Archive of Our Own ^beta

I know what I want, I want a long life (all kidding aside)

the rules are the same as they always were

present's a thought and a piece of mind

and I want my girl in my arms when I sleep

breathing in her dreams near the air

(I breathe and I wanna dream)

"Mochof Rhynian," you whisper as the healer bows her head before exiting your room. You glance down at the bandage tightly wound around your cracked palm and sigh. You stand in your quarters in nothing but your pants and binder. There's a large tensor bandage around your ribs after Roan had kicked you down, and there are multiple cuts and bruises that will heal on their own. But that is not what you are worried about.

Actually, you aren't worried.

Not right now, as your hand clenches and unclenches around the invisible spear. Your shoulders are loose and your heart weightless for the first time since having seen her head rolling between your toes. A ghost of a smile perks at your lips as you limp over to the balcony. You pull open the door and step outside, breathing in the scents of the village. Tears burn at your eyes as you finally smell true victory. You can almost smell her on the soft cashmere.

But that will come later. You have business to take care of first.

You slip off the binders and pull off your pants. Whenever you walk around in your undergarments you feel vulnerable, but today you feel like a girl. You have undone your hair and decide that you will indulge yourself for once. You open your closet and pull out the nightgown she'd made for you so many years ago. You slip it on, slightly surprised that it fits a little looser than it had when she'd first gifted it to you. A day ago, you would've choked up at the sight of it, but now you're wearing it. A part of your mind makes you believe that you can still smell her on the dark fabric, but you push the thought away.

"Do you think she'll like it?" You ask yourself as you look into the mirror, taking in the most vulnerable sight since you'd lost her. A breath catches in your throat when you see how young you are. For the first time you look your age, not like the millennia-old soul you carry within your walls.

"I think so," a small voice pipes up from the doorway. You perk your brow and smile as you turn to see Aden fidgeting by the door. You walk over calmly as he gulps nervously. You can see the emotions in his eyes; you'd been watching him since the fight had unfolded. His eyes are wet with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry H-Heda-"

You sweep him into your arms before he can speak. He sobs into your dress and you chuckle lightly when he grips you like it's the last time he'll ever see you. Like the other Nightbloods, he's an orphan. You'd never admit it to Titus, but these children are the family that had been stripped away from you. As a Commander, you know better than to get attached, but you know that you can't fight your feelings. Aden is special, not because he is your chosen initiate. 

Aden is special because he is the last tie to Costia that you have.

"Ssh," you hum into his golden hair, trying not to picture how Costia's hair had been the same colour. Aden whimpers again but then regains his composure to wipe his eyes and straighten his back. You sense the same level of peace in his eyes that you'd seen in your own only moments ago.

"Thank you for avenging my sis, Heda." He says the words quietly and with reverence, bowing his head. You don't say anything as your own tears try to stay at bay. Later, you remind yourself, later you will make your peace with your past but right now, you have to take care of the present. Aden senses this and quickly erases the sadness in his gaze and swaps it for the familiar mischief and happiness you've grown accustom to in the past years spent training him.

"The Sky Princess is beautiful," he tells you with a wink, "perhaps if I become Heda one day she would entertain a courtship?"

"Shof op," you mutter as he teases you. Your voice is not cruel, however, but playful. There's a hint of something more, something that Aden will not understand until your spirit passes on to his. You wish to tell him, but instead you choose to let this moment take over. You reach forward and tussle his hair, warding your thoughts away from this moment of friendship and appreciation. He beams again as you tug him back into a rough embrace, locking his head in your arms in a playful hold. He squirms and twists out, using your injuries to his advantage. You groan and let out a soft 'oof' when he manages to free himself. He stands proudly, puffing out his chest and staring at you with that same childish glint to his eyes.

"You are barely up to her chest, goufa. Besides, the Ambassador is older than you," you grumble teasingly as he pouts, crossing his arms. "Besides, I've seen the way you look at Mika. How would the beautiful prisa feel if she knew that you had your eyes on another woman, branwada?" You tilt your chin up with amusement when he grunts something under his breath about denying his affections for Mika. You ruffle his hair again teasingly. He looks annoyed, but then a nervous flicker passes through his calm eyes and you hear the question before he can even speak the words.

"Do you think she likes me back?" He asks innocently, playing with his fingers. You snort and smirk at him.

"Clarke? I told you, she's not interested in small children like you," you tease, but Aden just rolls his eyes and grunt again. You see a hesitant flash of vulnerability and suddenly you find yourself flashing back to when you'd admitted your feelings to Anya about Costia. A soft sigh leaves your lip at the memory. You see him fidget again, like he thinks you find their relationship unworthy. You chuckle softly at his anxious state before pulling him into another hug. He loops his arms around you as you kiss the top of his head again lovingly. You wonder if this is what it would've been like in another life, where Costia was still alive and you'd be a family without the fear of war taking your lives. You wonder if a peaceful place like this exists.

You already know it doesn't. Not with Costia.

"Mika cares for you as much as you care for her," you tell him honestly, trying to hide the way your chest swells when you remember your own love. "You just need to show her how you feel. Perhaps she is waiting for you to make the first move. Take her to the gardens on a stroll. Be yourself around her."

"What if she doesn't like who I am?" Aden asks anxiously, his voice wavering on a stammer. "What if she thinks I smell or am brutish or dirty-"

"Aden," you chuckle as you cut him off from his fears. "I was an initiate when I first fell in love with Costia. I was brutish and smelly and dirty, but did you see her turn away? If Mika shows affection towards you, it is because she sees you. Do you understand what I mean to say?" Aden ponders the statement for awhile, but then he nods. You always knew he was the brightest of your Nightbloods, and not because he's Costia's brother and Costia was smarter than you, even. You know because he shows purpose and diligence that even you hadn't shown during your early years. It gives you an unbridled sense of hope.

"Besides, you're the chosen initiate, Aden. Being Heda has it's perks sometimes," you say before adding a wink when you tell him, "especially when it comes to garnering attention with the ladies or men or both, whichever you prefer. Not everyone has the privilege of loving a Commander, you know."

(There is only ever one.) 

Aden chuckles at that because he's seen and heard of your so-called fangirls, as Clarke had dubbed them. You still don't understand the relevance of fan with a girl but you trust that it's another strange Sky People expression. Yet, you don't tell Aden that despite the attention and the ability to have anyone as a mate or even conquest, their lives are immediately put into danger when with you. You don't tell him how easy it is to lose track of your leadership when your heart is clouded by love. You don't tell him how badly it hurts when you wake up alone in the morning, to feel the cold mattress of an empty bed.

You don't tell him how it wears on you when everything about him reminds you of her.

"If I become Heda, will she want to be with me still?" He asks nervously, tugging you closer. You know he misses Costia, too. You swallow down the lump in your throat as you remember her screams on the night she'd been taken from you. There is still blood on your hands from when you'd tried to save her.

"When," you murmur into his ear as you close your eyes, "not if, Aden. You are the most promising. You will become Heda."

"Not yet," Aden says back with a slight quiver. The fear is there, but neither of you acknowledge it. He may be one of the few people in this world that doesn't just see you as his Commander, but as an older sister. You had been there for him after Costia had died, had vowed to protect him as you'd failed to protect her. It hurts you to know that he is ready for his Conclave and will be tested to follow your stead. The life of a Commander is not an easy one.

But the Queen is dead. War still burns on with other tensions, but you figure that if you can make his ruling a peaceful one, your fight will be worth it. You will fight to the death to ensure that he never has to make the decisions you'd been forced to make. You will not let him have to live with the guilt of a thousand deaths upon his scrawny shoulders. You will create a world in which he can be seen as a compassionate leader, in which death is not a necessity when it comes to keeping the peace. It doesn't matter what you've lost. What matters is that he will never face that dark, everlasting pain you always have.

"Right, Heda? You're not going to die for awhile, right?" He asks you, holding you tighter when you don't respond. He pulls back to search your eyes, but you can't speak. You curve your palm over his sandy hair before kissing his forehead again. You only nod and swallow down your emotions when his arms link around your waist again. He buries his face back into your stomach. You peck his hair and breathe in the scent of the woods, of the river, of her-

"You should talk to the prisa," Aden mumbles into your nightdress, "Costia would want you to."

Your breath hitches at her name and you are forced to swallow again. Aden was barely a child when you fell in love with Costia, but he'd been old enough to know exactly what Costia had meant to you. He smiles against your dress and squeezes you again. You get swept up in the memories that you'd anchored down years ago. You get swept up in the laughter, in the embraces, the fleeting touches - both scalding and freezing - across planes of unmarred and marred skin. It'd been so long since you last let someone in, since you allowed yourself to love again. But now, with the Queen's death, you feel free again.

"You think so?" You whisper the words in a harsh choke. You shouldn't be asking such things.

You are Commander, not some lovesick girl.

(But it doesn't change the fact that you are so incredibly in love.)

"Wisdom, compassion, strength," Aden quotes the pillars of a Commander's essence to you, "but a plank cannot be supported on only three columns. Its integrity would be compromised. You forgot one, Heda."

"Did I? And which pillar would that be, Aden?" You ask as you both pull away from your hug. His calm eyes glisten knowingly as he smiles. Aden reaches out, takes your hand, and squeezes before nodding.

"Love," he murmurs as he glances back at the doorway. "Don't Hedas deserve love, too?" 

Maybe we do.

"You're already up past your bedtime," you chide him lightly as you ruffle his hair. Aden's face darkens a bit but he nods, looking down. You know better than to deny him happiness, but you must also be realistic. A Heda's life is a lonely one, a life full of pain and hardship and blood. You can change the world but you can't change that. A Commander lives as a vessel, with a fossilized heart dedicated and entrusted to their entire people, not a select few. But it doesn't stop your heart from bleeding for those who matter just an ounce more. For those who are special.

It doesn't stop you from wanting to love and be loved.

"Yes," you lie, because you can't bear to tell him the truth just yet, "they do, Aden. Now get some rest."

"Sha, Heda," he says with a bow, some of the light already returning to his eyes as he scampers out of the room and towards his quarters. You stand alone in your room for a few moments before you look down to your palms. You notice that your palm has begun to bleed again, and you deduce that you must've reopened it when tussling with Aden. You consider calling up Rhynian, but then think better of it. You steel yourself and pad out towards the hall.

It takes you less than a minute to reach Clarke's door. You stand outside, waiting and contemplating. She said she needed time, one part of you says, perhaps she is still not ready. You wonder if she'll ever be ready, and you know it's selfish of you to think in such a way considering you've lived a thousand lives. You have seen so much through the lens of others, felt enough love in their lives to fill ten of your own, but maybe there's a hint of jealousy because this is your life. And in this life, you've only touched the surface of the fickle thing called love. You are young and your heart is three times the size of your chest but you have no love. You look back down your hand, clenching and unclenching as your gut swirls nervously. Nervous, you scoff at yourself. You are the Commander of Thirteen Clans and you are nervous because of some gada. But she is not just any girl, as much as you want to deny it.

Clarke is special.

So you muster up all the courage in your weathered frame and knock upon the ornate wood. Your walls are down and your chest is open to display the small, cracked heart that still beats and keeps you alive. You're shaking but you remain steady. As soon as you've done the knock, you drop your hands, your instincts fighting the urge to flee back into the safety of your quarters. For a moment, as you wait in silence, you consider it. You don't hear the soft padding of footsteps as you grit your teeth and urge yourself to pull away, to leave before you are broken down again. Something screams at you to run.

Before you can make a decision, the door opens and she stares at you.

You gulp and take in her beauty. The flowing azure gown glides over her soft hips and she looks so unlike the hardened veteran of war you'd seen a week ago. She looks just like you, like a young and burden-less girl. Bound free from responsibility. She looks so incredibly youthful and gorgeous that your breath is swept clean from your lungs and all the knowledge and history you've ever learned is wiped away bare for one six-letter word: Clarke. 

And then, your heart skips a beat when she purses her lips and speaks.

"Is this I told you so?" She asks, not with disdain but genuine curiosity - maybe a hint of tease, too. It still makes your frame tremble slightly.

"No," you whisper quietly, trying desperately to meet her eyes, "this is thank you."

right down to the minute

right down to the second

I can feel my every breath unfold

right down to the minute

right down to the second

I'm down to the seconds

The days events still leave you rattled as you stare outside at the gleaming moon. Down in the city centre, the people of Polis are celebrating the death of the tyrannical Queen. You'd not seen the Commander since she'd been whisked away to a healer by Titus, but you're sure that even while she'd been victorious, there was still work for her to do. It hurts you, like a deep thorn wedged in your side, as you think about all the events of today. You can still hear the screams of the crowd and the jiving pulse of your heart beneath your skin as you'd watched the Commander battle to the death for her life - for your life and your people's lives. When you'd told her that you couldn't sit there and watch her die, your head finally caught up to your heart.

You still care about her.

You are about to ponder more about the mysterious Commander when there's a knock at the door. You frown, contemplating just who it could be at such a late hour. You pad over to the door cautiously, assuming it might be either one of the guards or Titus coming to have a word with you about the situation of your people. You wrap your fingers over the cold door handle and slide it downwards, sighing when the lock clicks as you swing the heavy door open.

But it's not a guard or Titus, but Lexa.

She looks so different, so unlike the woman you'd known for the past few months. Her hair is messily swept over a shoulder, revealing a few bruises and cuts that Roan had gotten in during their battle. She looks so young and… nervous? You almost want to laugh at the way she takes a breath and gives you that signature Commander Lexa nod, the slightest dip of her perfectly angled jaw. She licks her lips, waiting for you to say something. 

"Is this I told you so?" Really, Clarke? You curse yourself for being so defensive. You want to take it back, but Lexa's already answering.

"No," she replies in kind, "this is thank you."

You never expected to hear that from her, the prideful Commander that insisted to you from the start that she could win the fight against the new King, who told you with a flimsy smirk that Aden would pledge himself to you should her fight end. She was the same woman that you broke when you told her you wouldn't just sit there and watch her die, even when you both knew that she was going to fight and die for you. That Commander didn't fear her own death, who instead addressed it with such an air of nonchalance that it almost made you believe that she didn't care. But you look at her now, so fresh and undone, with eyes as clear as the sky and bright as the moon outside your window, and you know she always cares.

"Come in," you find the words slipping from your lips as you part ways to grant her entrance. A part of you is screaming, pleading, begging you to stop this because you can't get attached again. The pain of being left alone at the Mountain, with cold lips and even colder heart, it burns like a pyre inside your chest. But you do it, you let her in and try (desperately, foolishly try) to not notice the smooth expanse of her bare leg as she limps into your room. You avert your gaze, and somehow it ends up on her hand. You frown at the dirtied, near black bandage and reach for it quickly.

Soft.

That is the first word that comes to your mind when you hold her palm in yours. It's not the first time you've held her hand, but it is the first time you're holding it without animosity. It's the first time you're holding it like she is nothing but fragile glass that could shatter at any given moment. It's the first time that you notice, from the slight swallow in Lexa's throat and the cloudiness in her gaze, that she is just as mortal as the rest of you.

"Sit down, let me change that for you," comes next and at this point, you're not even certain you're in control of your body. Lexa looks hesitant, but as you move past her to shut the door, she gets the hint and shuffles over to an old love seat. She looks nervous and high-strung still, and you can't help the small part in the back of your mind that finds all of this endearing. This vulnerable girl who shifts her gaze from you to the table, as if unsure if she's allowed to look at you, she is someone that you want more of in your life. You push away the thought of needing Lexa as you sit back down and reach for her hand.

"That girl, that was with Nia," you start to say, distracting yourself from her eyes as you pull her hand into your lap, "Ontari? What will happen to her?"

Lexa gulps and works her jaw. Once. Twice. Then a third time before she softly replies, "she won't be back until the Conclave, after my death."

A part of your heart sinks whenever she mentions her death. You hate it. You hate thinking that one day you will wake up and she won't come back from a war she never wanted to fight. You wonder if she grew up with the drilled thought that she was just a vessel and nothing more. Perhaps that is why she doesn't value her life as she does yours, or her people's or her children's own. You look at her and you wonder if she ever had a moment in her life when she questioned that statement, if she ever looked at herself in the mirror and saw something other than armour and swords and blood and death. You see the clarity in her eyes, like she has accepted that her passing is something that will come, maybe soon and maybe not. That her life is worth nothing.

It's not nothing, you want to scream at her, you are so much more.

(But you don't.)

You'd seen her inside those chambers. You'd seen how torn she'd been as soon as the Queen entered. You immediately remembered the conversation at Finn's pyre, of how Costia had been taken by that murderous woman and how still, she found a way to make some kind of peace. You heard the crack in her voice when she told you that she stopped caring to avoid hurting the people around her. She didn't trust her feelings and you can't help the skip in your heart when you realize how much she's changed. She bowed to you, swore her fealty to you, fought to the near-death for you, because she loves you. You look at her now, her eyes a lighter green, and you can't help but feel happy and prideful that she finally got to give the girl she loved justice.

"Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?" You quip with a soft tease. Lexa's eyes flash with something unknown, but then at the slightest involuntary turn of your lips, she smiles. Your breath catches in your throat because you'd seen the Commander smirk at the sight of battle before the Mountain, and then again when she'd introduced you to her successor to ensure your people's safety, but you've never seen Lexa smile.

And God, is it a beautiful smile.

You know that you will stare at her forever if you don't move so you quickly turn your attention to ripping up a piece of cloth for Lexa's hand. You curse yourself for not having asked your mother to have left behind a medical kit, because as great as the Grounders are in combat, they're shit in medicine. You sigh as you reach again for her hand, trying to ignore that smouldering gaze from the woman who looks at you like you're sun and the stars and the moon all rolled up into one. You ignore the way your fingers itch to graze her skin or how your lips ache to reconnect to the pair they've missed so much.

But then, Lexa breaks that distraction with one small, quiet admission.

"Thank you for backing me," she whispers, and you know that it's Lexa, not the Commander, speaking. She's thanking you, not Wanheda or the Skaïkru ambassador. She's thanking you because you fought for her. All of those ambassadors would've marshalled together and rallied for her undignified death. She would've been tied to a tree and cut into pieces because she wanted to create a peace between two different, yet not so different people.

She's thanking you because just as she'd once saved you, in some sense, you also saved her.

As you go through the day's events, you wonder how it all came down to this moment. From the minute the duel had been announced, you had seen it in her eyes that this could've been her last day. You ran circles to try and avoid her death, and she knows all of this. The Commander you met back during the war against the Mountain Men, that isn't the same girl right now. Lexa's changed. She's open, vulnerable, free, and maybe a bit scared.

You don't know what to say.

"I was just doing what was right for my people," you respond instead, staring back down to her hands. You really didn't know what to say, but it wasn't supposed to be that. You know it because you catch Lexa's face crumble and fall and you can't help but wonder how much she loves you that she's willing to let you break her down into pieces if that's what keeps you safe. You clench your teeth and try to ignore the words that desperately want to come out.

I couldn't lose you, not again.

(Why are you so scared, Clarke?)

steady little boat, steady little boat (take me to the shore)

take me to the shore, take me back home

all the way to where I'm from, to the banks of the Illinois

show me the house I was raised in

and the woods where I used to play

steady little boat take me home (cause I'm far away)

Since coming into Clarke's room, you've deduced two things:

1. You, Commander Leksa kom Trikru, Heda of the Thirteen Clans, are an absolute fool.

2. Clarke Griffin of the Sky People does not love you.

I was just doing what was right for my people repeats over and over again. You're glad that Clarke is focused on wrapping your palm because you can't bear to even think about what she would think about the tears that are burning in your eyes or the desert in your mouth. Your gums and jaw is sore from clenching so hard, so you loosen the muscles and instead choose to swallow countlessly. Your stomach plummets with anxiety as you force all of your strength into keeping your slightly clammy hand steady in Clarke's grasp. You work your jaw again to distract the tears, and you almost sigh in relief as they fade away. You will not cry, mostly because you are Heda and not some girl in an unrequited love. You vowed to keep Clarke's people safe.

You wonder if she knows that your vow was for her, not for Wanheda.

(It does not matter because you will always fight for her.)

On the inside, you're scolding yourself at how her touch burns you. Stop it, your mind scolds you in a voice that you know is none other than Anya's ghost trying to warn you of the weakness with feeling. You are the Commander. You are not meant to love or be loved. Who were you kidding when you'd talked to Aden earlier? Costia was one exception and look at how it ended. Look at how her soul haunts you every step you take. Look at how Clarke hated you so much she never wished to see you. Remember that time, Lexa, when she held a knife to your throat, how her eyes plead for you to stop haunting her? That was your fault. How could you have ever thought that she would love you again, after everything you've done? Do you remember that, Lexa?

Clarke doesn't forgive you. She may never forgive you.

(But even if she never does, she will always be special.)

It's moments like this when you miss Anya. You miss how she kept you tethered you to the important things in your life - your people. You wonder if she'd be proud of you tonight, about how you kept your cool and forgave those who turned against you. How you took her advice of reading your enemy to heart, of how you'd adapted her dual-sword technique into your fight. You wonder if she'd been somewhere in the sky, watching you with Costia and Gustus and your parents as you'd battled with Roan, smirking proudly as you'd stood over him in victory. You know that she would've been there after that fight to clutch your shoulder and tell you that you fought well, but not before adding something teasing about being distracted by pretty girls in the crowd.

(One absolutely beautiful girl, more like.)

You think of Costia then, about how she'd probably have run up to you and wrapped her legs around your waist. How she would've called you branwada for accepting such a ludicrous challenge from the Queen but then kissing you so hard because you are hers and you are alive. Her soft hands would've healed the scars that lined your palms, your shoulders, your ribs and your back. She would've spent the night loving you, adoring you, assuring you that you are good under all the choices you're forced to make. She would've looked you in the eyes and told you, the quietest whisper, that she loves you so, so much.

But Clarke? No, Clarke doesn't do that.

Because Lexa, you hear that voice again, taunting and sad as always, Clarke doesn't love you.

You had your chance, but your people came first. You sacrifice your heart time and time again, but you will never get anything for it. You almost feel bad for having told Aden earlier that Heda's deserve love. Maybe they do, but not you. No, you are the woman that got her first love killed because she was careless. You were the one that sent her mentor to her death. You were the one that plunged your sword into the heart of your closest confidante because your people come first. You love your people, you love your Nightbloods, and you love Clarke, but in the darkest nights, when you are alone, you hate yourself. In the comfort of the still night and the lingering ghosts that crowd around your frame, you hate how you can bleed for everyone else but no one bleeds for you. They will fight to death for you, but that's not what you want. You don't want someone to die for you anymore.

No, you want someone to live for you for once.

What made you think that this night would go over differently, Lexa?

(Don't Hedas deserve love, too? Aden asks again.)

But then, Clarke decides to wedge her knife a little deeper into your exposed heart.

"Your ambassadors betrayed you," she tells you, letting go of your wrapped hand. "How do you move forward?"

You think about it for a moment, trying to dispel your own inner self-loathing for a brief moment so that you can go back to being the pragmatic Commander you didn't want to be tonight. But, you were foolish in thinking that you could leave your job for a second. You protectively pull your hand into your lap and finger over the cloth, aching again for the warmth of Clarke's touch. A fool, a good for nothing lovesick fool - that's what you are. 

But first and foremost, always, you are a leader.

"They were doing what they believed was right for their people, too." You answer the question slowly, like you're testing the words. You keep your stare locked onto Clarke. This is your last shot as the foolish girl you are, to get Clarke to understand that you never meant to hurt her, that the decision you'd made at the Mountain while Cage and Emerson had guns locked on thousands of your men and women, it was made not easily. You'd have given your last breath if it meant keeping Clarke safe, but you had a duty, an ingrained and involuntary role you had no choice over, that came before anything, before you.

You almost break from relief when you see the flicker - as small as it is - of understanding in Clarke's eyes.

And it's enough for you then, when she rises and bids you goodnight in Trigedasleng, to know that though the lines between you are still marred with betrayal and loss, she is not shutting you out again. Clarke may never love you and you may always love her, but she is not cutting her tie with you. After all, you are the Commander, and a Commander knows when to accept a victory even when it looks like defeat. You rise and ignore the ache in your side as you nod again to her softly, whispering your farewell in English before walking past her. You linger at the door for a moment, almost as though that branwada inside of you is waiting for her to call you back, but then you see her stand and you know that this is farewell until the sun rises.

So you leave, knowing that you still have one last job to finish. 

right down to the minute

right down to the second

I can feel my every breath unfold

right down to the minute

right down to the second

and I'm down to the seconds

"I'm an idiot," you mutter to yourself repeatedly as you pace around the room. Lexa's been gone for some time now, but you can't stop the nervous bubbling in your stomach as you shake your head at your stupidity. There she was, open and bare and vulnerable, and you basically knocked her down.

"I was doing it for my people," you scoff at your own words, "nice one, Clarke. Why didn't you just say your fight meant nothing to me? It's not at all like that would've been any worse, right? Basically you just said, 'hey Lexa, you nearly fucking died but thanks for protecting my people because I only care about them and totally not you'. Really, Clarke? You're a fucking idiot, shit for brains, insensitive and absolutely foolish son of a-"

"Is it customary for Sky People to talk amongst themselves?" A raspy voice interrupts from outside the hall. You whip your head up to see Roan leaning against the doorway, an amused grin plastered to his face as he watches you pace back and forth. You growl at him, slightly flushed that he'd caught you.

"How long have you been standing there?" You snap, although your voice cracks. Roan chuckles and smirks again.

"Long enough to know that the two of you are hopeless, Wanheda." He shrugs as he pushes off the wall and enters your room. While he still carries an air of nonchalance to him, he seems lighter, almost happier than he'd been earlier. You know that it's not because he's the Ice King now, but also because he's free from the chains of his manipulative mother. He stops a few feet in front of you, eyeing the gown before raising his brow.

"So you can get a girl to sleep with you when you're covered in dirt and smell like rat droppings but you can't get laid when you're dressed like this? I must say, Clarke, you never cease to surprise me," he chuckles again as he uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You mutter something under your breath in disagreement and he only laughs again. You can't help but blush slightly at the words before you clear your throat.

"Why did you wait?" You ask hoarsely, watching as his cheeks tint a slight pink. "You know, you could've got me before I… well…"

"Lexa wanted you returned unharmed," he answers shortly, shrugging again. "I figured after everything you'd been through, you deserved some relief." You frown at the words. Roan catches your understanding but remains impassive and stoic. You wonder if all Grounders are as minimalist as Lexa.

"What do you mean, after all I'd been through? Were you following me?" You ask, slightly aghast at the idea that you had no clue you'd been sought after for longer than just that one night in the trading post. Roan waits a moment before he dips his head and nods. You pull your lip into your mouth and bite down on it nervously. This means that he knows how many nights you spent crying yourself to sleep, or how you'd scream and tremble away from night terrors.

"She would've gotten you herself, you know." His voice interrupts you from the painful memories as you glance up. For once, he is adopting a serious face. "She would've dropped everything and run for you. I saw it when she asked me to get you. She faltered for a second on your name and that's when I knew."

"Then why didn't she?" You growl the words out, feeling the slight stinging of tears from his words. "Why did she send you?"

"So many reasons, and the obvious ones you know already. She's a leader first, then a… whatever she is to you," he says, blanking on the term as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. You go to defy him, to claim that Lexa is nothing to you but a political ally, but you won't kid yourself for the second time this night. Roan clears his throat and starts again. "As soon as the Mountain fell, my mother came in with the threats. She started rallying her armies together to beat down on Polis. I knew that she would go to any length for Lexa's head. She said that she did it for her people, but she was a liar. You were right, she was worse than the Commander. The only reason why Lexa left me unharmed is because I refused to kill Costia, whereas my mother banished me for it."

"Wait," you pause as he holds his tongue, "you knew Costia?"

"I was supposed to take her from Lexa," he admits softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn't know any better because all I'd known was my mother and her rule. I actually liked the idea of a coalition between our people, but my mother was power hungry. If there was to be a coalition, she claimed it was destined for her to rule it, not some tree-girl like Lexa. So she sent me instead of Ontari to kidnap Costia." You swallow thickly as you hear the story.

"But you couldn't do it," you finish for him. Roan nods again, tight-lipped as he looks up at you with disdain.

"Lexa was so happy," he whispers as his gaze grows cloudy. "Costia was so proud of her, too. They were kids, maybe sixteen at the oldest. I'd met Lexa in battle several times when she was Heda, and she was always calm and pragmatic. Her battle strategy surpassed any of the clan leaders, my mother included. She always found a way to lead her people through unwanted wars with as minimal loss as possible. And if her warriors died, she honoured them and took their losses to her heart. She led with a passion that's different from the one she has today. She was pure and true back then."

"And now?" You ask, your gut flipping. Roan stiffens and sighs sadly.

"She's still pragmatic and smart. You saw that. You and I thought brashly, and if you'd succeeded in eliminating the Ice Queen, Lexa would've looked even weaker, and perhaps a bit more shady. The trust would've been shattered and she would've been facing armies from eleven clans, not just one. She knew that her people were scared, and that's why they followed my mother. She knew that they were doing what was best for their clans, and that is why she did not execute them on the spot. Any other Commander would not have hesitated," Roan explains slowly, his jaw clenching as he thinks back to his mother's actions. "Why else do you think she put that law in place? If she can't command her people, then she knows better than to stay in power."

"She's smarter my people's leaders," you agree with him, thinking of Pike and your mother. Kane is one you find comfort in, for you know that being with the commander for the time in which he'd been imprisoned had changed him. He was the one who claimed Lexa to be a visionary, and now you see why. Roan nods and folds his hands together, looking at you with an almost distantly wistful expression.

"After all that suffering, loss, and loneliness, it only made her wiser and kinder. She could've retaliated against my mother when Ontari captured Costia. She could've fought a war with us, knowing that we were torturing the girl she loved more than anything in the world. She could've ordered my mother to death after she sent Lexa Costia's head in a sack as a message," he continues to say, a tang of bitterness hanging at his voice. "She could've killed me for interfering with the operation, as leverage for my mother, but she chose to keep me as a prisoner of war in Polis. She never touched me once because the night Costia had been taken, she knew that I had nothing to do with it. She'd seen me try and help Costia run before Ontari came along. She saw how badly I wanted to fight beside her and Costia, but couldn't because of my mother. Lexa took on fourteen warriors, twice her size and strength while dressed in nothing but a tunic and pants, while trying to protect Costia. And I… I stood there, helpless to the vile cruelty of my mother's reign."

"You blame yourself for Costia's death?" You ask pensively. Roan sighs and shrugs, but then he allows a small nod.

"No one blames themselves more than Lexa," he murmurs quietly, looking back up to face you. "Costia was getting her a snack because she was hungry. Lexa didn't want to leave their bed and Costia told her she'd get it. It was a domestic moment, something you rarely see a Commander getting. I was going to head back to the palace to tell the Queen to call it off, but she'd already sent Ontari. Last thing I saw was the city walls burning before we returned home. Then, my mother banished me for treason. In the back of my mind, I knew she did it so she could tempt Lexa with my life. Give her a reason to start a war."

"I didn't understand her," you admit as you finger over one of the loose threads on your gown. You clear your throat when your voice cracks as you go on to say, "I didn't understand her decision, more like. I was young and naive and driven on getting my people out but I also saw her and I just… she's different. She's special. I used to think she was heartless, but then I saw how devastated she was when she killed Gustus, or when she talked about Costia. It made me realize that under that hard exterior, she's just as human as the rest of us." Roan nods in agreement and a silence befalls you yet again.

"Lexa's a good person, a strong advisor and even stronger leader," Roan says as he swallows thickly, "but even the best fall down sometimes. She's hardened for her people, but I saw the way she looked at you when I delivered you to her. I saw that love that I thought had burned out after Costia."

"What are you getting at?" You ask hesitantly, but you have a strong feeling as to what he's actually trying to say. Roan's steely gaze meets yours and you're both quiet again. Only the soft whistling of the wind provides background noise as you stare at each other for a few moments. Finally, he clears his throat.

"If you love her too," he says with a quiet rasp, "I think you should go after her."

"And if I don't?" You counter, hating the way the words taste on your lips. Roan offers another measly smile.

"Something tells me that's not an option," he says with a slight smirk. You tremble at the weight of his answer. You know you love her, but you can't admit it. You're still not ready. But Roan can see it, and he knows as he steps forward to place a hand to your quivering shoulder, that he is right about everything.

"Why are you helping me?" You ask softly, unsure and shaky on your feet as he pulls his hand away and heads for the door. He lingers for a minute, reaching out for the handle in the same way that Lexa had done only moments ago. You watch as his head turns and he smiles kindly, peacefully.

"I saw today just how fleeting life can be," he answers with mirth flickering in his dark eyes, "besides, I think you both deserve to be happy."

You ponder his words for a moment, mulling them over in your head as you think about everything that's happened in the past few months. You know you're not ready to do anything with Lexa, but you're also not ready to lose her. She could've died today. She could've been dethroned and executed if it hadn't been for you backing her, and you know now as clearly and scary as it is, that you did it not just for your people but for you. Lexa is the pinnacle of your desires, and not just those of lust, but of need. She is your safety and comfort. She holds the world in her hands but you in her heart.

She is… everything.

"She'll be by the river," Roan says as he takes a step outside the room, "if you can keep quiet, I can lead you to her."

This time, you don't hesitate when you nod in agreement. Only one thought is present in your head as you change into suitable clothes.

I won't lose Lexa, not again.

 out on this tiny planet, under a bright yellow sun

on an island east of an island, just past the bridge and tunnels

I feel the ground under my shoes

on a street between a couple of avenues

(and I'll lose it)

You return to your room in silence, followed by your phantoms that ache to touch and talk with you. In a matter of seconds, you've changed out of that nightgown and placed it back into the closet, where all her other belongings remain. You pull on a loose top and a pair of pants before throwing on your comforting overcoat. You stare again at the bareness of your room, of how scarce the biggest room for the biggest woman really is. Some of her things are still there, but you don't dare touch them. Instead, you walk past her chessboard and her necklace that hangs at your desk and to the chest at the back of your bed. You kneel down, ignoring the click in your joints as your hands ghost over the intricate wooden carvings. 

Then, you open it.

You fight back tears when you look at the small wooden sword your father had gifted you on your seventh birthday. You remember that day, it'd been a week before you'd been found and taken to Titus to train as a Nightblood. That was the last time you ever saw your father. Years later, before your Conclave, your mother had come and handed you the item, telling you mournfully of your father's passing. You cried in her arms that night as she apologized to you, and how she'd wept with you. She'd loved your father so much… too much to live without him. And when you'd found her the next day, in a puddle of her own blood and a ghost of an apology on her blue lips, you learned that love is weakness. So you hid the sword and moved on.

You tear your gaze away from the wooden toy and turn to a small bracelet. You almost want to laugh at the memory of this item. You'd just turned fourteen summers while away at war. You'd been missing Costia and your parents and maybe, just maybe, hated the idea that you'd never get to love freely like they could. You'd been distant and sad (something Anya had associated with your womanly-bleeding), and Anya had handed you the bracelet. She'd grunted out saying that she found it in a market and that green was your colour. When you'd smiled and tried to hug her, she let you. Not before slapping mud in your face and pushing you to the ground playfully, muttering something about how she only did it so you'd stop moping around like a goufa.

Gustus' sword is next. You had it brought back after his death. He would've wanted you to use it, but you never could find the strength to hold it in your palms and use it to fight. Instead, you placed it in the chest and locked it away. You think of it almost symbolically, of how he carried the same kind of poise and stoicism that you strived towards. He may have been big and strong and sturdy, but he was soft with you. When Anya's braid had been given to you, he'd stood there and watched with guarded eyes. He'd placed his hand upon your shoulder after Clarke had left and he told you to be strong as you killed him. His sword is long and broad and it embodies every aspect of the great protector he'd been. 

And then, finally, you find her.

The jar is dusted now, but you know exactly what's inside of it. You curl your fingers around it and lift it gently into your hands. You hold it close to your chest and suck in a deep breath, almost thinking that you can smell her. A light touch ghosts your shoulder and you can't help the sad smile that creeps upon your cracked lips. You push back the tears and rise, dressing yourself with a light sword before grabbing a satchel and placing the jar inside.

"Time to finally finish what I've started," you murmur as you make your way out of the room. You slip on your boots before nodding to your guards that you will be gone for a few hours. They have known you since you were a child, since she'd been killed, so when they see the satchel, they understand.

"Be safe Heda," Cillian, the larger of the two, humbly grunts to you. "Linus and Morina will be in the trees for you tonight."

Again, you nod and enter the elevator, grateful for your guards that will respect your space. Cillian gives you another knowing, sad smile before he opens the closes the shaft door. The two guards inside mumble a greeting before pulling on some levers. You ride down the floors in silence, your fingers pulling at some of the loose threads on the worn leather. You make your way through Polis, occasionally stopping to talk with your people when they call your name. They hold your hands and thank you. Some kiss your cheek and the children beg for stories. You spend your time absorbed in the life of your city, of the world and the people you'd fought through three hells to protect. A swell of bittersweet pride settles in your chest because you lost so much for all of this. All of these people that thank you and offer you gifts, they are here because others had to die in their stead. 

After some time, you find yourself in the forest outside your home. You walk in silence, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the bioluminescent flowers and animals that light up the trees. The forest holds our souls, your mother had once told you when your father had died. You came here every year, on one day, to visit them. Though they are gone, you can see them in the lights. You feel their energy replenish yours, their voices in your ear and their hands on your skin as they guide you back to yourself. You afford yourself another smile when you feel their energy grow stronger as you near the river.

"Annacostia," you whisper as you step upon the pebbled surface. The water is calm and quiet. The stars reflect off its surface and you're certain you've never seen such a beautiful sight. You take off your sword and lay it down, before peeling off your overcoat and reaching for your satchel. You slowly pull out the jar and lay the bag down next to your items. You're stupid to be weaponless even with the Queen dead, but you've already been a fool tonight.

Why not do it all at once?

You slip out of your boots and grin like a child when your toes touch the cool, slick rocks. After rolling up your pants to your knees, you limp over to the water before letting yourself dip your toes in. You close your eyes and sigh because unlike the rocks, the water is warm. It is one of the marvels of the river your love was named after. You open your eyes in a slow blink as you wade forward until you are at knee-height. You take another breath as you nod your head upwards to stare at the moon and the stars. You trace out her favourite constellation and allow an ounce of peace to relieve your shoulders of the weight your title carries. In this moment, you allow yourself to lose the title of Heda completely. You allow yourself to be Lexa, just for this minute.

"It's over, Costia," you breathe the trembling words to the river, "I can finally bring you home now."

You open the jar and look at the ash inside. This time, you don't fight the tears that burn at your eyes. This time, you allow yourself to feel and to ignore the screams of weakness that usually render you to your knees, breathless and beaten down. Tonight, you breathe in the air of the forest and the river and you allow yourself to mourn the loss of the woman who'd held your heart in her palms like it always belonged to her. Tonight, you will set yourself free.

More importantly, you will set Costia free.

You tip the jar back and watch as the dust of her ashes floats in the air. They fall into the river as the tears start sliding down your face. You do it softly and slowly, like you're afraid of losing her. You watch as the last few flecks disappear and then you fall apart. You close the jar and you sob, releasing the tears and the anger and the heart-crushing sadness that you'd repressed in the years since her death. You fall to your knees in the river. For once, the water doesn't feel suffocating. The warmth of the river feels like an embrace, like she is calling back to you and thanking you and loving you.

"Yu gonplei ste odon, ai hodnes," you say between cries as you smile again. You've never felt so happy in your entire life, so at peace knowing that you're finally able to say farewell to your best friend, to the woman that tethered you to the ground in the darkest and lightest of times. You run your fingers through the water and you close your eyes again. You're soaked to the bone, but you don't care. This is the closest you've been to Costia in years.

You swear, you can feel her hands on your shoulders as you cry.

"Your fight," you breathe out as you swallow thickly, rising from the river. You smile again as you close the jar. "Your fight is finally over, my love."

You stand in the water for a few moments, just taking in the last moments of this weightless feeling. It's one you know you will be lucky to ever experience again, so you savour the moment. You savour the taste of the salt in the air, the scent of the pine, the sounds of the burbling current. You let yourself become one with the world, with life and death. You take your final glimpse of all the memories you'd shared with her, of your first kiss and your first fight. Of the first time her hands touched your skin and the first cry she'd birthed from her lips when you'd touched her back. You take it in with bittersweet pride and wholesome love. You touch the water once more, murmuring a quiet, last goodbye to the strength and love she'd given you all those years ago.

And then, as you turn around to see Clarke standing in the forest, you finally let it all go.

right down to the minute

right down to the second

I can feel my every breath unfold

right down to the minute

right down to the second

"Clarke?"

Lexa croaks your name like she's trying to protect herself from you. You see her hands move up to her chest as if to physically take her heart and contain it within her calloused, marred palms. Your heart aches for her, like it continues ache as you watch the tears dry on her face. You've never seen Lexa cry, but the sight is beautiful in such a sad way. Her jaw clenches as more tears threaten to spill, but she's not strong enough to hold them at bay this time.

"I… I just… I…," she stammers weakly as she looks to the empty jar and then the river, "I just needed to let her go."

The words make your world stop spinning for a moment. In that frozen minute, all you can see is the tense muscles of Lexa's stiffened back as she holds herself together. From what you've gathered, Lexa is no more than two or three years older than you, but she'd lost Costia when she'd been young. She'd been holding onto years worth of depression, self-loathing, guilt, and pain so that this moment could finally come. You gulp down the sympathy and instead take a step forward. Lexa freezes like a wild animal caught in the headlights, but she doesn't make an attempt to move.

"I'm proud of you," you whisper softly, the words sliding past your lips with surprising ease and sincerity. Lexa's brows perk in shock, and it's then when you realize that she'd probably been expecting you to say something insulting or demeaning. She was probably expecting you to talk about how much you still can't trust her or how she betrayed you, and the look in her gaze is haunting. It breaks your heart, but it motivates you more than anything else.

"Hey," you breathe out as you reach up and catch her cheeks in your palms, "look at me, Lexa."

She barely meets your eyes, her glazed expression teetering on panic and helplessness now. You hear the pitiful whine that escapes her lips when she trembles at the soft graze of your thumbs over her cheekbones. You tug her a little close and smile again, using your thumbs to wipe away the cascading tears. You wait until she can hold your stare steadily, and then you finally take a deep breath and say the words you needed to say hours ago.

"I didn't back you just because of my people," you admit to her in a weak rasp, leaning forward so that your foreheads graze. "I did it because I couldn't lose you again, Lexa. We're not fixed and things will always be rough considering all that's happened, but I need you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you, Lexa." You're both crying now as your hands somehow wind around her neck and pull her in for a long, firm embrace. Lexa's head bows to your shoulder as she sobs relentlessly into your shirt. You rub up and down her back, encouraging her in small whispers to let it out, to be free from her burdens and pain.

"I… Lexa," your voice cracks on her name as you grip her tighter, "I… I can't lose you, Lexa."

In that moment, in that soft confession that takes almost all your strength to admit, she understands. Her body slackens and she lets out another cry, but it's not heartbreaking. You feel her fingers, damp from the river, dig themselves into your hips and pull you closer. And you allow her to mould your bodies together until you're practically one in the same. You press your face into her hair, smelling the scent of lavender and the salt from the water. You close your eyes and revel in the thundering beat of her heart against your chest, of the nervous quiver of her lips, or the soft, hiccuped gasps she releases.

"She's dead," Lexa breathes between each harsh rasp of breath that you have no doubt is straining her ribs, "she's… she's dead, Clarke."

You don't have to ask to know that she's not referring to the Ice Queen. You hold her close and mumble sweet nothings into her ear as she lets it all out, sobbing into you with such a force you're surprised neither of you have been knocked over. You let her cry and break down because somewhere, in the niggling back of your mind, the saddest thought of knowing Lexa isn't allowed this, this chance at peace and inner reconciliation, breaks your heart. You wonder if she's grieved Anya or Gustus, or if she was just expected to get up and move on like they'd never existed. You grieved Finn, but you never thought to ask the Commander if she'd got a chance to mourn her protectors. The memory only makes you hold onto her tighter.

"Costia loved you, Lexa. She would be so proud of you right now. Anya and Gustus too," you tell her encouragingly, rubbing your hands up and down her back. Your deft fingers catch the bumps in her spine, and through the slightly damp shirt, you can feel the faintest brush of scars from under the material of her tunic. It makes you shiver, and not just because she is cold and she is wet, but because for once, she is so incredibly small and delicate.

For the first time, you realize that like you, she is just a child.

"What do I do now?" Lexa asks with a small whimper, looking down to her hands and then to the river again. "What do I do now that they're gone?"

You look to the jar that somehow fell to the ground during your embrace and search yourself for answers. You wonder what you want to do, but you know that this isn't about you. This is about the girl who cut open her chest and gave you her heart and asked for nothing in return. This is about the girl who stands before you, shivering and afraid because she thinks she's alone again. You wonder how many nights she's spent alone, like you, warding off demons that have plagued her since she first lost their warm bodies. You wonder how long she's been fighting the war inside her head on her own. You wonder how many scars she has, not the ones on the outside, but the ones that line her heart and her lungs, the ones that cause her bones to shake and head spin.

"Lexa," you whisper her name so softly, you're not sure if she can hear you. But she does, because she is Lexa. She hears everything you say, even the words that go unspoken. You reach for her hand and offer her your own. She takes your hand tentatively, almost like she's worried you're still pulling her leg.

"Clarke?" She asks, gulping down her fear to look at you again. You squeeze her hand and lean your foreheads back together. "Clarke, what-"

"Begin again," you whisper into her cheek as you close your eyes, clasping her fingers tighter, "start over, Lexa. Let go of that pain and begin again."

Lexa is quiet for a long time, her mind still processing the idea of letting her grief go. You know that she's done it, just now as she'd exited that river, but you know she still hasn't accepted that she's allowed to let it go. You refrain from pressing your lips to the tears that streak down her cheeks involuntarily. You wish that you could just reach inside that damaged body and hold her together, to give her even a moment of respite from her hardships. Lexa breathes in and out harshly, and it's only then that you realize that she's sobbing. You swallow and clench your jaw at the sadness that aches inside you.

"Do you think they would forgive me?" She asks with a sniffle. "D-Do you think… would she… would-"

"Yes," you murmur gently, squeezing your arms around her shoulders a bit tighter than before, "they forgive you, Lexa. They love you."

"No one loves me," Lexa whispers as she hangs her head in your collar, "everyone I love dies."

"Not me," you say, and you both freeze at how quickly the words slip through your lips. Lexa stiffens in your grasp before she nods her head up and pulls away. There's a new level of hurt in her gaze that makes your breath hitch in your throat. She puts some space between you, her stare hardening as she desperately stitches the walls of her weathered heart back together. She gulps down her emotions and fights the tears that continue to fall.

"Please," she begs hoarsely, the sound of her voice so grating your teeth clench in agony, "please, Clarke. Don't do that to me."

"Do what?" You echo breathily, still grounded to your spot. "Love you?"

"Please," she cries again as she shakes her head, "I will protect you. I… I promised I'd protect your people, but please, I can't… not when-"

"I love you, Lexa." You say the words with more confidence now. You don't ignore how much freer you feel or how your stomach crawls up to the base of your throat with excitement and release because you've been in love with her since you saved her life from pauna. You take a daring step forward and softly angle her cheeks so that you're at eye-level once more. You grip her tighter when you see the doubt in those glimmering sea green depths.

"I love you," you whisper again as your gaze flickers from her eyes to her lips once, "and I don't think I'll ever stop loving you, Lexa."

"Clarke," she hisses your name like it's a sword dug into her lungs, "do not lie to me. Not about this. About you."

"I'm in love with you and I know how much that scares you. I know how much you fear that I will walk away, or that I'm using you for my people. I know how badly you just want to keep me safe and I know, Lexa, that you love me just as much as you'd once loved Costia, as much as I'd once loved Finn. I couldn't fight for you because I'm not as skilled as you are in combat, to which I'm sorry I ever doubted you. But know this, I wouldn't die for you Lexa," you tell hers sternly, keeping your gaze on hers as the words start to sink through her cracked skin. Her lips quiver, but you do not stop. You will not leave another second unused without telling her of how you really feel, of how you've always felt about her. You snake a hand down to grasp her uninjured palm tightly.

"I love you so much that I want to live for you," you rasp as tears start to glide down your cheeks. Lexa's breath hitches and she lets out another quiet cry when you grab her chin and press your clammy foreheads back together. You take another deep, steadying breath before repeating, "I love you."

For a second, there is silence. You fear that she still doesn't believe you and you fear that she's going to turn away from this because love is weakness and she cannot afford that right now, not after she just broke down the dam surrounding her soul for you to see. You fear that she will think you are manipulating her again, that you are lying for some ulterior motive as you'd used Anya's death when first having met her. You are terrified that she will pull away and tell you, like she'd told you on that Godawful mountain, that she made this decision with her head and not her heart. But, you can't let her go.

You won't let her go this time.

"You deserve to be loved, too." These words are new to Lexa, because it causes her to stop in a way she hadn't done before. You almost want to smile at the way she shivers so vulnerably. You graze your thumb over her cheek again, your movements slow and soft so that she does not get scared. You squeeze the shaking palm in your hand as you fiercely tell her, "you deserved to be loved and forgiven and held, and while you are so incredibly strong, you deserve to be weak, too. Out there," you say as you point to Polis' city walls, "out there you are Heda and impenetrable and a fortress to those people." Lexa draws a sharp breath and you almost want to cry at how she trembles harder at your words. You fight the urge to cry and instead will yourself to continue.

"But in here," you whisper as you drag your intertwined fingers up to graze over your heart, "in here you are mine, okay? When the doors close and the city sleeps, you don't have to pretend. You are safe with me, Lexa. You are safe and protected and so, so incredibly loved by me. I know I'm not anything special, not as remarkable or ferocious a fighter like you, but I will love you with every inch of my soul. I love you, Lexa. I just love you, okay?"

When you see that she is not responding, but instead pensively staring at you, as if still feeling the need to protect her heart from another possible breakdown, you know that she needs proof. You press yourself closer and give her the space to pull away should she desire, but she remains still. Her glazed expression remains wary but as you inch closer, you can see the vulnerability fading and the trust coming back. You smile at her as you reach up with your free hand to trace her bottom lip, giving her the subtlest of warnings of what you want to do. Still, she refuses to move.

"I love you Lexa," you breathe one more time before you press your lips to hers. It's a tender kiss, one not too dissimilar to the one she'd left you with before the Mountain. You almost choke at the memory, but then you ground yourself to the present. You remind yourself, as you close your eyes and taste the sharp, bitter remains of mead upon her lips, that Lexa is here and you are both safe and no matter how hard things will be, that will never change.

And it's only when you feel her kiss you back, that you realize you almost forgot to breathe.

right down to the minute

When Clarke kisses you, so longingly and fervently, you realize that maybe you were wrong.

You hadn't believed her because you'd been so hell bent on the thought that loving you is an impossibility in itself. A paradox, really. But then when Clarke spoke of you, to you, of how much you mean as Lexa and not as the Commander of the Thirteen Clans, you realized that you can mean more than your title. That you can be a girl that can be loved for who she is, not what she is. You feel the sheer ferocity in Clarke's love when she presses closer, snaking a hand into your hair to deepen the kiss. Your hands dig into her waist as you kiss her back, trying to remember a time when you'd felt so light.

"I love you," she repeats into your lips, "I love you so much, Lexa."

"Ai hod yu in, otaim Klarke, ai… ai…," you can hardly finish the statement before you're crying again. Clarke smiles into your lips at the confession, and in that minute you hate that you can't be as strong with your words. Clarke understands and she kisses you harder because she knows what you mean.

"I'm yours, okay?" She asks quietly, her hands finding yours as you continue to kiss. You nod slowly, drinking her in. Hers. Clarke hums into your mouth again, taking control of the kiss and making sure that you can feel just how invested she is in this, in you. And you feel all of it, from the tingling in your toes all the way to the dizzying spin of your head. Every soft brush of her lips over yours has you reeling in awe and love.

For the first time in so long, you really - honestly - feel safe.

"Would you follow me?" You ask as you break your kiss, the words soft and lingering in the chilling night air. Clarke doesn't ask you where, doesn't ask you why, but she nods instead. Her hands come up to cup your cheeks as she kisses you, long and hard and slow. You wind your arms around her waist again.

"No," she whispers between another breathtaking kiss. You stiffen, but before you can jerk away, she whispers, "I stand beside you. Feva."

Forever.

You try not to cry at the concept of forever. It's one you know all too well, one that Clarke doesn't know enough of, but when she senses your fear and slows her kisses down. She eventually tapers off after one slow peck so that your noses can brush. A sudden familiarity returns when you think about your first kiss back in the tent. You wonder how the tables had managed to turn in the span of three months. At first it'd been you being gentle and cautious with Clarke, but now here she is, reducing you to barely putty in her hands. You are nothing but your skeleton, all raw and bleeding for her to see and hold.

And how she holds you, so delicately and lovingly, that it takes your breath away.

"What do you want, Lexa?" Clarke asks you, and it occurs to you that she's the first person since Costia to pose the question. It's always what do your people want, what does the world want, what does the Commander want. But here is Clarke, beautiful and unhindered Clarke, asking what you, Lexa, wants.

"You," the word slips from your mouth before you can catch and tug it back to your heart, "I want all of you, Clarke."

Clarke nods as she reaches down for your hands. She squeezes once, but in that gesture you understand that she wishes for you to make the next decision. You gulp and look back to the city lights, thinking of all the possibilities and outcomes in the world that had lead you to this moment right here. For a minute, you bask in the glow of being appreciated by someone, of being loved fully and wholly for who you are, not the mask you wear. Clarke sighs against your shoulder, occasionally leaning against your sides as you both spend your time revelling in each other's presence. 

You can almost feel Costia smiling proudly at you through the bluing glow of the trees.

(Clarke is special.)

"I want to do it," you say quietly as you turn to gaze back down at Clarke, misty-eyed and raspy-voiced. Clarke takes a deep breath and waits anxiously for you to finish your thought. You simply reach for her hand and pull her into a full hug, letting your lips rest in her lilac scented hair. You close your eyes and focus on the hammering of your heart in your throat and the soft body curled into your arms. You kiss the top of Clarke's head again before you speak.

"I want to begin again," you admit with a quiet crack in your voice, "I want to start over, with you. If… if you'll have me?"

Clarke doesn't even hesitate as she nods and presses a kiss to your lips. You don't know how you've managed to start moving, but before you know it, you're taking the secret entrance into your quarters. You sneak into the small elevator reserved for late-night getaways or emergencies. The two guards working the shifts don't even bat an eye as they haul you up to the summit of the tower, but you see the hopeful glance in their eyes. It's then that you realize that your people love and care for you not as their leader, but also as a friend. They want your happiness just as much as your children and Clarke do. The thought makes you nearly want to cry again, but you remember that even though they are your guards, you are still their Commander.

It doesn't take long for you to reach your quarters. You both are walking, hands clasped and shoulders brushing as you push open the doors into your bedroom. You feel nervous, for Clarke is the first person to take to your bed since Costia. You close the doors behind you as she explores around the room, her eyes taking everything in for its entirety. You gulp nervously and fidget by the doors, bracing for rejection. But then, Clarke walks over to you with wonder and complete adoration in her glassy blue eyes. She sees you bare in that moment and you find yourself shivering.

"You're still wet," she whispers, her cheeks rouging from the double-entendre, "f-from the river, I mean."

You blush and look down, grimacing at the state of your soaked breeches and damp tunic. You expect rejection again, but instead you receive a warmer, more pleasant reaction. Clarke's hands ghost to the hem of your shirt, her fingertips playing with the fabric as she looks to you for any sign of reluctance. You shake your head in silent consent as she takes a steeling breath. She lifts the shirt delicately, as if she's afraid to tear it. You wince at the soft ache in your side as you lift your arms, but Clarke kisses your shoulder as the shirt comes off, her eyes closed loosely. You gasp at the sensation of her warm palms placed loosely upon your heaving torso. She traces each ring of muscle under your bandaged ribs, her fingers catching in a few of the scars there.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying into her hair, "there… there are lots of them… the scars."

"You are beautiful," Clarke tells you gently as she parts her eyelids to look back up at you with such a loving tenderness that you melt in her arms. You reach for her chin and drag her in for a soothing kiss. She hums into your mouth as she takes your other hand and places it at her own shirt. You get the hint and blush, pulling back from the kiss to stare at her hooded gaze. Clarke smiles as she pecks you again, breathing out a soft sigh of content.

"Can… should I…," you stammer like a virgin, your hands clammy from nerves. "I mean-"

"Yes," she whispers as she lets your other hand fall to the hem of her shirt. You lift the material of her tunic off and to the floor so it may land softly beside your own. You blink at her eyes, wanting to make sure that she knows that this moment is currently being fossilized in your mind so you may keep it tethered there forever. Her hands find your cheeks again and this time, your gaze flits downwards to her soft stomach and medium breasts.

"You are beautiful too, Clarke." You wish that you could be more coherent and less emotional, but the sight of her so bare before you is something you'd only kept in your dreams. For so long you'd held onto the vision of Clarke finally being yours - yours to love, to touch, to hold dear until your last breath - and you never thought that you'd come to a day in which that dream became a reality. You swallow harshly to alleviate the desert in your mouth.

"So, so beautiful," you murmur as you continue to undress each other. Hands find buttons and ties, smooth silk and cotton, before long, all either of you can feel is skin and muscle and soft curves. You keep your eyes glued on each other until you walk backwards, guided by the pale moonlight pouring in through the open window at your balcony. Your bodies remain pressed together until you hit the bed. Clarke lands on top of you slowly, her eyes drinking in every inch of your tanned and scarred skin as though she were to sketch it later. You almost consider asking her to do it.

"Are you ready?" You ask, your voice breathless even though you've done nothing so far. Clarke nods and leans down, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. You gasp into her mouth as her lips begin to leave a trail down your chin, to your neck, and then into the hollow of your collarbones. You feel the tears burn at your eyes again as she lets her lips graze over every ounce of skin you have, kissing the crossing of mismatched scars and marks that you'd attained in your years spent training and leading your people. You tremble under her mouth, but in the daze, her eyes finds yours again.

"Are you ready?" Clarke asks you gently, her eyes meeting yours from where her face hovers over your breasts. You swallow thickly before you nod once more, again giving a silent consent. Clarke allows the ghost of a smile to touch her lips before she kisses your breasts. Her tongue laps over a hardened nipple, causing you to gasp out at the electric spike that strikes your spine. You nearly quiver into a mess at the slightest movement.

"Clarke," you breathe her name before tugging on her arm. She kisses upwards to your lips again until you find safety in her mouth pressed against yours. You squeeze her hand and try to fight the tears that roll down your cheeks. Clarke quivers when she feels them mesh upon her cheeks, but instead of pulling away, she unlatches her lips from yours and kisses away your tears. Her body fits so well against your own, and you know what you want. You look up into her gaze pleadingly, hoping and aching that she will see your silent plea. But when you look at her, your heart lodges in the base of your throat.

Clarke, bare and beautiful Clarke, wants the exact same thing. 

"Together?" You ask as you place one of your hands against her soft stomach. Clarke mimics the movement on your torso before she nods.

"Together," she echoes as she leans down and presses your lips back together, "we come together."

 right down to the second

You're almost certain that neither of you have ever been this vulnerable before.

With Finn, it was fast-paced and quick - hormonal, dare you say the word. But here, with Lexa, when she stares at you with her burning green eyes that light a fire in every nerve cell in your body. It's slow. It's steady, it's a dance between two broken souls trying to find an ounce of solace in each other. It's about sanctuary and healing, not about sex. This isn't fucking, not as your fingers both trail down each other's fronts agonizingly slow, this is love-making. Lexa's eyes never leave yours as yours never leave hers. There's the silent command in there somewhere, a plea you are both begging to be heard.

I want you to watch as I push inside you.

It's the only thought running through both your heads as your hands find the trimmed mounds of hair above the most sacred areas upon your bodies. Lexa's trembling but you're shaking just as much. The anticipation has brought about a thin sheen of sweat upon both of your bodies as you both slide your fingers through the coarse strands. It's then that you feel the faint scar that leads down from Lexa's pubic bone to her thigh and she finds uneven patch of hair that you'd tried to shave in a bath a few weeks ago. But there's no disgust or shock that catches your locked gazes.

There's nothing but love.

"Ready?" Lexa breathes out the word like it's the last one that will ever leave her lips. You nod, fighting the urge to shut your eyes from the tightly coiled tension brewing in your lower stomach. She leans her head up and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, causing your breath to hitch.

"Ready," you whisper as you kiss her, stealing the air from her lungs as she rolls you so the two of your are side by side. There's a strange feeling that accompanies this position, a sense of equality if you could consider it that. Lexa's forehead is pressed against yours, her breaths hot and slow as they land in soft patters upon your nose. Her hand is still paused above where you want it to most, just like yours is with her own body. 

But then, as you both take one deep breath, you dive off into the unknown together.

The sound that Lexa makes, coupled with the slight widening of her glazed eyes, is a sound and a sight you will never forget. She gasps almost as loud as you do, and its then that you appreciate just how long and slender her fingers are. You find yourself asking how much experience she has, because she finds your clit with ease, her lip catching in her mouth when she slips and slides over the bud because you are that wet. You almost forget to move your hand because you're mesmerized by the heat and slickness and the recurring screaming voice in your head telling you this is Lexa you're touching.

"Holy…," is the only thing you can whisper as she slides over your clit again, "… fuck, Lexa."

"Jok," Lexa hisses when you mimic the movement upon her own body. You know enough Trigedasleng to know what that means. You find yourself reaching forward and connecting your lips to hers as your fingers continue their slow, gentle exploration. It's only until after you've mapped her out, you find yourself aching for more. You can tell by the way her shoulders tremble and a layer of sweat coats her smooth brows, that she needs this just as badly. 

"Inside," the both of you say in unison.

For a moment, you chuckle. Lexa loosens in amusement as her gaze flickers back down to your mouth. You meet her lips in another kiss, one that is soft and tender like the one you'd shared in the forest. Your hands continue to move against each other, teasing the tight ring of muscle that aches to be penetrated, to be taken by each other. But the teasing doesn't go on forever. Soon, the both of you pull away and nod. You remember your words from earlier, of how Lexa had looked like you held the power to hold her heavy heart in her hands, and she had the capacity to store yours inside her chest.

Together.

When you push inside of her, the first sensation is heat. All you can feel is Lexa scalding you like you're touching the embers of a pyre. You can't help the sharp gasp that escapes your lips when her slender digits stroke your inner walls, like she's known your body for eternity. You gaze at her then, as she offers you the most bare of smiles, thinking about reincarnation. You ponder the idea of loving her in another lifetime, one that hadn't been steeped in war and death and betrayal and loss and pain. You wonder if she was just as broken in that timeline, if she had been beaten down and left alone like she is in this life. You wonder if you'd been married with a pet or a child, perhaps living a mundane life. You wonder how many times she's actually touched you.

And then you wonder if you'll get to love her in the next life, and the one after that, and then again and again - infinitely.

"Yes," Lexa replies as if she can read your mind. Her eyes are softer, wiser than before, and you can't help but wondering if she knew all along that you were meant to be hers and she was meant to be yours. Her free hand comes up to cup your jaw as she brings you in for another soft kiss. It's one that tells everything, one that shoots your entire existence into space and you're floating with her in the stars, your bodies intertwined for eternity.

(Lexa is special, you told Roan.)

"How?" You find yourself breathing out the word against her moist lips, tears stinging in your eyes. Lexa only nods once, her gaze darkening for a moment as she leans forward and slides your bodies against each other. Your fingers twitch inside of her, probing her walls that feel so familiar that you want to cry again. Lexa smiles, but it's a sad smile, one that you know means that she knows something that goes beyond your bodies, this bed, and these walls.

"I am the Commander," she whispers against your lips, "and my spirit has always chosen yours, Clarke, no matter your form."

Reincarnation, the word echoes in your mind again. You wonder if she remembers her past lives, or if she carries their deaths with her. You wonder if she knows how each of them were born, trained, of how they fell in love and how they passed on. You kiss her again, harder, as she begins to weep into your arms. You know that this isn't something you could've ever predicted, but you don't deny it. As you touch Lexa, and as she touches you, it's like you're at home. For months, years, you've struggled with the concept of a home, just as Lexa has struggled with the concept of forever. And then it hits you.

Lexa your home. You are her forever.

"You will always remember me," you whisper, and it's not a question but a statement, "even if I don't know you, you'll always remember me?"

Lexa nods once, the tears welling in her eyes again. She swallows thickly as her fingers pick up the pace. You match her pace with a soft, heartbreakingly gentle gasp. Her lips trail down your lips to your neck, her tongue lapping slowly over your pulse point. She loves you so beautifully, so openly, that you almost feel like you're about to break apart under her strong hands. You chase her lips until you're kissing again, reverently and beautifully. You can feel her pulse beneath your palms and you know she's close. Your legs tremble and your stomach coils when you realize that you're nearly there, too.

"Feva," Lexa whispers with a gasp, "ai don yu mema in feva, ai hodnes. Yu laik ain, Klark. In dison sonraun en nes-de."

"Oson," you breathe back the words as the spring in your gut snaps. "Feva oson, Leksa."

And then, with one final syncopated thrust, you both come undone.

Together.

 I'm down to the seconds

A few years later, after the war has long since ended, you find Aden and Mika sitting in the gardens with their hands clasped together.

You smile weightlessly for the first time in a long time. You're older now, a bit more sore and weathered down by constant battle, but you've managed to bring your world to a peaceful place. You have lived long for a Commander, longer than most. In your time, you've lost sight in your right eye from a rock to the temple. Your hands cannot grip a sword in the same way they once were able to. Your breathing is laboured and slow. You have a constant limp from a stab wound to your thigh, and at times Raven mocks you because she has a 'cooler' brace. Your joints pop and click through each strenuous exercise you still subject yourself to, much to Clarke's disapproval. You are still a warrior, but you have learned to let others fight your battles now. Your clans flourish in the harmony you've forged between the neighbouring territories. The trading and bartering is high and marriages between clans have increased. In the time that you've managed to bring this new era, you've also settled down and finally made your own peace: one with yourself and your past. 

You hum a familiar childhood tune to the calm air as you turn to find Clarke sketching a few water lilies by the pond. She catches your eyes and she offers a soft nod. Her blue eyes twinkle with happiness and you find yourself revelling the sight of her so carefree and happy. You remember a time when those eyes used to burn nothing but hatred and anger towards you, but now they hold nothing but love and admiration for you. There are days when you simply stare at her in awe and wonder, and you ask yourself just how lucky you are that she is the soul that will remain tethered to yours for eternity. Even if her life is finite, her heart and passion remains yours to hold and care for with tender, scarred and calloused hands. And the best part is that she lets you.

Clarke is yours and - finally - you get to love her.

"How was the meeting?" She asks as you stride over to her with a harder limp than usual. She eyes it with a frown, but you just chuckle.

"I wonder how many more meetings will involve me telling Titus to stop fretting," you say with a humble shake of your head. Clarke rolls her head and bites her lip, holding back laughter at your comment. "But he told me of a few issues I've sent Octavia and Lincoln to deal with along the Iron Clan's border."

There are still threats from bounty hunters and rogue clans that lurk beyond the walls, but for now, you will take this moment of rest. It's all that Titus ever tells you to do, anyways. But you know that your oldest confidante speaks true. You are not as young as you used to be, though you may pretend your spirit is immortal. Your body is still ever human, and it grows old with each passing summer. Clarke mutters something as she continues sketching.

"What was that, ai houmon?" You ask, raising a brow at her mumbling. Clarke flashes you a smirk as she shrugs.

"Just thinking about how you act just like Titus in front of Aden," she tells you with a chuckle, glancing over to the boy with a fond smile. You are happy that she has taken a liking to your initiate. While you hope that it won't be another couple of years, when Aden is not a teenager and instead an adult, you find comfort in knowing Clarke will be taken care of after your passing. You smile at the boy you've come to love as your own brother, noticing how his eyes are on Mika and Mika alone. He reminds you more of Costia as he grows older, and you know that he will be just as strong and intelligent as she was.

Aden will make a great Commander one day. 

"Nonsense," you grumble as you turn your attention back to Clarke, "I am far more attractive than Titus."

Clarke lets out another soft chuckle, which raises your lips in a genuine smile. Another small victory, the Commander inside you says, but you know it to be something more than just that. You grin at her with your unbridled, infinite affection and she blushes. You gaze back over to Aden, who's looking at you expectantly, his fingers still wrapped with Mika's own. He stares at you, his gentle eyes that remind you so much of the girl that once held your heart but you've now let go. He nods almost knowingly before turning back to Mika, losing himself in a teasing banter with the girl who's captured his attention.

You make your way over to where Clarke is painting and sit down stiffly, basking in the warmth of the sun and the sound of your Nightbloods laughing and playing in the gardens. Most of them are older now, but until you die, they will remain your children. You've never told anyone, but both Titus and Clarke know that's exactly what they mean to you. Each and every one of them is special in more ways than one. You've tended to them when they were sick, taught them everything there is to know about being a commander and a warrior, and practically raised them when they were taken from their villages.

You won't admit, but you enjoy it when one of them accidentally calls you their nomon instead of Heda.

(It happens more often than not, you find.)

You swallow slowly, allowing your heart to slow its beating as you lean back against the bench. You do a few of those breathing exercises that Abby had taught you a year ago when Clarke had nagged you into seeking proper medical attention. Your lungs are weak and brittle, but you find a way to manage. Clarke wouldn't let you budge, especially after you'd been shot with four arrows. She refuses to let you die, or even talk about your death unless you're attempting a joke. Even then, you realize that it's something that neither of you want to dwell on, not while you're still alive and in love and happy.

You glance at Clarke's sketchbook to see that she's painted a scene of you kneeling with Aden, talking about something to do with sparring. You see the fierce protectiveness sketched into the round circles of your eyes, the defining poise in your jaw, and the love in your soft hands. You look younger, younger than before Clarke knew you, and you find yourself wondering if she knows more than she lets on. You stare at the picture, your fingers twitching with an ache to touch it. When your smile becomes so wide it enters your wife's peripheral vision, you hear her grunt. You perk your brow at her and Clarke flushes noticeably when she catches you staring, but does not go to hide the painting from you. She just snorts and pokes your side lightly.

"It's rude to stare, Commander. It was meant to be a surprise," she says with an almost pout. You don't respond with words. Instead, you allow yourself to be free for a moment, by wrapping your arm over her shoulder and pulling you into her chest. Clarke's brow raises, but she snuggles into you without restraint. You catch Aden's gaze again, chuckling softly when you see how his jaw is open and wide at your obvious affection. You give him a teasing nod in Mika's direction and he swallows. You keep your facial expression soft and encouraging as you tilt your head downwards once more.

Go on, you mouth to him with a smirk, you can do it. Be brave, boy.

You watch as he gulps again before inching closer to Mika. You watch proudly as he mumbles a few words, twiddling with his fingers for a bit before he jerks his hand upwards and wraps it around Mika's shoulder. He freezes the instant their skin meets, but before he can pull away quickly, Mika just giggles and leans up to kiss his cheek. You almost bark out a laugh when you see his face turn beet red, but a soft slap to your abdomen catches you by surprise.

"Aren't you supposed to be teaching them how to become deadly Commanders?" Clarke smirks into your neck as she discretely places a kiss in the nape of your shoulder. This time, it's your turn to blush and you hear Aden laughing from where he sits with Mika. The two of them are giggling at you and you frown, going to scold them when suddenly Clarke's lips find yours and you freeze once more. Your eyes close on reflex and you can't help but find yourself lost in the softness of her chapped lips. You part your mouth to deepen the kiss but the cheering of your Nightbloods pulls you back to the present.

"I am teaching them," you murmur as you cast a raised brow at a teasing Aden, "they can be quite deadly, Clarke. I wouldn't underestimate them."

"They're still children," Clarke muses as she rests a palm against your abdomen. "They're gonna grow up to have heart-eyes, not death glares."

"Well, what is it that you Sky People say," you reply, feigning innocence. "Ah yes, make love not war."

"Lexa!" She gasps as you smile down at her. Clarke shakes her head at your comment, grumbling about how inappropriate it is to talk about such things in front of children because they are children, but you're not listening. You're lost in the beauty of her, in the warmth of her skin pressed against yours and her hand grasped lightly in your own. You're entranced by how her eyes hold the sky and her hair shines brighter than the sun. You're absolutely and irrevocably betrothed by the essence of Clarke Griffin of the Sky People and you can't even find the strength to hide it. Clarke only laughs and pecks your lips. Her eyes ghost upwards as she raises her brow knowingly, her hand squeezing yours the slightest bit tighter than before.

"There she is again," she whispers lovingly as she kisses you again, "my heroic and dashing Commander Heart-Eyes. Ai houmon."

"Many men have cowered in my glares, Clarke," you say seriously, trying to stop becoming the mush that she is so great at turning you into. Clarke only laughs and nods, grunting out a sarcastic 'sure they have, my deadly raccoon,' before leaning back into your side. And that is how you fall back into silence, watching the Nightbloods run free and be happy. You look back to Costia's brother and see him in the same position as you, completely plighted with Mika's presence. He tries to hide his blush, but you see the happiness and pure affection in his eyes and you can't help but be proud and encouraging.

Yes, you admit as you think of Aden's question from years ago when you look back to Clarke, Hedas do deserve love, too.

Even you… especially you.