobs properly."
"I will do as my Heda commands," Indra said. "If you shall take me away from TonDC for years to fight a war, I will do so. Where you go, I follow. Where you need me, I hope to advise."
"Thank you, Indra."
"Thank you, Heda."
Lexa smiled at her, and clapped her on the back. She was close to Indra—but their relationship was not like hers and Anya's. She could not deck Indra in the face and vice versa. It was formal—too formal—but after years of knowing her, Lexa knew it was simply Indra's way of behaving. And Lexa respected that. She never wished for Indra to change because of her, or change only in front of her—so Lexa adjusted accordingly to everyone she met. She was the Commander. She was the change. Not Indra. Not Anya. Not Gustus.
"It should not be long now, Heda," Indra told her. "The walls have been built. They need brushing up, but they are as thick as you wanted them. There are few merlons left to complete, and of course we need to work on the portcullis to the exact configurations. But..." Indra and Lexa stopped walking to examine the sheer height of the impressive structure, and though Indra did not smile, Lexa could feel pride radiate from her. "Polis will be impenetrable."
"That's what I hope," Lexa said good-naturedly. "I will not have Becca's seat seized by some folly."
"It won't. But we are working on the outside." Indra hesitated, but Lexa waved her on. Any opinion was welcome—even the less favourable ones. Titus had spoken of his disapproval of the capital since day one, though Lexa had suspected he'd thawed at the idea of getting his own chamber within the Tower. "Are you not concerned about what lies inside these walls? Polis is a poor place. It is unsanitary and barely a city, let alone a place to live."
"That's what I will have to change," Lexa murmured. "I'll have to make it a capital."
"Do you mind sharing your plans, Heda?"
"Well...I require manpower," Lexa said flatly. "And I require heavy belief."
"It's a simple enough conversion," Konner, Lexa's chief cartographer, explained. "This used to be a storage facility—a massive pantry, if you will—but it is only a matter of cleaning the walls, cleaning the stone floor, and clearing everything out. You do not need tasked men for this, Heda. You only need a few days of strength."
"There will be no design quirks?" Lexa asked, a little disappointed.
Konner smiled at her. "Well, I have never been to an art-house, and nor have I ever sketched blueprints for one. I do not know what an art-house looks like."
"Neither do I."
"You...requested this, Heda—"
"I'm building blind," Lexa confessed as they strolled through the seemingly never-ending food storage facility. It must have been for oats and potatoes and the sort. It did not feel chilly here. "There are designs a city must have. Refurbishment of the Tower is already under place. The wall is up. The longer I look, the more I see of them as battlements. I'm not building a city, Konner. I never was. I'm building battlements. I'm building a strong-hold. A fort."
"Is it so unwise to do so? Years and years of fighting won't just stop. With a new Commander they may even flare up even more frequently. Building a fort to protect the Commander's blessed seat is not exactly an act of war and nor is it an outsider worry."
"Mm."
Lexa trusted Konner. He had been distrusted by everyone. Originating from the North, Konner was born Azgeda and had escaped home when he was just a boy. Taken in by an unknowing tree family, his trouble with Trikru dialect and tufty red hair singled him out as an orphan of the North. But Konner had been thrown away by his adopted family to a newly ascended Commander of the Trikru: Lexa. She saw two words: Azgeda and orphan. She said, firmly, that the latter was of much more importance.
Konner had travelled everywhere with Lexa ever since. Every war they'd waged, Konner was the cartographer every night as he mapped out the enemy terrain for Lexa, risking his life in the darkness. Nobody would know of his death unless he failed to return. But he did, every morning.
Every morning, he would debrief Lexa, improve his sketches and doze off. And every morning, Konner became more of a confidante to Lexa—who'd endured a whole day's worth of briefings, meetings and uproars—in his absence.
"You've built your sparring pits," Konner noted. "The Polisian Tower, arguably the most important building in this project, is near-completion. Why add this?"
"Because Polis is far from finished. We will build houses. We will build inns and blacksmith workshops and healer facilities and prayer houses and book houses. Lastly, you will customise your own house with endless reach of our coalition's pooled funding." Konner opened his mouth to dispute this, but Lexa stopped him. "Your wife is new is she not? And are you not with child? I don't want you living a half-life in some village that barely recognises you for your work and your loyalty. Polis will be great, Konner. Believe me—and then live in my city."
"I do believe you. By the spirits, you are building an art-house!" Konner exclaimed. "But I cannot use your kindness so. I thank you, Heda, because I would not want to live anywhere you are not—but—"
"But what? You have been an essential part of assembling this coalition. You have been a friend. I have never rewarded you in coin; only a bed to sleep in and food for your three meals of the day. Now I must reward you properly."
"Heda, your kindness is—"
"It isn't kindness." Lexa's eyes were soft as Konner knelt before her, his head bowed. He was going to reject her, but Lexa knew of his village. They could kill him the instant he was weak, and with a new babe coming, that was unfair. At least in Polis, Konner's security would not be in question. "It's an order."
Konner genuinely didn't know what to say. "An order? For me to live in Polis?"
"Yes."
The silence Konner emitted was a 'yes'—or so Lexa took it. Bemused and baffled acceptance. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the massive storage space. Polis would need a larger one. He'd already seen Lexa's submitted plans for housing and it was beyond belief. There would also have to be a Square constructed close to the Tower where the stall-sellers and fortune-readers could set their future up. That made sense. The Polisian Tower's additions made sense. The throne room. The Commander's chambers. The Flamekeeper's chambers. The guard's rooms. Guest rooms. The Nightbloods' shared sleeping hall. The sparring pit made sense. Everything made sense—except for this absurd art-house.
"Why art?" Konner mused aloud. Lexa shrugged beside him. "I cannot think of a clan known for its art. I mean, the Sun clan perhaps for its notorious luxury and flamboyance, but that does not make them artists."
"It is nothing to do with the clans," Lexa said shortly. She could feel her stomach twist as she spoke of it, tightening. I can see it in the stars, she wanted to tell him, but she could not confide even in Konner about that. She imagined the ceiling of the art-house painted with the night sky and glittering with stars, and closed her eyes. "All citizens will be civilised. All Warriors will read; they shall speak Old English; they shall plan and plot as well as they fight. Perhaps they shall take up art too."
"And if they don't?"
"Then they will find another hobby. I don't know, Konner. Our soldiers should not just be blank-minded hulks of muscle."
"You're accompanying everyone too much. Less than half of this city will be able to read. Fewer will have any medical knowledge. Fewer will be able to draw anything other than obscenities."
"But that's exactly what Polis is: too much."
"If you do not mind my boldness, Heda, but...you are too much," Konner laughed, and Lexa hit him good-naturedly, smiling. "You speak of so many things."
"They were impossibilities once, were they not?"
"I remember it being said, yes."
"Look at us now," Lexa said proudly, as they stood in the middle of a near pitch-black ex-storage house. "We're building the realm's first-ever house of art."
Lexa had been examining the throne for about ten minutes now. Every curve of twisted, polished wood sticking out and the jagged imperfection of it was exactly what she'd wanted. If her new home was Polis then the throne she would sit upon would be constructed, polished and designed by Trikru hands. Lexa's hands marvelled over the throne. "I don't want regal," she'd said to the construction team, "I want powerful and I want uneasiness." It hadn't been an easy blueprint—words, that was—but...
She sat down on the throne, her posture perfect as always. Her arms rested on the sleek sides of the chair, and she closed her eyes. Now she truly felt like the Commander.
The double-doors pushed open and Anya, startled by the room's decor, took two steps and then abruptly stopped. "Whoa," she breathed, letting out a low whistle. She dared at Lexa, decked out in her full uniform complete with the sash, sat atop her ethereal throne as the window behind her basked her in sunlight. For the very first time, Anya strode up to her and felt comfortable and kneeling before her and bowing her head. "Heda."
"What do you think?" Lexa asked her smugly, when she hopped down the mini-steps and helped Anya to her feet. "Still impossibility?"
"I've seen the new houses," Anya said. "You're using the space well. The Square, I'm sure, will look great post-construction. But..." Anya smiled at her, and she felt pride swell in her chest. She'd had Seconds before—some had lasted mere days—but there was none quite like Lexa. She'd taken the slum village the starved population had created for themselves and re-housed every single one of them and their families. "I'm sorry I doubted you."
"Sincerely?"
"Very sincerely."
Perhaps there was a childish light in Lexa that couldn't help but be switched on whenever she pleased her once-mentor. They both glanced around the throne room. The carpet beneath them was crimson-red, and Lexa dreamt of the Nightbloods she'd teach here. She'd already scribbled down notes for their first lesson. The room at the very top would be used for clan meetings, and held every prospective leader's ornate, hopeful seats—should she accomplish her mission of a twelve-clan coalition.
Yesterday she had returned to her home village within Trikru territory to celebrate her name day. It had been a modest feast, and villagers frequently apologised for the lack of grandeur. But for her big ambitions here and the fancy art and book houses, she relished the smell of the trees and the feel of the long-growing grass between her fingers again. Home was home, and the feast had not been modest. It had been rich with love for the Commander, and the Sun clan readily supplied wine and luxurious desserts Lexa brought with her for the Trikru villagers to try.
"I don't know how you look so fresh," Anya remarked. "I nearly didn't make it to Polis at the sheer thought of having to bend over and vomit."
Lexa grimaced at the mental image. "I drink responsibly."
"You bore. It was your name day!" Anya laughed, and clapped her amiably on the back.
"We will have breweries," Lexa decided. "I spoke with the Sun Commander and she said it is not difficult. We have already started brewing mead for our new inns; we will brew Polisian wine, and it will become a staple of our capital."
"I think your capital's already made quite the statement," Anya chuckled, "but I'm not objecting to you brewing wine."
"Finally: something you motion through straightaway."
"It is wine."
"Does it even count?" Lexa reconsidered good-naturedly.
Anya grinned at her and took a step back. Lexa was sixteen now. She was still too young for all of this, but she had accomplished everything a legendary warrior had. She'd pulled most of the clans into her coalition and Anya imagined she had simply charmed their socks off. Lexa had one clan left: the Ice Nation.
She promised she'd heeded all of Anya's warnings. She would wait—months, if it had to be—before reaching out to Nia. Anya knew she was distracted by that Costia girl of hers anyway, the herbalist's daughter, who'd automatically been given one of the biggest stalls in the Square. Anya near rolled her eyes. Lexa was never subtle about matters of the heart.
But she could not help but see the change Lexa had made. In spits and spats, she had barely seen Lexa in two years. And now, standing before her, was a once-skinny, now-lithe, tall girl of sixteen. She had lost her baby-fat and her jaw-line was strong, as were her determined eyes, and she held herself straight at a posture that practically said "POWER". Her stringy arms were slim and muscular, her body toned and fit rather than just thin. But more so than that, upon taking on this impossible task, she'd calmed a raging war, forged a coalition and Anya exhaled with sheer pride. It felt like she was witnessing the maturing of her child into adulthood.
"Sit on the throne," Anya said quietly.
"Excuse me?"
Anya repeated herself, a little louder.
Lexa strolled easily across the room, and Anya noted-she had swagger about her now—and skipped up the steps. Swivelling on the spot, she sat ram-rod straight on the throne, resting both arms. Her fingers curled around the edges of the chair-arms. Lexa looked like a painting. A glorious one. Decked out in her lightweight armour and topped off with the sash, the only thing missing was her war-paint—but they weren't at war anymore. Lexa sat in uneasy silence, waiting for her mentor to say something. But Anya didn't. She couldn't get the words out. Seeing her ex-Second shine of power, confidence and—she was the Flame—Anya hadn't felt she'd earned it in the trials, but now?
"You are my Heda," Anya marvelled faintly, shaking her head in disbelief. "You..."
"You are my Anya," Lexa returned.
Anya's heart clenched and she chuckled softly. Her new Second was Tris, and she was proving to be a fine warrior. But Anya knew a person could strike gold only once in their life, and she had struck gold with Lexa. Her feet tugged her towards the throne, and she slowly moved up the steps and knelt directly before Lexa's seat. Taking Lexa's right hand, she kissed every knuckle.
"Lexa kom Trikru," Anya whispered. "I am honoured by your presence."
"As I am yours," Lexa said quietly, "General of the Trigedakru."
"I will fight for you, always," Anya vowed, though she'd vowed similarly as she took the role of General. This, however, was entirely unscripted. Lexa's heart slammed against her ribcage as Anya rested her forehead against her knuckles. "I will make your peace in areas that need them. I will defend you and I will give you my life."
It had to be Anya to rob the first vows within the throne room. Lexa slid off her throne and knelt before Anya too, and held her hand. She tilted Anya's chin up. Any closer and they'd kiss (Lexa tried not to think of how weird that was) and Lexa nodded.
"As long as I bleed black and true, I will give you my blessing as my General to perform my military duties for me within the Trikru," Lexa said firmly. She had been away from her people—the trees and the earth and the woods—for too long. They needed someone like Anya to lead their army—not Lexa, who was too far away. "You taught me the ways of a warrior."
"And now you are Commander."
"Who will teach me that?" Lexa asked, frowning. "As you were my mentor, would you--?"
"No." Anya didn't even have to think twice. "You would need a wise council for that. Not myself."
"Anya, I trust you and you only with my life...I cannot take tutelage from anyone else—"
"Yes, you can, and you will. You must."
"Anya—"
"I will assemble your council. Believe me, if I thought I could stay on and tutor you, I would—but I cannot. I have given you everything I know. There are those who know much more than myself." Anya smiled at her. "You have always been a bright child. People already attach the word 'revolutionary' to your name."
"I want to spend my days in Polis advised by you."
"You and I know I have duties back with the Trikru," Anya said. "Trust me."
"I do trust you."
"Look at you."
Anya was never one for motherly pride—but as she gripped Lexa by her slim, toned arms, she could not help but admire the intricate delicacy of her outfit. It screamed 'Heda'. Lexa was sixteen, and if she was Anya's daughter, she would not be able to give Lexa up at such a tender age to such a savage job of overseeing the Grounders. But Lexa did not have those parents to give up. Surprising both herself and Lexa, she pulled Lexa in for a tight embrace and closed her eyes as Lexa instantly stopped resisting and hugged her back as if she had been waiting her entire life for this moment.
"Ste yuj, Lexa," Anya whispered in her ear.
Lexa smiled. "Ste yuj, Anya."
Polis was near-completion with the exception of a few more houses. That, she trusted Konner with. Urgent news had summoned them to Trikru territory—back home—as Anya and Indra reported in their letters of hostile land theft. Lexa had told Gustus to take his time in the stables saddling the horses as she climbed the walls, nodding at her Chief City Guard, and for the very first time, looked over her city.
Her fingers traced over the wall-walk and the top of the merlons, and she felt Trikru sweat and exhaustion penetrate her system. She watched the candle burn atop the Polisian tower: a beacon of hope and light for all those lost in the darkness. She heard laughter and boisterous singing below, an indicator that the inn was swinging in full-action. She had been birthed from the trees and raised by the forest, but she'd placed her heart and soul into making Polis everything she'd promised it to be.
"Heda," Gustus called up, and Lexa leaned over the gap between the merlons and peered down at him. He waved up at her. "The horses are ready."
"I wish you could join me up here," Lexa shouted back down at him. "This view..."
"We are running low on time, Heda," Gustus said regrettably. "Heda, I beg your company when we return, and we will watch over this city at sundown."
Lexa grinned down at him. "Let's go home, Gustus."
Gustus never got to see the views of Polis from the wall-walk.
"You should come with me to the capital. Polis will change the way you think about us."
"You already have."
Lexa stared blankly at the spot she'd reserved for Clarke. She rested her torch in a sconce and sat with her knees drawn to her chest. A surprising number of people had participated in submitting their works of art to the art-house, and it looked basic but beautiful that way. Yet there was always one empty space, and Lexa wondered if would remain empty forever.
She had reserved a spot and a tin of pastels, charcoal and chalk for Clarke. It rested just beneath the reserved space, and it was all Lexa could think about.
Tonight she had watched families reunited with their husbands, sons, wives, mothers—it had been the blessed day of giving, so folklore now said, for war had returned their soldiers safe and sound to those who prayed. Lives had been lost, but to witness the majority fall back had been a wonder itself.
Lexa knew tomorrow would bring whispers of the Mountain slayer. Indra had already relayed the news to her, and in Polis, news spread like a disease. She knew from tomorrow onwards, she would have to fight to prove her strength; she would have to think of a long-term strategy to ensure her position on the throne.
Briefly, she didn't want it anymore. All Commandership had brought her was hurt. It had broken her heart—twice, now. Seeing weeping families reunited with their loved ones was a strong reminder of why this crusade was so important. Lexa knew that if she was to be seen as weak or strong by her people, it mattered neither way—so long as her people were safe, then she had done her duty. So long as her people were happy, she had done her duty. But selfishly, it had crept up on her. The idea of love. The idea of that co-existing with her duty. The idea that one day, Clarke would come to Polis and Lexa would be able to kiss her again, to taste the stars and the skies she'd dreamt of since she was a little girl, once more. She had allowed weakness to seep into her soul. She thought of Clarke and she thought of watching the sun set with her by her beloved wall-walk. She longed to introduce Clarke to her new class of Nightbloods, particularly Aden, who had proven himself to be promising and strong.
Mostly, Lexa thought as she gazed hollowly at the brick wall before her with a crass 'KLARK' scrawled over it, she wished she could see Clarke's drawings again. Here. In Polis. She had left her soul here; she wanted Clarke to carve right into it. She wanted Clarke's world and the way she saw it and drew it marking her from the inside, just like her Ascension day back markings and her clan affiliation. Except they were on flesh.
Wanheda, Indra reported back to her. The Commander of Death. Indra had told her the filtered down story of what Clarke had done that day, and Lexa hoped with all her might it hadn't been true. All Indra could say beyond that was that the Mountain People were a threat no longer.
Lexa knew what would ensue. She had hoped political games—especially ones including Clarke—would stop after they took the Mountain. She had hoped she would storm the Mountain and bloodily avenge her People and rescue them—with Clarke. But when Emerson had crawled up to her, smirking like he'd already won (and he had) with a deal that was impossible to refuse, Lexa felt her hope fade away. She would win all of her warriors back, but she would lose the heart she'd tentatively passed to Clarke the day prior. She reunite soldiers and families, but not even Polis' big, burning beacon of hope could rescue her from the haunting visions that flashed before her, of Clarke's tearful eyes, and the pleading tremor in her voice.
Indra would find her in the same spot tomorrow, staring at the same space, her eyes hollowed out in fatigue and heartache. And Lexa kom Trikru would fight.
"I draw you with your class of Nightbloods," Clarke said, smiling at Lexa. "We just...me and Titus...we just observed that day. And you were so different. You—you had this fun gentle loving bit of cheek, and I just...It was the first picture that came to me, so vibrantly. So I drew it."
Lexa stared, mouth nearly falling open, at Clarke's drawing. It covered the entire space and it was as if she had taken a snap-shot and put it on the wall of Lexa's art-house. Clarke, smudged with charcoal and pastel and all sorts over her plain tunic, grinned proudly at her.
"It's beautiful," Lexa said without realising. "It's..."
"...You," Clarke finished for her.
Lexa turned to look at her, and found she had absolutely nothing to say. It seemed so long ago now, that Roan had found the realm's Wanheda. It seemed an age ago she'd killed Nia; that she'd introduced Clarke to Aden. It seemed like a lifetime ago Titus had accidentally shot her, and she'd woken, parched and witness to Clarke's flowing tears. She shed them whilst she was unconscious and she shed them as she woke up. "There was no winning with her," Aden had told Lexa exasperatedly.
She internalised her laugh, and reached over to hold Clarke's hand.
"I will never leave you," she promised lowly.
Clarke bit her lip. "You could've promised me that before you got shot. We can't predict everything in life, Lexa."
"No, we can't."
"We can't give up our obligations to our people. You definitely can't. It's not like we can just run."
"No. We can't."
"Will you stop with those repetitive answers?"
"Sorry," Lexa apologised, holding her hands up. "I just can't stop thinking."
"About what?"
"This."
Lexa took Clarke's cheeks with both hands of hers and kissed her gently, her lower lip gently tugging on Clarke's for permission. Coaxing her mouth open, she slipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth, eliciting a quiet moan from her. She would kiss Clarke forever; here; on the wall-walk; in their bedroom. She would hold Clarke forever. She would love Clarke forever. Lexa eagerly deepened their kiss, aware of the hot, shooting pain in her abdomen—and wincing as it poked at her. Leaning in for another kiss, she found Clarke's head moving back slightly as she watched Lexa out of concern.
"Slowly," Clarke told her. She squeezed Lexa's hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
Lexa nodded. "Neither am I. My soul is in Polis; my heart is with you. Where am I to go?"
Clarke smiled, and rested her forehead against Lexa's. Sometimes, she was an idiot. Most of the time, Clarke enjoyed falling in love with her over and over again
Have you read the clexa hsau "On luck's side"??! I feel like you might like it!
I have honestly not heard of it at all from anyone (and I don’t know what a hsau is ?? lol) and I have zero idea what it’s about. I must admit I have read very few FF (I lack the time) but I’m sure it’s great if you are recommending it. Thanks!
prompt - Clarke returning to Arkadia, Lexa visiting months later but is attacked on the way and seriously injured plus Abby figuring out Clarke loves her
Thanks. I can’t guarantee I’ll write it or when -- I’ll try when I have time. But I’ll post it out there if anyone wants to take it as well as a prompt. hopefully I’ll get round to it anon :)
Prompt: “GETTING MARRIED AND HONEYMOON. Finally, I remembered one of the things I'd always wanted done. (preferably canon)”
"Clarke? Clarke kom Skaikru?"
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Clarke groaned as she rolled over in bed. Her arm flopped out and realised Lexa wasn't on the other side, and the hammering on the door continued. It was a boy's voice—and after a few beats of "Clarke kom Skaikru", she recognised it as Aden's. Rolling her eyes, she decided she was not ready for whatever bullshit he was pulling today—yet, and she would smack herself later, she flung the door open, her messy hair resembling a lion's mane and her face resembling...thunder.
Aden, smartly dressed, nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh no," he said disapprovingly, shoving into the room. Offended, Clarke opened her mouth, and then Aden's entrance was followed by a group of maids. He spoke to them. "Will you please make her look presentable?" They muttered something in Trigedasleng and Clarke, folding her arms, waited. Aden tried to keep it quiet. "Well—at least make her look like a human!"
Shit-head.
"Is that possible?" Aden carried on, because clearly he hadn't been laid yet. "Yes? Alright—if possible, can you do it within the hour?"
They spoke as if Clarke was not there.
"Two hours?" Aden's gaze flickered from Clarke to the floor, and nodded. "I'll give you three."
"Wow," Clarke snapped, "Way to make a girl feel comfortable!"
"I was just trying—"
"Pass me my bra."
"Er—this—bra commodity you speak of, what does it look like?"
"Oh, God."
Clarke shucked off her tunic and Aden physically turned around in embarrassment, nearly tripping over his two feet as she slipped her bra on, quickly got changed into her everyday breeches and snatched a comb from one of the maids. "Let's go."
Aden looked aghast. "But—"
"Go."
Aden extended his arm for Clarke to take as they descended the never-ending staircase of the Polisian tower. A crap design, she liked to remind Lexa, who would roll her eyes every time.
Since the quashing of Ice Nation's rebellion, Lexa had welcomed Echo as the new Ice Queen, with her stepping into the previous Queen's shoes. It was unstable. Echo and Lexa's ethics regularly collided, but Echo was far more accommodating than her predecessor. What happened up North was far away from the worries of Polis, the clan leaders advised, but Lexa had been adamant that the civilians up North got the same privileges and rights as the Polisians, the Trikru...
Aden noted the blistering sunlight outside the windows as they traipsed downstairs. "We could get you better-dressed," Aden suggested.
"D'you think I look shabby as I am?" Clarke asked.
"...No..."
"Then I'll go dressed as this. I'm assuming Lexa wants to see me."
"Not yet!" Aden blabbed, mentally slapping himself. Think on your feet. Improvise. Anticipate and parry. Okay. Jab. "I need to do something first."
"I thought—"
"It isn't urgent. If you don't mind..." Aden played the sob-story in his head, and then he clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head. "I need to do some shopping for my mother. The Commander is engaged for the time-being, hence why I asked for a few hours, but—my mother—she rarely sees the sunlight for she is cooped up inside for so long. Could you...?"
Clarke gripped his wrist, and squeezed lightly. "Aden, of course. Come on."
Lexa dismounted, wiping the sweat from her brow. It had been a hellish day (or night). As soon as Clarke had fallen asleep—and she fell deeply asleep—Lexa had slipped away from the bed, nodding towards Jona, her chief City Guard by the gate. Jona had already saddled her horse and wished her a nervous "good luck".
It seemed, as Lexa arrived by the gates to the Ark crowded by Abby, Kane, Raven, Octavia, Bellamy, Monty, Jasper and Harper—that judgement day had arrived.
"Uh," she had began, very un-Commander-ish of her. "I would like an audience with Abby Griffin alone, please, if I may."
"Intention?" Harper was the girl by the gates, Lexa assumed. She did not know all of Clarke's friends.
"Confidential."
"I can't let you in without—"
"It's fine," Abby said, stepping forward to unbolt the gate. It was 3am, and the Commander of the coalition didn't just ride here, alone, in the middle of the night, for no reason. If there was intent to harm, Lexa would've slain them all by now. "Commander, please step inside."
Abby had been calm and cordial in escorting Lexa to her personal chambers, ignoring Marcus Kane's concern. She'd brushed him off and Lexa respected that. She knew Abby Griffin as a trustworthy figure—she was a healer after all, and what were they except goodness? Kane was reasonable and fair, but he was also a politician. Lexa could empathise with him. But she knew that whatever Abby Griffin projected tonight, it would be straight from the heart—quite like her daughter.
Lexa made polite but short conversation as they walked, trying to recite the books she'd read on the topic. Their book-house was forged from stories told of the old Commanders, poetry written decades ago, and some books that had been foraged and found and returned to Polis as relics of the old earth.
Books could only get Lexa so far, though.
"You—you want to marry Clarke?" Abby repeated in disbelief, hanging her head in shock. Lexa's ears reddened, knowing Clarke's friends would be outside the door, their ears pressed to the solid surface. "Commander Lexa, I...just..."
"Please," Lexa said, "Let me explain."
Abby relented, waving her arms frantically. "Please do."
Lexa swallowed hard, and began pacing the room—which did not help Abby, who'd sat down on the edge of her bed as if she was about to collapse. She respected Abby's stance in this: she remembered Lexa as the heartless Commander who had left her daughter for death at Mount Weather. Despite Clarke's residence in Polis, Lexa could try and sympathise with a mother's dilemma. Empathy—maybe not. Clarke was happy. Clarke smiled and laughed and played with the kids in the Square. But Abby was not privy to this.
"I have been made aware that some customs of the old earth have stayed with the Sky people," Lexa started hesitantly, trying to remember Aden's five pages of scribbly notes. "I am also aware that when two people love each other, it is customary to gift your loved one and ask for their hand."
Abby nodded silently, her jaw still slack. Lexa angled her head for a verbal response, but she received nothing. Slightly exasperated, but in full knowledge that she had to appear courteous, not like she had a bad case of constipation, Lexa plucked courage from thin air.
"I was also made aware that it is etiquette one must approach their loved one's father—or in Clarke's case, mother—to permit such a big ask."
"Uh-huh," Abby said faintly. "Have you been reading Georgian novels?"
"Have I—excuse me?"
"Never mind," Abby hastened. "Are you asking me if it's okay to marry Clarke? Wait—" she said again, before Lexa could open her mouth. "You want to marry...Clarke?"
"She may not agree to take my hand," Lexa provided helpfully. "In such a case, my feelings for her will not fade. I will still love your daughter as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west."
Abby stared at her. The impossible answer would be "no". Clarke and Lexa would bench it anyway—but she didn't want to say no to this sparkly-eyed, hopeful Commander. Kane had been right. She was a revolutionary. And Abby's desire to throttle Lexa for what occurred at Mount Weather would never go away, but the fact that Lexa had ridden all the way here just to ask for permission was something Abby didn't want to let go. She had not seen Clarke's face in so long; she had not heard from Clarke at all. But if Lexa was here, she could feel Clarke's smile; her laugh...
"I will have a carriage arranged for her to discuss it with you if you wish," Lexa said quickly, and Abby snapped out of her thoughts. "I understand it's difficult without Clarke actually—"
"You know Clarke, Commander," Abby laughed. "Do you really think I'd have much sway in whether she says yes or no?"
Lexa smiled reluctantly. Abby had a point.
"Your ways," Abby murmured, "don't always agree with what I think is right. I think you know that. Maybe our ways aren't right either. But you rode all the way here, alone, just to ask me a question."
"In all fairness, Abby kom Skaikru, it is not just a—"
"I know. But you asked."
"I wanted to."
"She's barely an adult." Abby closed her eyes, and Lexa watched awkwardly as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. She did not move to comfort her; that was too strange. And she could not empathise either. Her Nightbloods—the youngest being seven—could assume command at any given minute. Childhood did not mean weakness, and though Abby seemed to mentally cradle Clarke like a baby, Lexa would not forget the three hundred warriors this child had scorched to death. She would not forget Mount Weather. She would not forget the fury and then the anguish on Clarke's face as she tried to kill her with a concealed knife.
She would not forget. Yet here she was, because she loved.
"I'd be giving my daughter to you," Abby said heavily, and she was not ashamed of the tears flowing from her eyes. Lexa found she did not care. "Commander, I trust you with her life—but I don't know if I trust you with this. And this is her life."
When Lexa rode for Polis in the early hours of the morning, beckoning her horse to pound faster through the forest, she wondered how she would cope with her heart exploding tomorrow.
Aden, it turned it, was a rubbish liar. He'd brought a singular apple from the fruit market, a bottle of wine ("for my mother"), a swishy bracelet which he gifted Clarke with ("for the future!") and then double-backed to the fruit market only to spend over an hour asking what the odd-looking ones were, and then buying one.
As if Aden was controlled by some sort of switch, he decided they would take a walk. By now, Clarke was exasperated and tired enough to consider punching the boy's lights out, until they made it to the wall. Jona, a familiar face, grinned broadly at her.
"Mochof, Aden," Jona said.
"Good luck, Clarke kom Skaikru!" Aden said cheerily as he left, waving.
Clarke was completely lost, and Jona was of no help either. She spoke in riddles, and Clarke was baffled as to why everyone was being so goddamn cryptic around her all day. This was mainly Aden and his suspiciously suspicious gazes. Clarke noted the beautiful sunset, with the oranges and yellows merging with the lilacs and pinks of the sky. Another day fading, and another day on the brink tomorrow. Jona led her up the stairs to the wall-walk, and Clarke stopped in her tracks.
Lexa, dressed only in simple but smart black garb, swivelled on the spot to face her. Her hair was braided back neatly, her face slightly pale. In one hand, she held a braid of hair. The other was shoved inside a pocket. Jona left them, muttering under her breath. In the distance they both heard her yell for the guards to block passage to the wall-walk.
"Clarke," she greeted, too formally. Clarke nearly balked. What the fuck was going on? Was Lexa in on this weird ass trip too? "I...hope you are well?"
"What?" Clarke threw her arms up in the air. "Are you part of this too? Is someone gonna come and shove some mud in my face 'cause it's clearly prank Clarke day?"
"Excuse me? No!" Lexa's bafflement was genuine, and she hastily held out the familiar-looking braid of hair. Clarke stared at it, memories of water, memories of a muddy Anya—all crashing into her like a tidal wave. For some reason, Lexa had brought her up here again. "Do you remember this?"
"It's Anya's lock of hair," Clarke said quietly. "I kept it for you."
She wondered if it was Anya's name-day today, or if there was some particular reason—
"That was the first time I met you." Lexa's tone was soft, and hesitantly, she trudged over towards Clarke. Her words were not as smooth and confident as Clarke was accustomed to. "I remembered your flowing light hair and your sky-blue eyes, and I wondered if she'd fallen as a product of my wishes. A cruel lesson was when I realised that no, it was not. But I ask you here today because I asked your mother, who said yes—"
"You—saw my mom?"
"Yes. And I told her I loved you. I—love—you. Do you remember, when we were last here? When the sun slept and we watched over Polis—our city—swell with life?"
Clarke felt a lump grow in her throat. "Yes."
"I want to see that every day with you," Lexa said simply. "I want to wake in the morning with you by my side. I want to kiss you until I cannot, because I've fallen asleep. I want to remind you with every waking moment that I love you. Ai hod yu in, Klark kom Skaikru."
"Yes." Clarke didn't know what else to say, her eyes stinging with emotion. It was not sadness—no, it definitely was not. It was a sense of impossibility suddenly becoming possibility. They had always been inevitable together; they had never been possible—not without their duties blocking their ways. And Clarke knew despite this—whatever Lexa was going to ask, and whatever Aden had been clearly distracting her from today, that the rule would remain in place. Lexa was a lover of her people, but in her heart—which was bigger than she knew—she had carved a space for Clarke, too. "I love you too, Lexa."
"Then be mine, as I am yours," Lexa said. She moved closer, and then knelt on the gravelly ground. Clarke stared down at her, stunned. Her heart felt as if it had stopped. "I want my eternity to be intertwined with yours. I declare my heart as yours. I vow to treat your people as mine; I vow to caress your body and soul with nothing but love."
Holy shit... "Lexa, you don't need to do this—"
"I love you. As a storm may brew ahead for us one day, I will not let you fall away from me. My duty as the Commander is to my people; my duty as Lexa kom Trikru is to ask for your hand in betrothal, for I am utterly captivated by you. Every day I am more and more enamoured by your smile. Every day my hands smooth over your skin and I am entranced. Every day my heart swells when I think of you. Clarke kom Skaikru, would you do me the honour of joining your heart to mine?"
Abby's ring, gifted to her by Jake, was now on Clarke's finger. She glanced at it, and back at Lexa, who smiled at her.
That night, they made love. Clarke had never wished to be married, but here she was. And she kissed Lexa as she her lithe body crawled up Clarke's, tasting herself on Lexa's tongue. That night, they made love and that night, they worshipped each other.
"Where are we going?"
"A little patience," Lexa teased her as she tested her new horse. It was pitch-black, named Thunder, and they trotted at a leisurely pace. Clarke's arms wrapped around Lexa's waist, resting her chin against the crook of Lexa's neck as she rode. As they rode, Clarke took in the beauty of the Trikru territory—the plains just outside of the Polisian walls, the lake, and the forestry.
It was buried deep within the forest, but Lexa finally tsked at Thunder and dismounted easily, hoisting Clarke off the horse too. She quickly tied Thunder up, scruffing him by the neck, and Clarke studied the sight before her.
There was a very modest hut before her.
Clarke noticed how green the grass was, and how fresh the lake seemed to be. The hut was shoddily put together, as if it had been a single-man job. It lacked the grandiose of Polis—that was for sure. But in there were trees nearby that grew apples, and Lexa plucked one off said tree and chomped hungrily into it. Clarke didn't even have the time to warn her about sanitation before she picked one for herself, rubbed a little consciously at it, and then bit into it. It was crisp and juicy, and she let out a moan of appreciation. Lexa's head snapped back and she smiled lopsidedly at her.
"What is this place?" Clarke asked in wonder. If anyone wanted banishment, they should definitely come here—that was the thought running through Clarke's mind. It was nicely done-up, and it was surrounded by life—life that was charmingly silent, compared to the hustle and bustle of Polis' City Square.
"A reprieve," Lexa said. "Even the Commander needs one sometimes."
"How did you find it?"
"It found me." Lexa, even after her grand, dramatic proposal on the wall-work of Polis, had clearly not lost the knack for a cryptic word puzzle. "Now it has found us."
"Well, you rode towards it. So I'd argue otherwise."
Lexa was not amused.
Together, they cracked the door open and Clarke marvelled at how clean it was; she supposed Lexa must've ridden for this place and given it a good tidy before Clarke's arrival. There were fresh sheets and fur placed over the bed, with pastels and charcoal in a tin marked "KLARK" resting in the corner on top of a well-constructed desk. Other than that, everything else was basic. She assumed they would catch dinner in the woods or in the lake, and cook outside. The only other luxury Lexa had allowed was a fresh sketchbook, and far too many candles.
"It creates ambience," Lexa said when she saw the look on Clarke's face. "Sometimes there is a middle setting that is required between the bolstering sunlight and the pitch black darkness of the night."
"It's called sunset, Lexa."
"Yes, sunset. I like sunset."
Clarke wasn't quite sure how to argue that back. Instead, she flopped onto the bed, and revelled in some space to just sprawl over and spread her limbs. The journey from here to Polis had been long, and she closed her eyes momentarily.
Without really thinking, a small smile spread across her face. Lexa had effectively proposed on the wall-walk, requesting they join their lives together. In many ways, Clarke figured they had unofficially married months ago. But Lexa was a stickler for tradition. She did not even want to know how many books she'd leafed through trying to figure out what Skaikru tradition was. She still needed to ask Abby what had been said—or if her mother would start vomiting rainbows at the mention.
"Are you happy?"
Lexa's voice was gentle when she asked it, and when Clarke's eyes slowly opened, Lexa had cocked her head to gaze at her curiously. Clarke couldn't help but fiddle with her mom's old ring. If this was the only message Abby could get out to Clarke in a long time, then it had worked. She knew of the depth of love between their parents.
"I'm with you," Clarke answered.
"Does—does that make you happy?"
"It makes me think you're an idiot for asking."
"I won't touch your heart except only to caress it," Lexa promised her, just like she had on the walls of Polis, overlooking her city. "I brought you here to get away from it all. Soon we will have to return to being the Commander and Wanheda respectively. But here, no-one will find us; no-one will hear us. Here, it is safe to shuck off the skin of a Commander and wear one of Lexa kom Trikru. Likewise, it is the same with you."
Clarke indulged herself in the idea, her natural greed coming to the forefront as she wished this could be their eternity. Lexa being her eternity was more than enough...but Lexa was not always Lexa in Polis. Sometimes, she had to execute decisions as simply the Commander. Sometimes it was not Lexa, but rather the Commander, who argued fervently over ethical issues of a situation. The promise of an escape—where Lexa could always be that tentative young woman who'd dared to open the portcullis to her heart in her tent—was entrancing.
This, she realised, was their honeymoon.
Clarke grinned when she realised, her grin slowly fading at the thought. Their honeymoon was this: a stolen moment of blissful freedom, where there were no politics, no betrayals, and no fighting. Their honeymoon was a world where only two of them existed as who they really were. One: a delinquent fallen from the sky, her eyes the colour of the world she no longer belonged in. Two: a woman with the world on her shoulders; a child of the forest and a beacon of hope for all future generations. Here they could forget genocide; betrayal; assassination; wilderness...
Here, they could revel in something Clarke had wanted, solely: Lexa.
"I'm happy," Lexa mused. She was perching on the edge of a chair, watching as Clarke spread-eagled on the bed. "You make me happy."
"Do I?"
"You make me smile."
"That's a first."
"It's true. You make me happy when you are here; when you're not here I think of you and you make me happy once more. Your kiss makes me invincible. Your embrace renders me at your disposal. You, Clarke, I love. If you'll accept this twisted heart of mine."
Clarke shifted on the bed, shuffling to one side as she rested the side of her face on her palm, lying on one side. "Your heart's not twisted, Lexa."
"Beyond repair," Lexa disagreed. "I wish my love could be gentler. But you find me scarred and ruthless and sometimes cruel."
"I find you human," Clarke said honestly. "If you were anything but, I wouldn't love you the way I do."
"How do you love me?"
"Do you want me to show you?"
Wordlessly, Lexa crawled onto the bed, and all of a sudden she was a virgin again. Clarke encouraged her, wondering how the most confident speaker in all of the realm could be reduced to this—but she did not know what was racking through Lexa's mind. Knowing Lexa, that was probably everything.
"You needn't kiss me any differently," Clarke murmured, as Lexa's hand rested on her hip. "When you kiss me, I feel everything. I always have."
And so Lexa kissed her.
She kissed her, gently, tentatively—just like the very first kiss they'd shared. It was an exploration; a test. Lexa kissed her as if she'd never kissed her before, her lips brushing tenderly over Clarke's as her grip on Clarke's waist tightened ever so slightly. Clarke cupped both of Lexa's cheeks in her hand and returned passionately, coaxing Lexa's lip open.
"Trust me," Clarke whispered against her mouth, and slipped her tongue in, brushing their noses together as they drew apart. She nibbled on Lexa's bottom lip, giggling softly at Lexa's rakish grin, and knocked their foreheads together. "We're in this together."
"The sky always joins the earth; it was a matter of destiny," Lexa said hoarsely. "It is of luck you are of the sky. Together I believe we can take the world back."
"Us two?"
"Maybe they'll write stories of us. Not of how we fought for peace, but of how we loved. How we broke each other and pieced each other back together. How we ruled the world because you believed in me, and I believed in you, and that candle never blew out."
"Maybe," Clarke agreed, "but I don't give a fuck about stories right now."
"No?"
"No."
Clarke kissed her again, surging up to meet Lexa's lips as they kissed properly this time, all cover of shyness and tenderness vanishing in an instant. She yanked Lexa by the waist, causing her to grunt in surprise as she involuntarily rolled over Clarke's body, straddling her hips. Clarke's hands roamed her body greedily as they wriggled out of their clothes, laughing as they tossed them anywhere and everywhere. Wanton fingernails sunk into the soft flesh of Lexa's ass, and Lexa shuddered as she dipped her head down, her kiss full of bite and tongue.
"Someone's keen," Clarke panted between kisses as Lexa ravished her. Her lips flew everywhere, from licking their way down the length of Clarke's neck to clamping her teeth down by her collarbone. With every kiss and lick and suck and bite, Clarke's back arched in pleasure, her head thrown back against the pillows as Lexa feasted on her, cherishing every contour of her body.
"You're so beautiful," Lexa mumbled against her sternum, her hands deftly pushing Clarke's underwear out of the way.
"Come here," Clarke beckoned.
Lexa, placing soft kisses on Clarke's breasts, gently clamped down on her nipple, her tongue swirling. She smiled at the way Clarke groaned in response, but she did as she was told, encouraged by Clarke's hand.
"Grab onto the headboard," Clarke said firmly.
"Clarke—"
"Heda."
Lexa had very few weaknesses, but Clarke calling her Commander—even if it was out of jest or just to get her own way—was far too easy. The power-trip she had was so stupidly immense that Clarke had to mock her for it—and the way she fell for it every time. Lexa's hands gripped tightly onto the railing of the headboard, her arm muscles rippling as she did so. Clarke placed her hands either side of Lexa's thighs, clamping down to hold her in position.
"Say it." Clarke had her own ways. "Say 'fuck me'."
Lexa obliged. "Fuck me."
"Mm." Clarke dipped her tongue in, feeling Lexa's growing wetness as she pressed the flat of her tongue hard against Lexa's lips. Her hips immediately jerked, but Clarke held her steady, gently tracing her tongue against the outer lips of Lexa's cunt.
"Please." Lexa was breathless as Clarke teased her, her teeth grazing against her inner thigh, her tongue swirling over the skin she bit. "Fuck me, Clarke."
Clarke's hands held her down as she thrust her tongue inside of her, satisfied all the way to the bottom of her belly and the overbearing ache between her legs as Lexa cried out in pleasure, bucking her hips as Clarke lapped up Lexa's wetness. She did not have to do a thing. She sucked at Lexa's sensitive clit, her darkened eyes flicking up to watch Lexa's sweaty body rock above hers, her forehead glistening with sweat. Her fists clenched harder against the headboard, and Clarke raked her fingernails up Lexa's back, digging her nails in so they'd leave scratch marks all over. She knew how sexy Lexa found it; how badly she wanted to be marred by Clarke's lust and affection. Lexa rolled her hips, desperately trying to keep up with Clarke's rhythm but Clarke wasn't doing a thing: it was all Lexa.
And it was a magical sight; the stuff of fantasies. Lexa, a goddess in her own right, throwing her head back as she came loudly in Clarke's mouth, her body spasming in sheer bliss. A mortal's tongue had driven a goddess crazy; a mortal's tongue had robbed the legendary Commander, a myth in centuries to come, speechless and dry-mouthed and buzzing with ecstasy as she came hard. If Lexa was a goddess, then Clarke was drinking the honeyed nectar.
Oh, but they were so human. It was why they hid from the world upon such an occasion; they 'married' in-secret, officiated by Kane and proudly escorted by her mother. Clarke thought with a laugh what her mother would say if she walked in on them now.
Lexa rolled off her, utterly spent and exhausted. She breathed hard, lolling her head back. Jok.
"This is why Sky people wish to become betrothed," Lexa deduced. Clarke was so in awe of watching her that she didn't even bother correcting how utterly and hilariously wrong Lexa was.
"Sure..."
"Here, we are Clarke and Lexa," Lexa said, heavy-lidded eyes filled to the brim with dark desire. She turned to face Clarke. "It is noon. I do not want to stop ravishing your body until the birds caw in the morning."
Clarke smirked at her. "Yeah?"
"I will make love to you," Lexa said softly, and then she said: "then I will—" she tested the word on her lips, "—fuck you. I will do it so hard you will scream my name so loud that the Polisians will wonder who is calling from the Trikru territory."
"You're all words," Clarke laughed, raking a hand through her sweaty hair. "If you could, you'd do it."
"I do not make promises I cannot keep."
It took them four days to ride back to Polis as they both complained of an ache down there as they rode Thunder.
So this was how a Grounder-Skaikru wedding would be like, then...
A series of conversations Aden will not forget. (Aka chapters 3 and 5 here).
PART I. CLARKE AND ADEN
Lexa was, of course, too obstinate to die by a bullet wound to a non-fatal organ.
Clarke tried explaining to Aden that that wasn't how medical science worked, but his head was stuck in the clouds as he marvelled at how superior his Commander was. The boy had not left Lexa's (and thus Clarke's) side for two days, but in those two days he had managed to banish Titus from the capital for treachery and the illegal carrying of a weapon (none other than a Skaikru weapon, and so there had been no need for a trial). He'd also managed to forge a heavy crew of guards at the bottom of the tower, spear-headed by Indra, who he'd removed from watching the barricade.
"The Skaikru can fend for themselves," had been Aden's exact words. "If they want to face the Ice Nation first, then they can be my guest. We have our Heda to wake up."
The clan leaders had all agreed quickly to the idea. In Titus' absence, the diplomatic speaking went straight to Aden, who would pass the message on to Nyko, who would read it stonily every day. Aden was a master of words considering his age, though Nyko's delivery lacked the sort of oomph Lexa just seemed to possess.
Since Lexa hadn't passed, the coalition had stalled. They could not kickstart another Nightblood trial because the Commander was not proclaimed dead. Not one clan leader could step into position as the Commander, because nobody wanted to disrespect Lexa's position (or face her annoyance when she woke). So they had murmured and whispered and fretted until Aden suggested they voted for one of the Nightbloods to step in, after explaining that they had undergone rigorous teaching and training under the Commander. Thus Aden had swiftly been drafted in as the young Commander Regent, impatiently. Clarke noted the clan leaders had not seen any of the other Nightbloods, or known any of the others by name.
It was a messy situation.
Yet the coalition, the Arkadia barricade, and Ontari—everything the clan leaders seemed to worry over day in and day out—were the last of Clarke's worries. It made her feel endlessly guilty, because this was Lexa's entire life of work they were hastily sweeping under the rug for now, but the only thing Aden and Clarke truly worried for was the protection of their Commander. Clarke kept her gun with her as she slept, and Aden kept his sword sheathed in its scabbard as he slept, both curled up in their respective armchairs on each side of Lexa's bed.
Lexa was also too much of an ass to wake up within a day or two, or even three, and so Clarke and Aden found themselves hesitantly then quickly warming to each other's company every morning they woke up and greeted each other over their Commander's near-dying body.
And they liked to talk.
"You just feel it," Clarke said, fumbling for words. Aden had taken the first swing in firing off a heavy question. "I...don't think what Lexa and I have is exactly what you, and, um, what's her name--?"
"Hemla," Aden said, his ears reddening.
"Yeah. I don't think—I mean, maybe you—are too young." Clarke shrugged, as Aden's eyes narrowed in doubt. "When I was your age, I swear I thought I was going out with about three different people at the same time, and I'd only kissed one of them." Plus I was in space, she wanted to add, but Aden was flustered enough.
"I haven't kissed her," Aden said, hushing the word 'kiss' as if it was some scandal. "I can't be that crass most immediately." He waited for an answer. "...Isn't that correct?"
"Well." Clarke was definitely not someone Aden needed to have this conversation with. Now, and she couldn't believe it, more than ever, she wished Lexa was awake. She was far better with words than her, and closer to Aden than her. And they were talking about this across Lexa's sleeping form, mirroring each other's stances as they pulled their armchairs closer to the side of her bed to talk. "Sometimes you get caught up in the moment and the kiss just...happens."
"What moment?" Aden probed eagerly. "Perhaps if I bought some flowers? Her mother is the best florist in Polis. She is my mother's friend. Aya said that Herst picked her daisies and she just knew it felt right when they kissed."
Clarke took a long gulp out of the mug of wine she'd poured herself. Aden had taken the liberty of bringing up cases and cases of the heady Polisian liquor—probably to loosen her tongue, the little shit. "No," she said, a little too firmly. "I mean—you don't make a moment. It just happens."
"It happens with a flower," Aden decided, "That's what Aya said."
"That's not what happens."
"Is that because it was different with you and the Commander?" Aden veered the conversation back on track again. He supposed 'how do you know you're in love, like you're in love with my Commander?' had been a rather deep question to fire off first, but Aden respected the element of surprise. "What was your moment?"
Clarke drained her mug empty and poured herself another, nearly spilling the liquid. "No," she said again, and this time, it was her cheeks reddening. "Everyone has different moments with different people. You don't just have a staple 'moment'."
"But what was yours?" he pressed. "Did you unfurl a flower for her?"
Clarke stared blankly at him, then at Lexa, then back to him, hoping that in the time she'd taken to do so, an answer would crop up. But there was no answer. There had not been a singular moment and there wasn't...not. She knew instantly if she blabbed that out, Aden would conjure up a thousand other questions so she stayed silent. By now she had figured she might as well tell him, because Aden was not leaving this room and neither was Clarke, until Lexa woke. Yet as she searched for the truth, she found she did not have the answer, or an answer Aden would probably find satisfactory. There was not a singular moment. There had been many. So many. There had been moments that had happened in real-time, and moments she looked back on in hindsight, and had fallen for Lexa all over again. It messed up her way back and forth with time.
Now she thought of their first meeting in the tent, she could see two versions of herself; the version now, and the version untarnished by events that had yet to unfold. She had felt intimidated but bold, fearful yet determined. Now all she could think of was how she yearned for everything to just go back to the start, and to walk down an entirely different path with Lexa. Now the tent was stuffy and intoxicating because Lexa's confidence and power attracted her; now she shuddered at the way Lexa closed the gap between them, standing tall and mighty with the throne as her backdrop.
Clarke's mind and senses had been invaded by Lexa since the start. It may have manifested itself in various ways in the past, but Lexa had never been apart from her, truly. Not when she was so vivid and irreplaceable in her head. Now she thought of that alternate path she'd wanted to journey down with Lexa, and took it away. And then pieced it back together. She wondered if all paths would converge at a point where they kissed in Lexa's chambers, sunlight bathing them through her windows as the sadness of parting meshed with months of longing, and blossomed into desperate, raw want. The urge to kiss Lexa again filled her mind, and Clarke drained her second mug of wine, utterly lost by the memory of Lexa's lips against hers, so soft, so welcoming, and so loving. She could see Lexa pushed down on the bed, staring up at her in a silent ask of permission. Clarke had never been gazed upon so reverently, not the way Lexa had looked up at her that day.
Or had she? Had she always been looked at like that? As she slept whilst Lexa kept watch after the pauna, had Lexa watched her so? Clarke knew that as she'd absent-mindedly sketched Lexa in her slumber, she had felt her own gaze piercing deep of desire. She wondered how many times Lexa may have looked at her as if she held the world in her palm. She wondered how many times Lexa had missed her do it to her, too.
"Ambassador?"
Clarke snapped from her daze, swallowing hard. The lump in her throat robbed her of the ability to speak. Aden tilted his head in expectation, curious. But the way Clarke's eyes softened, and briefly flicked to an unconscious Lexa—
"You love her very much," Aden said quietly, internally slapping himself for asking that question so soon.
"When you stop just struggling for survival," Clarke said instead, "and start struggling solely for living. That is your moment."
Aden stared at her, the sentence obviously flying over his youthful head. And Clarke nearly laughed, because he was so young, and so naive, and everything Clarke was the moment she'd met Lexa. Idealistic, trusting, so desperate to be good. He was handsome, his angular face sweet and strong, and Clarke knew when Aden matured there would be women and men falling at his feet. She allowed herself a sprinkle of naivety and hoped that Hemla would still be.
"I don't think you really know. Think of it like a storm," Clarke began, "That initial rush: think of it as a storm. I don't think you fully appreciate everything that's built up to the storm until the storm passes, and everything's clear."
"And you stand in the rubble the storm leaves?" Aden provided.
"Right." Clarke brooded over that for a moment, and pulled another mug out. This time, she poured for both of them and handed a mug over to Aden too, careful not to spill the liquid over Lexa's body. She had been a blizzard; a hurricane, tearing her world apart until there was nothing but wreckage and ruin. She'd rampaged through her soul until Clarke was forced to bear it raw and naked to both Lexa and herself. She'd been a complete blindside, but it had been brewing ever since Lexa took that first step towards her in that tent. "The moment you start appreciating the beauty of all the shit that you're made of, that you can rebuild and survive and still want, then I think you know. And sometimes it's too late." Her gaze fell upon Lexa again. "Sometimes there's still room to hope it's not."
There was no answer from Aden's end, who decided to rob himself of the necessity to form a sentence by hastily gulping down his mug of wine. He grimaced at the taste, but he forced the head-spinning liquor down his throat anyway until it sat warm in his belly. His head filled with thoughts of Hemla, and also everything he'd seen between his Commander and the Skaikru Ambassador. He'd seen smiles and stares he'd never seen anywhere else, and when he dared to really look at Clarke again, she looked immeasurably sad.
Aden wrestled down a burp. "I don't think I have that with Hemla." Clarke startled at the sound of his voice, and he apologised for breaking her out of her trance. She did it a lot. "I mean, what you have with the Commander."
Clarke laughed, not humourlessly, but not happily either, and she shook her head. "I didn't think I had what I have with your Commander until..."
"You love her," Aden said simply. He raised his mug. "I think we can drink to that."
Clarke raised her mug too.
"What are the Nightblood lessons like?" Clarke asked curiously, as she rubbed her still sleepy eyes. The morning did not fail to wake them. The Commander's chambers were filled with sunlight, and Clarke wondered if it was purposefully designed like that to automatically wake Lexa up. Not this morning, she thought a little hopelessly, reaching to squeeze Lexa's cold hand. It was almost ritualistic now. Aden was already combing his hair in front of a mirror, fully awake. "I only saw the back-end of one of them, but there's a big class of you."
"It looks big, but we know each other closely," Aden said. "It also means I get my daily dose of teasing for the way I look at Hemla. Or Evie. Or Mia. Literally anyone. My heart is with Hemla! Even Heda subjects me to it sometimes," he added glumly.
"I'm so sorry for you," Clarke laughed, and Aden quirked a smile. "I mean, what is the structure? I know there are those three pillars: compassion, wisdom and strength. Do you just go over those again and again until it's drilled into you?"
"No, no. It is part of us, the moment we're born," Aden told her. "The lessons serve as a way for us to regroup and converse with each other, and with the Commander. We ask questions, and she defers it to a discussion. Sometimes she sets a scenario in the beginning for us to work our way through, but it's always an open floor discussion. Sometimes it is physical, and we move to the sparring pits for that."
"Okay. So—if you had to sort of...standardise it," Clarke said slowly, "What'd be your average lesson?"
"There is no average lesson."
Okay. Damn. "Then...what was your favourite lesson?"
Aden put his comb aside and went to his seat. They'd permanently hitched up on either side of Lexa's bed now, and conversing over her seemed to relieve them both. They both knew they were deepening the bond between them, and it had been something Clarke wanted to do for Lexa. She knew how much Lexa cared for him. But Lexa often believed that out of darkness came light; Lexa's situation was dire, but it had given Clarke Aden. She hadn't needed to force it. And that lifted her heart a little. Conversing with Aden was never a burden. The more they spoke, the deeper she understood just why Lexa was so fond of him. He was witty, articulate and smart, and his heart was nearly as big as Lexa's.
"That's a difficult one. I don't think I've ever had a lesson that I haven't enjoyed," Aden admitted, bunching his face up in thought. "I suppose when the lessons take a turnaround and we get to question the Commander. They're always fun. Most of the time they're educational."
"You little twerps turn it back on her?" Clarke laughed, tipping her head back. "Oh my God. Go on: tell me your Commander's deepest, darkest secret."
Aden grinned, and teased: "Do you want BC or AC?"
"What?"
"We call them—" He leaned in, as if confiding in Clarke a secret, so Clarke took the obvious bait and leant in, playing along. Aden snickered, "Before Clarke and After Clarke."
Clarke nearly snorted, smacking Aden's arm as he lazed back into his seat, clearly pleased with himself. Cheeky sod. Clarke couldn't help but feel a little flustered, though, that even the Nightbloods knew enough to have nicknames for her. She knew it was somewhat shameless, but she liked that Lexa wasn't afraid to tell her Nightbloods the truth (she hoped not the entire truth) about their relationship. It was something that plagued her consistently. From Raven to Octavia to Bellamy to her own mother, everyone on 'her' side of things was wary of her relationship with Lexa. The fact that Lexa could talk so openly about it with her Nightbloods, despite her own faction growing anxious—the adult side—was...sweet.
"Let's go for AC," Aden decided, seeing the way Clarke's blush deepened to a wine-like crimson. He smirked at his dozing Commander, and knew she would reprimand him of his sharp tongue and then laugh at it. So if he was to understand his Commander's burning love, he would have to test her relentlessly first. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, mocking Lexa's posture on her throne and Clarke buried her face in her hands. "She would say: 'come now, you don't really want to talk about me, do you?' and we would all shout the contrary. So she'd be forced to tell tales. Though sometimes I wonder if she...decorated them a little. Because it always became a scenario for us to think through."
Clarke frowned, and wondered how Lexa could twist kissing in a tent into a lesson. "Erm...like what?"
"Like—did you really try to kill her with a knife?" Aden burst out, something he'd obviously wanted to know for real.
"She used that as an example?"
"The moral was to never betray someone you loved by a Mountain. I commented and said it was a rather specific scenario. I think the others agreed with me."
Clarke had no other questions.
"Go to sleep, Ambassador."
"You go to sleep, Aden. I can cover this."
"You have not slept in a day."
"Neither have you."
Aden and Clarke sunk in their armchairs either side of Lexa's bed, patiently waiting for Nyko's potion to wear off. Whenever Lexa did seem to slip into consciousness, the pain was too much—to the point where they were forced to give her more of Nyko's milky pain potion. Here they were hoping the next time Lexa woke, she would be able to bear it for a few minutes. Clarke was aware that this had been their hope for quite some time.
Aden sleepily gestured at Clarke. "I'm supposed to look after you."
"Says who?" Clarke laughed.
"Says my destiny," Aden said seriously. "If I am to assume all the responsibilities of my Commander, then I will behave accordingly. My Commander loved you dearly. I cannot let you fall ill. That would be careless of me. I cannot work you too hard. That would be inconsiderate. As much as yourself, I'd like to see you healthy when you embrace my Commander back to life."
"Then we'll keep it a secret," Clarke said, "Me and you."
"Clarke..."
"She loves you very much, you know," Clarke said fondly, her gaze flicking from a sleeping Lexa to Aden, whose eyes were barely open. "She favours you heavily."
"She loves you very much too," Aden said. "You are her beacon."
Clarke felt her heart ache in longing.
They both fell asleep that night.
"Not quite," Aden said, breathing heavily after their third round of sparring. He'd won all three, which meant Clarke was not even proficient enough with this damn stupid piece of wood—to beat a child. "You're attacking way too rashly. Like, when you're attacking me—say you bring your staff across—you should already have anticipated where you're going next. You should think about all the ways I could counter you, account for them, and have an attack ready for each possibility."
"So—I have to be thinking of approximately fifteen—twenty things in my head per blow?"
"It gets easier."
"This is impossible."
"It's not," Aden assured her kindly. "I was not a good stick fighter, but I improved with practice. Come on, Clarke kom Skaikru. Let us fight again, and I will slow down. We'll start with your first parry. You swung heavily down at me. I parried you to the side, sidestepped you, and smacked you on the waist. Do it slowly."
Clarke performed the same move, and watched as Aden stopped where their weapons connected. "I'm going to brush your stick to the side and then step around. If I parried you like this, what would you do? To avoid that scenario?"
"Sidestep?" Clarke guessed. "You're sidestepping a lot."
"That's because you keep pulling off the same move. Come on, Clarke. A stick is not a sword."
"What?"
"You have no pointy end. Let me ask you once more: what would you do?"
Aden would make a good Commander, Clarke thought approvingly. His discipline was impressive, as was his patience with a quite drastically poor student. "Can I lunge forwards?" she tried, watching a smile spread across Aden's face. "You've parried me to the side but that means your arm is out at an angle. It leaves your body exposed. If I poke forwards, I'll catch you out before you sidestep."
"So if I just poke you..."
"But what if I anticipate that?" Aden said testily. "What else would you do?"
"Are you kidding me? It took me years just to think of one solution!"
"Think of it this way: one attack has to already be anticipated by another. In order for your succession of blows to progress, you must anticipate your opponent's reaction. You can't know for sure I will react a certain way, so you must cover all bases. That is why we train so hard. It isn't a different style of fighting: it's a different person you fight each time. So if I hit you with X blow, there will be X, Y, Z solutions to the blow—and you must decide, in the fight, which is appropriate—and then move onto attack number two."
Clarke stared at him as if he'd just spoken Klingon. This was ridiculous. So much thought should surely cause an explosion in a young Nightblood's brain but apparently they thought about this every single training session. Suddenly she felt woefully inadequate.
Then again, she had a gun.
"D'you want to go swimming?" she asked instead, because Aden loved frolicking outside of the walls—and no-one ever let him. Lexa had too many duties, and his mother worked full-time.
Boys were so predictable. Aden grinned and dashed out of the pits as quick as lightning.
"I love her." Aden wept by the bed, shrugging off his Commander's sash. Filling in for Lexa had been a daunting task; he hadn't anticipated it to be so suffocating, though. Clarke rubbed his shoulder as he rested his elbows beside an unconscious Lexa, scrunching up his eyes. "I love her like she is my world. She is my world. I love her because she is my mentor; my confidante; because she is brave; she is honest; she is the embodiment of the Flame and everything it should be. I have never loved until I realised I love her."
Clarke comforted him, standing up as she watched over a sleeping Lexa. Aden fell into her embrace. She'd made him sit down, for the boy had drowned his sorrows in Polisian wine and could barely make it up the stairs. He clutched at her waist, and then he sobbed.
"I know the feeling," she murmured, closing her eyes. Aden's sobs felt like a noose around her neck. "The pain is worth it when she loves you back, you know."
PART II. LEXA AND ADEN
The boy was young, scruffy-haired and lanky. Compared to the other Nightbloods she'd just initiated, this one seemed like an outlier. Briefly, it reminded Lexa of herself when she'd been found and thrust into Anya's care and brutal training as her second. Under her reign, kids who bled black did not become seconds anymore. They were the Nightbleda, and they were all her seconds. The young boy was the last to step up to the throne, bowing his head in respect.
"Heda," the boy said, reverently. "Commander." Warriors spoke Old English. "My name is Aden. I am of Trikru. I humbly ask for your approval of my Nightblood status." The boy—Aden—took Lexa's dagger and carefully sliced his wrist, avoiding any major veins. It had happened once, decades ago: an initiate had accidentally bled out in the throne room, and she'd failed before she'd even started.
Lexa held out her hand, smeared with black from the previous initiates', and Aden allowed three drops of his black blood to drip onto her palm. Then, he covered his wound up with a cloth.
"I swear fealty to you, Commander of the Flame, the chosen spirit of Becca, the saviour of our old world and creator of the new," Aden continued. Lexa could see some of the Nightbloods yawn out of the corner of her eye. It had been a long ceremony. It always was. "I swear as my blood drops into your palm, you hold my heart, my brain, and my soul as you teach us the ways of Commandership."
Lexa nodded at him, and he quickly joined the group of Nightbloods. Aden, this boy, did not look like the strongest. He did not seem like a mighty Commander should—but then again, she'd never, either. Yet he spoke fluently and with a confidence that was humble too—a strange juxtaposition for a boy so young. It was uncontrolled; it just came out of Aden that way.
"Nightbloods," Lexa called from her throne. Titus headed up the group, taking a sample of each the initiates' blood and smearing it on his forehead. "Tonight you are officially the next generation should my Commandership be questioned, or should my spirit pass. You have each given your life to the throne, as I did mine, years ago."
"Yes, Commander," they chorused back at her.
"You shall also familiarise yourself with my Flamekeeper, Titus," Lexa said. She gestured towards him, and all the Nightbloods bowed courteously. "He is my most trusted adviser and sometimes he will lead your lessons."
"I will ensure your safety as dearly as I protect the Commander's Flame," Titus swore.
"Yes, Fleimkepa."
"Flamekeeper," Lexa said hastily, as a few of them struggled with the inflection.
Once the ceremony—ridiculous, far too long and far too much blood—was over, Lexa mopped at her hand with a cloth, pinching her nose in annoyance. It was dried black. Everyone had left, so she was alone in the throne room once more. Alone with her thoughts. A sense of pride swelled within her. Today she had initiated a class of promising, bright Nightbloods who would eventually take over her position one day. She fiddled with the edges of the throne she'd become accustomed to, and wondered which one of them it would be. She wondered if her hands would still be as young as this when the time came, or if she'd grow to be old and wrinkled. No Commander had gone beyond thirty years—it was the nature of their living. Wars had to be won and sacrifices had to be made. Gallant deaths on the battlefield were an expected end to a reign.
Lexa considered this. She was only nineteen. She still had eleven years to go.
And a furious clan-wide war.
She sighed heavily. The Trikru were fighting the Boat People, who were also fighting both of the Southern Islands. As the Water and Mountain people joined to quell the threat from the North—the Ice Nation—Polis had stayed safe and out of range, though Lexa's heart longed to join her Trikru in battle. Instantly, she had been shut down by Titus, then by Anya, and then by Indra.
Once, she had been Anya's second. Now, she was the Commander and Anya was the General of the Trikru Army. She still remembered staggering out from the dense forestry that decisive night, the very last Nightblood to do so. Everyone had stared at her in disbelief—this slim, muddy, heavily wounded young girl had won? And then Gustus had picked her up in his strong arms, as shouts of "Heda! Heda! Heda!" began, and a drowsy, befuddled Lexa lost consciousness.
It would be one of her initiates some day.
As the sun began to fall, Lexa shoved on her jacket and washed the Nightblood from her hands. The best time to go for a walk around Polis was at sunset, when the sky was a nice yellow-orange, like the sun was giving the night-time a brief wave goodbye of happiness. She trudged to the bottom of the staircase where there was a boy, in the middle of the quiet streets of Polis, practising footwork and basic moves with a shabby wooden sword.
Lexa leant against the wall, folding her arms as she watched his technique. He was not quick, but he was precise. And it was Aden.
"Aden?" she called out, smiling when he turned around.
He immediately reddened, attempting poorly to hide the wooden sword behind his back. "I was—" he sputtered, his free hand rumpling through his thick hair. "There's no space in the sparring pit, Heda."
"How do you propose to spar if you have no sparring partner?" Lexa asked.
"Well, I suppose with some imagination," Aden said earnestly. Lexa looked strangely at him for a moment, and then laughed. "The other kids have already paired up. One of them, a big boy, took one look at me when I asked him and said no. They wish to win the Conclave, you see."
"You don't think you can beat them?"
"When I say big, I really do mean it. He's twice the size of me."
"Gustus is twice the size of me, and I regularly beat him down," Lexa said lightly.
"But you are the Commander. I am just a boy."
"You are a Nightblood."
Aden gulped, and then nodded. "Yes, I suppose I am."
Lexa considered wallowing by the wall-walk, as she did every sunset, and think yet again of Costia's decapitated head. She considered thinking of Nia's frosty blue eyes, and her smug lip curl as she slouched on her royal throne. She glanced at the Polisian walls, and then back to Aden. The sparring pit was currently occupied by a frankly pathetic-looking duo, swinging heavy logs at each other.
"Do you not have somewhere to be, Aden?" Lexa asked. "Where are your parents?"
"It's just my mother. My father passed." Aden blinked heavily. "I need to buy some food for dinner tonight at the market, Heda. My mother does not like it when I am late."
"What will you eat?"
Aden startled at the question. "Er—a beef stew, Heda."
"Sounds delicious." Lexa reached into her pocket and placed her pouch of coins in Aden's hand, ignoring his frantic protests. She made sure his hand curled around the pouch, and squeezed it. "Save it. One day you may need to buy a girl flowers. For tonight, spend a coin on the finest slab of beef you can find."
"T-thank you, Heda."
"Go," Lexa ordered.
He muttered under his breath, worried about being late, and thanked her again before sprinting towards the markets. Lexa watched after him, feeling something heavy shift in her chest, and she chuckled humourlessly to herself. He would not last a minute in the Conclave, the poor boy. Lexa bit her lip, and then swivelled around, making her way to the portcullis where her Chief Guard, Jona, bowed before her. Lexa nodded in return, and Jona watched as she ascended to the top. It was routine—every single day—and Lexa watched the fading pinks and purples and oranges. The day was fading into another restless night, and Lexa thought of Costia, and her deep green eyes, and her smile, her laugh, her kiss, her taste...she thought for the first time of the stars, and how they twinkled charmingly down at her. She thought of beef stew, and her stomach rumbled.
"Why aren't we in the sparring pits, Commander?" Tristan asked eagerly as the Nightbloods pooled into the throne room, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. "Should we not train to be excellent warriors?"
"That, you should," Lexa agreed. The Nightbloods looked at each other. "But you speak only of a soldier, Tristan. If you are a Commander, what other duties are you expected to fulfil? What other skills do you think you must possess?"
"You must look after the City Guard," Mia piped up, right at the front. "You must ensure they are being fair. And sometimes, they abandon post to drink at the inn. That's what my mother said."
Lexa blinked. Right. "You're...correct in a way, Mia," she said diplomatically. "You must look out for your guards. You will rely heavily on them, be it for controlling the nature of the streets or in battle."
"You must be fair," Jennon, a dark-skinned boy with a shaved head, was the next to volunteer. "When you resolve village disputes or city disputes you must remain impartial."
"Excellent." Lexa smiled down at him. "Anything else?"
"You must write," one of the bigger boys, Marol, shouted from the back. "If you are illiterate you cannot communicate with the other clans! And you will look a fool if you cannot read!"
"Can you read?" Mia returned sharply, twisting her head around.
Marol narrowed his eyes. "Better than you."
"Enough," Lexa said exasperatedly, waving at them both. "Marol is right. You must be literate."
"You must listen to your heart," small Aden said tentatively, to her right. Lexa, caught off-guard—and rarely so—turned her head to face him, frowning. "The duty of the Commander is to love her people. There are hundreds in Polis, and I imagine hundreds more in the outlying villages. That must mean a Commander should have space for a big heart."
"You're right," Lexa said, "But sometimes you cannot always rely on your heart; your passions. Sometimes, you must rely on your mind."
"Like, when you are discussing tactics for battle," Alec said excitedly.
"But then you must also consider the lives you could lose," Aden pointed out. Lexa stared at him, and the determination behind his bright eyes. "If Commandership means loving the realm, then that is the entirety of it."
"But what if you had to sacrifice a village for ten?" Aliska, next to Aden, challenged him. "What would you do?"
"Mourn the village," Aden said quickly. He did not look at Lexa. "Never let them be forgotten."
For the most part, Lexa let them talk amongst themselves, occasionally providing imaginary scenarios or twists to the ones they'd already thought of. It took them all afternoon, but by the time Titus collected them from the throne room, they did not talk of sparring pits. They spoke of philosophy, weaponry, favouritism, politics and impossible choices.
"Progress?" Titus asked her later that night in the throne room. The Nightbloods had chambers below them, for the initial training period. Then they'd be allowed home as they continued under Lexa's tutelage.
Lexa scratched the back of her neck, and thought of big hearts. Love is weakness, she reminded herself sternly, and made a mental note to scold Aden for this tomorrow. "Somewhat," she said.
It was raining, so the sparring pits were free. Nobody liked to wade around in what was basically a bog, so they took up activities within their own homes, as the wind blew mercilessly and the rain spat disrespectfully down on them. Lexa wrapped up and trudged outside, stopping only in her determined walk when she spotted a small figure alone in the sparring pit. It seemed he had crafted, from his woodwork lessons no doubt, a human figure about her height, and he was currently attempting to practice with his dummy. His posture was awful, and his arms flimsy as he went for a straight punch, and then an upper hook.
"It's raining, Aden," she called out, leaning against the palisade. He startled, nearly tripping over the mud at her voice. "What are you doing?"
"Nobody books for the pits in the rain," Aden said and pointed to his dummy. "I made one so I could practice the speed of my hands."
"Do you know anatomy?"
"Ann-ah-toe-me?"
That was a no. Lexa shook her head, and made her way into the pits with the boy. He'd stolen her spot anyway. "You don't just smack every part of the body. Every human has a weak point."
"So—do I have to learn them, Heda?"
"You will know them," Lexa assured him. "For example, if I hit you—punched you straight in the belly—it would hurt, but it would not damage you." She demonstrated lightly, resting her fist against Aden's stomach. "But if the bottom of my palm went up and forcefully smacked your throat, you would die if I hit you hard enough." Again, she demonstrated—lightly—but Aden staggered back, nearly gagging. "These are weak points, Aden. Pretend to punch me in the belly."
Aden hesitated, wary of touching the Commander. "I don't think—"
"Come on."
It wasn't a request. Aden straight-punched, very lightly, at Lexa's belly. He rested his closed fist there, and she nodded. "For example, if you were matched man-to-man, and he did that to you, you must anticipate it before he completes the move," she explained slowly, as Aden's calculating eyes tried to digest the information. "If you can, you can—" Lexa seized Aden by the wrist, pushing it back and bending it at an awkward angle, her free hand going up to press the bottom of her palm against Aden's Adam's apple.
The rain smacked down on them, and Aden was soaked through. Lexa wondered how many hours he'd been out here, but he did not look like he had any intent of going home. Instead, Aden gazed up at her youthful wonderment. It was such a simple move.
"Can I try it, Heda?"
Lexa cocked her head as she studied him. He was eager to learn. Nodding, she tossed aside her belt buckle and her sheathed sword, appreciating that he'd taken some time to carve eyes—albeit scary-looking ones—into his wooden dummy. "Take it slow for now, yes?"
"Will it get quicker?" Aden asked before he made the move. "I'm not a very good fighter, Heda."
"Physically, someone like Marol has a foot on you," Lexa said honestly. Aden nodded. "But fights are not always won by pure muscle. Sometimes, fights are won and it's all because of this—" she leant over to tap the side of his head. "By the looks of it, Aden, you're a clever boy."
"Do you think I am Conclave material, Heda?"
"Every one of you is worthy of your Nightblood," Lexa said firmly. Aden gave her a small smile, and something in her chest twinged. "Believe it, Aden. That's an order. Believe it, because I believe it."
The fight had been the longest they'd ever watched. As the minutes drained, each Nightblood was drawn closer to the single combat. Aden, perhaps one of the smallest boys of the class, had been given an unlucky draw: Marol. The boy was twice as big as him, and he wasn't fat either. He was not solid muscle, but he definitely had more portions of beef stew a night than Aden did. Yet as they faced each other with their wooden staffs, they'd come at an impasse. Marol had found it infuriatingly impossible to disarm Aden, who was startlingly quick on his feet. He swerved and ducked and slid across the floor, parrying nearly every one of Marol's combination attacks.
Aden had only launched two attacks in the space of their fight-time. One had been calculated, a close attempt to lure Marol into dropping his staff. The next had been reckless and had nearly cost him the duel. But he could see Marol getting purple in the face, which meant either he was severely pissed off, or he was getting tired. Aden worried it was perhaps the former.
"Quit playing games, Aden," Marol snapped. "You're ducking like a coward!"
"I'm defending," Aden shot back.
Marol growled and launched his staff at him, a high vertical swing meant to crush the boy. Aden's eyes widened and he scrambled sideways. In the time it took Marol to make the foolish move, Aden was already behind him, and poked him hard until Marol sprawled onto the ground. To make sure he stayed down, he drew closer, and his knees bent and smacked Marol on the back of his thighs. Marol howled in pain, and Aden kicked Marol's weapon aside.
With the end of his staff, he prodded at the back of Marol's neck, and then pushed down. Marol instantly tapped thrice on the ground.
"Well," said a stunned Lexa, watching with her arms clasped behind her back. "Marol, it seems you need to stop taunting your opponents."
"He played unfairly, Heda," Marol grumbled, brushing himself off as he got up. "He parried the entire way!"
"He played a long game, not an unfair one," Lexa said, nodding at Aden. "Are you tired?"
Aden stuck the end of his staff into the mud and leant against it, breathing hard.
Lexa look it as a yes.
Whenever they finished in the sparring pits, Lexa would bring them to the New Capitol Inn and they would order whatever they wished, and the innkeeper would serve grand portions for the Commander and her potential successors. They simply bought large portions of nearly everything and shared and grabbed off each other's plates. Tonight, Lexa rewarded them with their first taste of honeyed mead. It was relatively weak and she'd restricted them to two jugs split evenly between the company.
She was wedged in-between Mia, who was now known as the group's gossip queen, and Aden, who was now known as the mouse who'd crawled into the elephant's ear and killed it by eating its brains. Lexa ate modestly, saving most of the food for the kids who seemed to ravish anything and everything, especially the honeyed mead. She made a note of Marol graciously swiping Isla's mug too, and rolled her eyes. The boy was big enough he probably needed double portions.
Aden, on the other hand, kept his bowl to himself. He'd piled it graciously with some boiled potatoes, onion gravy, and gammon slices. He ate relatively far from the table, whereas Marol was sprawled across it, conversing with someone on the other end. Aden sat straight, resting his bowl on his lap and he bent his head for every bite he took, relatively quiet.
"You had quite the victory today," Lexa said to him, noticing Jamie on the other side of Aden was busy quarrelling over a chicken drumstick with a fellow Nightblood. "You were clever."
Aden chewed hastily on his piece of gammon, and swallowed. "Opportunistic, Heda," he said modestly, taking a tiny sip of his honeyed mead. He made a face.
Lexa laughed. "You'll get used to it. Soon you'll be dancing on the Polisian wine."
"Perhaps."
"What makes you think tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"Yes. Your mind is occupied. You are reserved, Aden, but tonight you are withdrawn."
"Heda is very observant."
Lexa studied him, taking a sip from her own mug. "I'm your Commander, Aden. You are my Nightblood. If you need to confer with me about anything, I will make it my duty to do something for you. Do you understand?"
"Thank you, Heda."
"The pouch of money I gave you, all that time ago," Lexa remembered. Aden seemed to as well, nodding slowly. "Is it enough?"
"More than," Aden said quickly. "I use it to buy some bigger portions of food on the days my mother does not make enough money. She is growing ill, Heda. I do not tell her, though, for she would be ashamed. In all honesty, I do not wish to be charity."
"You're not charity. You're my Nightblood."
"Nightblood." Aden tested the taste of the word on his tongue, and found he liked it. His lips quirked up into a smile. "Heda, if I may ask you a question in confidence?"
Lexa nodded, leaning into him slightly. "Yes?"
"Now," Aden said, "Am I worthy of my Nightblood? I beat Marol—you said, I used my brains—"
"Aden." Lexa clapped him on the back. "Everyone around on this table is worthy. Even if from now on, Marol beats you every single time, you will remain worthy."
"Thank you, Heda."
"Have my mug too," Lexa encouraged him. "I don't fancy the taste of honeyed mead."
"Neither do I, Heda."
The moment Lexa knew Aden was the most promising of her initiates was not when he neatly beat her in the sparring pits; it was when he had the gall and the brains to answer her (seemingly) most difficult question posed to the Nightbloods.
They had been debating, loudly, over it for a while.
"You have three pillars of being a Commander," Lexa announced. "Compassion. Strength. Wisdom. What's the best answer?"
Each Nightblood had posed excellent cases for each pillar.
"Strength," Marol declared. "If you are strong, you will be feared by your enemies and your people will know that they will be protected by a strong leader. If you are weak, you become consumed by your fears and your people will lose faith in you. Without your people, you are nothing. So you must be strong."
"Compassion," Mia argued. "You must be compassionate in order to understand the needs of your people. Some may live in different circumstances to others. If you show compassion, the people will grow to love you for your understanding and you will never lose the people's faith."
"Wisdom," Ammar countered, drumming his fingers against his kneecap. "You must be wise in order to engage in military tactics in case you are attacked, or in case you are the attacker. You must be wise so you have answers for village and city disputes, and know the line between just and unjust, and know when not to cross it. You must be wise to be literate and negotiate with other leaders."
"You have argued well," Lexa said, when the room fell silent. Nobody had anything else to add. "Your answers all counter-answer each other's. It's very difficult to decide."
Marol, Mia and Ammar glanced between each other. They wondered if it was a test, because if it was, they had failed spectacularly, for now they had argued their case, they could not choose. Marol was a little flustered—as he easily got—and Ammar scratched his head, deep in thought. Lexa watched them like a hawk, waiting for one of them to speak out.
"What about all three simultaneously?"
Lexa's head popped up to the voice at the back. Aden's messy blonde hair, sticking out at all angles, was instantly recognisable. He hadn't raised his hand, but he looked as if he had been pondering the arguments for a while.
"Is it possible?" Aden asked.
Lexa slouched a little in the throne. "You tell me, Aden."
"If you are strong, you have all the qualities Marol has listed. If you are wise, you have all the qualities Ammar listed. If you are compassionate, you have all the qualities Mia listed. None of them are superior to the other. But we are not supposed to be foot soldiers," Aden recalled, perhaps from their very first lesson. "If we are to be Commanders one day, then I propose we shoulder all three qualities. If you build something with a foundation of one pillar, it is less likely to stand than if you had all three together, working in sync with each other."
"That must be cheating," Jamie laughed, "Aden, you just combined all three well-thought answers into one!"
"But it's true!" Aden insisted. "Should a leader be strong but not compassionate nor wise? Or compassionate but not wise or strong? Or wise but not compassionate or strong?"
"How about this?" Lexa suggested, when dissent rose amongst the Nightbloods. "I am going to ask you some questions about me. I want you to answer with a simple yes or no."
The Nightbloods nodded, glancing at each other. Someone wanted to nab the best answer.
"Am I strong?" Lexa asked them.
"Yes, Heda," they said in unison.
"Am I compassionate?"
"Yes, Heda."
"Am I wise?"
"Yes, Heda."
"Hm." Lexa rubbed her chin, grinning at her dumbfounded class. "Aden, it appears we have a problem. It seems your cheating answer was correct."
"Where do you go every sundown, Heda?"
The voice startled Lexa from her thoughts as she pivoted where she stood, dropping her gaze all the way down to Aden, who was staring up at her. They were just outside the Polisian tower, and it was sunset. Lexa was prepared to meet Jona and sit by the wall-walk, and she realised Aden—who had some (but not much) muscle on him now—was still practising his imaginary sword movements.
"You always walk that way," Aden continued to observe, gesturing towards the portcullis. "Do you like the walls a lot?"
"It's high up there. You can see the entire city."
"Can I come with you?"
Lexa hesitated. "Not tonight, Aden."
Aden nodded, and continued his work silently. Lexa walked away, silently too.
"Is it hard, Heda?" Aden shouted after her. Lexa turned on her heel again, frowning expectantly. "You spoke of the three pillars of Commandership. Is it hard to maintain all three—at once?"
"Sometimes it is hard to maintain any of them at a time," Lexa admitted, thinking of all the times she had angrily thrown something at a wall, at Titus, or kicked people out of rooms, trashed rooms...
"But you do it," Aden said admiringly. Lexa gave him a strained smile. No, I don't. "The city is well under your watch, Heda."
"Keep practising. When I come back, I want to see drastic improvements."
"Drastic? Where—where are you going, Heda?"
Lexa pondered telling Aden or not. Aden had friends, but he was not much of a speaker—and less of a gossiper. "Home," she said truthfully, a fond smile curling her lips. "There is trouble within Trikru territory. There has been some violence. I wish to call counsel with my Trikru Generals and Chiefs and talk of a solution."
Aden blinked in surprise, tucking his wooden sword under his arm. "What happened?"
"Would you believe it," Lexa said, eyes twinkling, because what harm could it do? "A star fell from the sky."
Aden was much older now, dressed in lightweight, armoured, black garb as he practised with his wooden dummy outside the Tower. He was a regular sight now, and people were rather fond of the handsome boy determinedly practising whilst the sparring pits were full.
Much had changed. Aden had grown sombre. The first sign of this was not caring about the taste of Polisian wine, apparently, and Aden had fallen victim to that particular symptom. His Commander had been shot by a Skaikru bullet, and was recovering slowly. He prayed to the stars every morning and night, willing her to come home. He had fallen in love with the florist's daughter, and yesterday he had kissed her, and blushed all the way home.
Well—he thought it was love. It was nothing compared to what his Commander had with Clarke kom Skaikru. From the Commander's tales, it had been Clarke who had fallen from the sky that day, and though Aden could smell blood on their hands, whenever he saw them or passed them, they seemed so purely in love that he could not imagine either one of them turning a sword on anyone.
And that was after the Commander had launched a spear straight through the Ice Queen's heart.
He still remained in almost childish awe of that day, and he thought of how his Commander had been on the ground, ready for death. The thought haunted him every night, and then his Commander would roll away and kick King Roan's legs beneath him, and she would not just win a battle but she would avenge a death and create a fairer King simultaneously.
He thought back to the three pillars, and wondered if it was similar.
Jus drein jus daun, he heard his Commander say, and it was the Ice Queen's blood for Costia's. She had killed a Queen and made a King. She had succeeded, in "one must die today"—without it being either Lexa or Roan.
Aden jabbed forwards, careful to keep his legs slightly bent. He had witnessed Jamie suffer a broken leg the other day in the sparring pits, after going far too hard with Marol, who had kicked at his left leg. Because Jamie had held it ramrod straight, it had snapped, and after Lexa had rushed to tend to the pain, she made sure everyone took note.
Aden could see it in the way she fought. She did not run; she shuffled, her gaps wide or small. She did not wait; she anticipated. She did not attack; she attacked and defended. Aden would remember her fight with Roan for the rest of his life. It had been the most magical thing he'd ever seen.
Steps clattered from the Polisian tower, and Aden swivelled around, on-time, and bowed deeply.
"Heda," he said respectfully, and Lexa smiled rakishly at him. There was colour back on her face, and he watched dreamily as she closed her eyes, basking in the sunlight. Today was the first day she'd been outside. Then, Aden bowed again. "Clarke kom Skaikru."
"Hey," Clarke said, smiling too.
Clarke kom Skaikru had been the star falling, and his Commander had been the daring fetcher. Aden watched as Clarke grew accustomed to Polis, a strange colour of faded red and sunken eyes transforming into a dirty blonde, quite like his, and a brighter gaze. There had been whispers of the Commander and the Sky girl, but Aden had left those rumours alone until he'd accidentally walked in on them in the throne room.
Aden did not speak of that day.
Aden could only stare at his brave Commander, too stubborn to die by a Skaikru weapon and treachery. He had seen her so many days, emerge from the staircase with intent for the wall, and he'd seen the same expression on her face for years. It was melancholy, though not an unbearable sad. There had been hope, but it faded, and then when the star fell from the sky, Aden had not seen his Commander in a long time.
But today, he noted Clarke kom Skaikru had her arm interlinked with his Commander's. And as he watched his Commander, as he so often did, he saw her eyes soften, the tiniest of crinkles at the edge of her eyes. She gave Clarke a sideways smile, and Aden full-on grinned at them.
"What is it, Aden?" Clarke asked good-naturedly. Aden didn't like many things about Clarke, but he loved that his Commander loved her, and he had found himself confiding in her many times during Lexa's spell of unconsciousness.
"I have food." Aden rushed to his bag, where his flagon was, and then pulled out a rusty box. "It is warm. I have collected it not long ago, from my mother's house. I bought the freshest beef there was."
"Beef stew," Lexa said.
"Beef stew," Aden repeated.
"Some things don't change," Lexa laughed.
Aden noted the closeness of the two women, and he realised how much he'd missed Lexa; how much he appreciated what Clarke had done for them. For her. He would never stop marvelling at the utter transformation on Lexa's face. Once upon a time, Aden had witnessed his great Commander, pensive as she waited for the sky to come crashing down. And when it had, he witnessed his great Commander revel in its beauty, and he witnessed his great Commander smile.
