Pretend War
“Surrender!” Lexa’s war cry rings loud and clear in the bright blue sky.
“No!” Clarke yells back defiantly.
This is how it often goes between the two nine year olds. They’re best friends, best enemies too, and in such a constellation they often go back and forth not quite knowing themselves just what they are in that particular moment.
Take this one. When Clarke came over earlier Lexa was playing with Costia and Clarke is too young to know that she’s not in fact angry with Lexa, but jealous of Costia.
So what does Clarke do? She infiltrates Lexa’s treehouse and pulls up the ladder so Lexa can’t reach her.
Now, this is where Lexa ends up the bad guy because Clarke does this all the time. Usually it’s a game they play and they’re not actually at war even though Lexa pretends to fight the invisible dragons Clarke sends after her. A completed quest means that Clarke lowers the ladder and Lexa joins her in the treehouse where they share the chocolate chip cookies Clarke’s mom has made them.
That’s not the case this time but Lexa doesn’t know that.
“It’s for your own good, Princess!” Lexa grins, she loves this game.
“Don’t call me that, Commander!”
Today is not pretend war and Lexa doesn’t know that until she sees the boiling anger in Clarke’s eyes.
“But I thought you wanted to be a warrior princess?” Lexa calls back, her eyes scrunched up in confusion.
“Not anymore,” Clarke pouts.
“Okay…” Lexa says dissapointedly, “… but, what should I call you then?”
“… nothing. Go away!” Clarke turns her back to Lexa, her arms defiantly crossed over her chest.
“But… Why?” Lexa wants to know, but Clarke is giving her the silent treatment.
“Claa-aarke!” she whines.
Still no answer.
“Fine! Be that way. I don’t want your stupid cookies anyway,” she says, head hanging low, kicking to some pebbles on the ground for good measure before turning around to go back inside.
If anything, they’re both stubborn. And proud. Lexa doesn’t mean what she said, she never means any of the things she says when she’s angry with Clarke.
Those cookies are in fact her favorite cookies and it may or may not be because Clarke always shares them with her.
So she sits in her room hating Clarke but not actually hating her while sulking because she misses her best friend.
All the while, Clarke sits in the treehouse hating Lexa but not actually hating her while sulking because she misses her best friend too.
Then Lexa’s dad interferes.
Because he knows them too well.
He finds Lexa in her room shooting daggers at the framed photo of her and Clarke above her desk. Her dad took that photo of them one day they were plying pretend war, both wearing war paint around the eyes like a mask. That was a good day.
“Hey, why are you not out playing with Clarke?” He asks.
“Clarke is stupid.” Lexa sniffles.
“Well, what did she do?” Probably nothing, he thinks.
“She doesn’t want to play,” Lexa says defeatedly.
“Okay… But she’s still up in the treehouse. Maybe she changed her mind?” He tries.
“She yelled at me and told me to leave,” she mumbles and then as if it would change anything she says, “It’s MY treehouse, dad.”
“Well… Tell her that,” her dad grins. He knows Lexa will never kick Clarke out of the treehouse. Because it’s Clarke.
Lexa gives him the silent treatment after that so he sighs and goes to try his luck with the other Stubborn One.
“Hi Clarke. Why are you sitting here all alone?” he asks.
“Lexa is stupid.” Clarke explains.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay…” He watches Clarke for a moment, her eyes constantly darting towards Lexa’s bedroom window.
“What if I told you that Lexa is a little sad right now?” he tries. (And if he goes to hell for playing dirty, then so be it).
“She’s sad? Why?” Clarke turns around and looks down on him, pain flooding her eyes. (Yes, he’s definitely going to hell).
“She didn’t tell me but I think she was really looking forward to play with her best friend this afternoon.” He gives Clarke his best dad smile, warm and soft.
He watches Clarke carefully for a sign that his plan is working. She bites her lip thoughtfully and then says, “Then why did she play with Costia?”
Ah. Bingo.
“Did you ask Lexa about it?” He knows for a fact that Lexa had told Costia she could only play until Clarke showed up.
“No…”
“Well, maybe you should?”
Clarke says nothing.
“Okay… Just, think about it. I’m going back inside.”
Clarke watches Lexa’s dad as he walks away and then she pouts the hardest she’s ever pouted before. She looks at Lexa’s bedroom window one more time, this time picturing her best friend being sad.
She can take her best friend being angry with her any day, but sad? Never.
So she opens the treehouse hatch and lowers the rope ladder carefully. She then proceeds to climb back down, planting her feet on the ground like sturdy pillars before running determinedly towards the direction of the house. She continues running past Lexa’s dad who grins victoriously because his genius masterplan worked, she runs up the stairs to the second floor and doesn’t stop until she stand in front of Lexa’s bedroom door.
There’s a page from Clarke’s sketchbook pinned to the door, a drawing of her treehouse and Lexa’s name written in letters made up of twisting tree branches. Clarke thinks it could’ve been better but Lexa had insisted it’s the best drawing she’d ever done and Lexa never lies so it must be true.
She gently pushes the door open until Lexa’s wide eyes stares back at her, the greenest of eyes that Clarke has ever seen, greener than the treetop above the treehouse.
Her dad was right, she is sad. Clarke’s heart drops. Now she’s sad too.
“I’m sorry, you’re my best friend.” Clarke whispers.
“You’re my best friend too,”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No… Are you mad at me?” Lexa’s pouty lower lip quivers.
“No.” Clarke smiles softly. “Do want to braid my hair?” Clarke knows that Lexa loves to braid her hair.
“Okay,” Lexa says, a careful smile on her lips and all traces of sadness gone from her eyes, Clarke’s lungs fill with relief.
Lexa scoots back on her bed and pats the spot in front of her. Clarke takes a seat in front of Lexa who immediately runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair and it feels so nice that Clarke’s eyes flutter shut.
Lexa braids Clarke’s hair into a french braid, the golden strands shimmer in the sunlight from the window. It’s her favorite color, she thinks, the golden shimmer of Clarke’s hair and the blue sparkling of Clarke’s eyes. Both of them.
“Here.” Clarke holds a green hair band out for Lexa.
“Thanks.” Lexa takes it and wraps it around the tip of the braid, a grin on her lips because Clarke still has it, just like Lexa still has Clarke’s blue hair band, in fact it’s in her own braid right now.
“There,” Lexa nods solemnly as to emphasize the finality of the act before leaning her chin on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke leans back against her with the knowledge that Lexa is okay again.
“I don’t think your cookies are stupid, they’re my favorite,” Lexa barely whispers.
“I know,” Clarke grins.