Clexthology

Lexa doesn’t talk to her after the meeting with the ambassadors.

Unfortunately, after Pike so violently declared his rejection of the brand, Skaïkru had no other choice than to remove themselves from the Commander’s coalition. Clarke found herself locked away in the spare room, wasting her time drawing and sketching the city skyline while the fate of her people laid in the hands of the one woman who nearly brought it to an end only months ago.

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Lexa, per say. She does trust her, but the betrayal is still fresh. The pain is still raw, the wound still scabbing over. But the torment eases, and with it the nightmares, in each moment she spends surrounded by Lexa’s presence. The grounder had this calm, almost peaceful aura to her when she strode around the city streets. And despite Clarke offering nothing but the cold shoulder (and even a knife to the throat), Lexa never ceases her affection. 

But two days ago, after they returned from the massacre, Lexa’s presence had been scarce, to say the least. She tried to visit her in her chambers or the throne room, but she was always turned away by an irate Titus or one of the growling guards that stood outside the doors. By this point, Clarke knows that something major has gone down, but she’s unsure of what exactly it is. By the churning anxiety in the pit of her stomach, Clarke knows something is wrong.

And she’s right, when later that night, there’s a knock at her door.

When she opens the heavy wooden barrier, her breath gets caught in her throat.

“Lexa?”

The Commander doesn’t look like she’s slept in the last two days. Deep bags line the underside of her tired green eyes. Her bones threaten to poke through the pale exterior of her skin, leaving her worse for wear. Lexa’s chest heaves slowly, in and out, in and out, in a less-than-rhythmic manner. It’s almost like each breath is a conscious effort for her to stay alive. Her hands are trembling lightly as they remain clasped in a vulnerable fold above her waist.

She looks absolutely exhausted.

“Clarke,” Lexa speaks, her voice coarse from either lack of use or overuse. It looks like she wants to say more, but no words come out. Clarke tries to be as off-putting as usual, to seem like she isn’t affected by Lexa, but she can’t do it.

Not when Lexa looks like the world is about to end at her feet.

“May I…,” Lexa stumbles over the words nervously, “um, come inside?”

“Sure,” Clarke answers without hesitation, parting ways to allow Lexa inside. The woman walks cautiously, like she’s never seen this room before. She twiddles her fingers, much like an awkward teenager. It hits Clarke then, that Lexa can’t be much older than herself. She looks vastly different with no war paint or armour, and Clarke remembers vividly the first time she’d seen Lexa stripped down to the timid girl with a shy smile and cautious eyes a week ago.

“Are you alright?” Clarke asks as she shuts the door. “What’s going on?”

Lexa pauses, spine stiff and ramrod straight. She works her jaw and swallows.

“Your people are safe, Clarke.” She turns her head, only slightly. “Do not worry.”

A part of Clarke is relieved, but still she has to ponder. “How?”

“Deliberation,” Lexa says softly, before adding an even quieter, “compromise.”

“Lexa?” Clarke asks, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

Lexa opens her mouth, like she wants to explain, but the words die on her lips. Clarke manages to guide her to the sofa, trying to ignore how Lexa’s shaking like a leaf. Swallowing down her own worry, she rubs Lexa’s knee and squeezes her thigh soothingly. Lexa’s head snaps up and she flinches, staring at Clarke’s hand with wide eyes like it’s some sort of foreign object. She sighs a little and closes her eyes before building up those walls again, high and heavily fortified.

“I am selfish,” Lexa whispers after some silence, blinking open her eyes. Clarke frowns at her evasive answer, and for a second, the anger is back again.

“What did you do?” Clarke demands in a low hiss. “Lexa, what–”

“I will turn twenty-one soon,” Lexa interrupts shakily, her lips trembling as she looks to her lap. The defeated tone of her voice is what throws Clarke off guard. The frustration simmers down until it’s completely gone when Lexa takes a breath. The brunette looks up, offering a flimsy, so obviously forced smile.

“This summer,” Lexa continues, “on the solstice. Titus said it was an auspicious sign that I would become the new Heda. I believe Indra agreed with him.”

“Lexa–”

“Cillian was the first man I killed,” Lexa continues like she can’t stop the words from tumbling out, “I had seen only twelve summers. We were out hunting and he tried to assassinate me. He had been a close ally to me, and more importantly, he was Indra’s brother. When he betrayed us in the ambush, Indra hadn’t managed to kill him. I… I wanted to spare her the pain so I killed him.”

Clarke swallows as Lexa looks to her hands with disgust. “I vomited after the life flickered out of his eyes. Indra refused to speak to me for weeks, called me a monster. I never thought that I would get over the feeling of death upon my fingertips or the sight of blood that I had spilt. Each kill became worse, and then it just became something numb. As if I was nothing but a Reaper, a murderer.”

Lexa’s eyes glass over and she looks at Clarke with such sadness that it nearly causes Clarke to keel into the older woman with the depth of sorrow in those green eyes. Lexa parts her lips, some of those tears sliding down her cheeks.

“I tried to be good,” Lexa chokes out with a crack in her voice, “I wanted to be good. I wanted peace for my people. I wanted them to live without the shadows of war, without loss and blood and slaughter. I wanted them to be happy. Free.”

Clarke sits and listens when Lexa dips her head back down, shaking it in disgust at herself. “I failed them, Clarke. I have lost thousands in the three months that have past. And some of them… they were more to me.”

Anya and Gustus, she doesn’t say, but Clarke knows. 

“Maybe if I was good, I could love and not lose. Maybe if I was good, I would be a better person… for everyone, for you.” Lexa’s words are raspy, coated in remorse and layers of grief as she looks back up pitifully. “I never asked to be Commander. I never wanted any of this, Clarke. When I left you at the Mountain, I thought I would never see you again. If it were up to my heart, I would have fought with you to the end. I would have pulled that lever for you if it meant that you walked away without the scars of death. I would have given everything for you.” And I still would, Clarke hears in the underlying message. 

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers as she finally finds her voice, “why are you here?”

Lexa looks to her feet miserably, her throat bobbing with the effort to swallow down whatever obstruction blocks its path. She takes a few moments to think.

“I…,” Lexa drifts off carefully before looking back up, “I wanted you to know.”

Clarke waits until Lexa musters up the courage to say, “I wanted you to know about me. No one… no one knows about me, Clarke. They know the Commander, but not me. I’m not allowed to be me with anyone, and I know that it’s a lot to ask, but just for tonight, I want to be selfish and just be Lexa with you. Being Commander is a tiring job and I just want one moment. Please.”

Tears spring in Clarke’s eyes at the pleading tone in Lexa’s voice. She knows there’s still a chasm of hurt and betrayal between them, but she can’t help but nod when she watches a few more tears drip from Lexa’s eyes. Her hands have come up so that they’re folded in her lap, almost like she’s begging for Clarke to just listen. It’s a thought that makes her head spin, that Lexa has to ask for someone to listen to her. The words from earlier, about loneliness and isolation being the only modes of comfort for a commander ring in the back of her mind. She doesn’t know how many years of memories Lexa has built up beneath her walls, that she’s been forced to push down so that she may lead with a clear head, but she judges by the hollow look in her eyes that whatever Lexa’s been through has damaged her, aged her beyond years, and stolen her innocence.

“I’m here,” Clarke tells Lexa softly, reaching out to graze her knee again. “Talk.”

And Lexa does exactly like that.

Twenty years of life and hardship, of love and happiness, are suddenly thrust into the space between them. Clarke listens, never once interrupting, as Lexa tells her life story. She pours her heart out in pieces, and with Clarke’s careful hand, Lexa starts putting them back together to form a full picture. Some of the pieces are worn and faded, some are broken and bent out of shape, and some are missing entirely, but it doesn’t stop her. The process is cathartic.

Lexa deserves that much, Clarke decides.

Clarke’s eyes mist when Lexa chokes out how she was given up by her parents at the age of three and wandered the forest alone for months until Titus and Indra had found her on the outskirts of TonDC. She holds her breath when Lexa shakily pushes through the story of her conclave, of how she had to murder seven children in order to lead her people at the tender age of just sixteen. Lexa gasps out how she didn’t want to do it, of how she’d pleaded with Titus to change the rules or do something that didn’t involve murdering her friends.

Clarke’s heart races and her skin grows warm with happiness when Lexa’s eyes light up as she retells how she’d fallen in love with the dark-skinned merchant girl from Floukru named Costia. She watches carefully at the small pull of Lexa’s lips in a smile as the older woman loses herself in the memory of her late lover. In that moment, she wished that Costia were still alive, that she could see all that Lexa had accomplished. She wishes that Lexa had someone that was on her side fully, that loved her unconditionally, that held nothing against her.

Mostly, she wished that Lexa wouldn’t have to face the bitter world alone.

Tears stream down her face when Lexa tells her in that quiet, trembling voice, how she had woken up after two weeks of knowing Costia’s captivity by the Ice Nation, only to find her lover’s decapitated head at the foot of her bed, eyelids cut off and head shaved. Lexa grows quiet after that, and that’s when it hits Clarke so clearly that Lexa’s happiness is a thing of the past. It had started and ended with Costia and it was a fleeting thing, a taste of what could’ve been.

Lexa speaks of Anya next, of the mother and sister and friend that the warrior had been. She fondly recounts their training from when she’d been a scrawny little child, barely able to hold a sword and stay on her feet. Clarke tries not to dampen the mood when she imagines a child, too skinny and malnourished to even walk, wielding a sword twice the size of her body and training when she should be playing and being a kid. The thought makes her heart seize up in her chest, but Lexa gives her a sad, but understanding look, but it makes it worse.

“You were a kid,” Clarke tells her when Lexa finishes the story of how she was forced to torture a thief at the age of fourteen as a result of the previous Commander’s teachings. She’d gone back to his village after the punishment with bread and water, and despite the snarls and angered looks she’d received, the family and the man had accepted the offering without any gratitude.

“I was soon to be Commander,” Lexa says with a small shrug, “it was expected of me to carry out a punishment. I just… I didn’t think it to be fit, was all. The man was hungry. The fact that he should have to steal is a crime itself, really.”

“Stock house,” Clarke muses quietly. Lexa’s head cocks and Clarke swallows.

“The eighteen that Finn killed,” Clarke says as she takes a breath. “Their villages had stock houses. Was it communal?” Lexa nods and smiles slightly.

“As soon as I became Heda I drafted the law that required everyone to share their goods, so long as each person has a job or task that allows them to take from the contribution. That’s how healers, gatherers, blacksmiths, and scouts started coming up. By creating more jobs, less people went hungry. It also gave them a sense of purpose and fulfillment. Not everyone is built with hands of a warrior. Neither are they capable of being healers. We all have our own strengths, as we have our weaknesses.” Clarke smiles at the eloquently poetic answer, not even bothering to mask the pride that curls her lips upwards.

“Kane was right,” Clarke sighs contently as she nods, “you are a visionary.”

Lexa blushes at that, a tiny laugh leaving her lips. “Kane exaggerates.”

“You said you aren’t good, but look at yourself. You told me that your training used to be solely based on physical strength. When you teach your children, you give them more than the ability to fight. You teach them to think, to use their minds, their words, their actions. You teach them to chose peace over war. You teach them to value team work and family over individual greed. You have made mistakes, Lexa, that’s true. But your intentions have always been good.” Lexa listens, teary-eyed as Clarke inches closer and places a hand on the side of her face, her thumb rubbing over the gaunt, hard bone of her cheek.

“You are good,” Clarke whispers shakily, nodding, “no matter what anyone says. You are so good, Lexa. Your legacy will always be peace, Heda.”

Lexa goes to open her mouth to reply when there’s a knock on the door. Instantly, the brunette’s head snaps upwards and both fear and sadness fill those green eyes. Clarke panics and watches as the knob turns and a solemn-looking Titus walks into the room, eyes glassy with pent-up emotion. If Clarke didn’t know any better, she would have thought he looked almost guilty.

“Heda,” Titus nearly chokes on her title, “it is time.”

Clarke’s head turns to face Lexa, and when she sees that the Commander’s gaze is distant and mournful, her heart lurches with trepidation.

“Time for what?” Clarke demands as she rises, looking back at Titus. “What’s going on?” Lexa doesn’t reply as she stands and nods at Titus softly.

“The guards have prepared a horse for you,” Titus explains in a quiet voice. “You will be returned, alongside Pike and your mother, to Arkadia.”

“What?” Clarke asks, aghast. “Why?!”

“Skaïkru has been inducted back into the coalition,” Lexa says before Titus can open his mouth. She tries to offer Clarke a smile, but it falters and breaks. “Like I said, your people are safe. You have nothing to fear for them, Clarke. You have brought them the peace and tranquility you wanted since you touched the ground. There is nothing for you to do here, as Kane will take your position as ambassador and Chancellor of the Sky People. It’s your turn to be free, Clarke.”

“Lexa,” Clarke chokes out, “what are you talking about?”

Lexa takes her hands so gently, so painfully softly, as though the older woman would break them should she hold them any tighter. Dipping her head, Lexa only barely rasps out, “making sure that the peace holds. No one else must die between our people. Now, it’s time for unity. Now, it’s time for change.”

“And you?” Clarke asks fearfully. “What’s happening to you?”

“Heda,” Titus interrupts shakily. “It’s nearly dawn.”

Clarke looks over behind Lexa’s shoulder to the faint pink light spilling through the curtains, wondering how they’d spent the entire night talking. But the thought doesn’t matter, she decides, for her heart is pacing too quickly to appreciate the beautiful sight of a crisp winter sunrise. Lexa’s thumbs glide over her knuckle and Clarke watches her eyes drift to her lips and then back up to her eyes sadly. Tears mist in those green pools as Lexa takes a deep breath.

“What is required,” she answers cryptically, “to protect our people.”

To protect you, Clarke hears in a strained voice. 

“You must go,” Lexa whispers as she blinks back her tears. “Your people must be made aware of the changes. Your mother will explain on the way.”

“Lexa…,” Clarke gasps as she feels Lexa’s hands leave her own. “Lexa, wait–”

“Ste yuj,” Lexa tells her in as steady of a voice that she can manage. Clarke sniffles and shakes her head, when Lexa’s arm extends in a Grounder farewell.

“May we meet again,” Lexa whispers as a tear slides down her cheek. Clarke just looks at the hand and then back up to Lexa. Before either of them can react, Clarke is barrelling forward, wrapping Lexa in her arms as tight as she can. The older woman gasps against her shoulder, but in a quick second, Lexa is boneless in her embrace. Clarke holds her tightly, tears burning in her eyes.

“You will always be Lexa to me,” Clarke whispers as she rubs over the tight, corded muscles of the other woman’s back. “Everyone may see the tough shell of the Commander, but I will always see Lexa. And if you ever need to be reminded of that, you know where to find me. I will be waiting, Lexa. Always.”

“Do… do you forgive me?” Lexa chokes against her clothes, her voice small and timid, like a child’s own. Clarke nods and grips her tighter, closing her eyes.

“Yes,” Clarke replies with a harsh swallow. “Yes, I do.”

“Heda,” Titus’ clipped voice sounds again. “We cannot waste anymore time.”

“You are strong, Clarke. Your heart is pure and your mind is clear,” Lexa says shakily as they pull away from the embrace. “You mustn’t forget the good you’ve done, either. You have saved your people, as well as me. To that, I owe you my life. Now is your time to retire, to reap the rewards of your long-fought peace. Plant flowers and sketch the world. Be happy, be safe, be true.”

Clarke can’t help it. Not when Titus is trying to pull her away and Lexa’s so desperately avoiding the words she wants to say, the words Clarke knows would destroy her if they weren’t reciprocated. She doesn’t know what’s happening, why Titus or Lexa look so solemn, but something about this entire situation screams a final goodbye. And God forbid Clarke walks away again.

In one swift movement, Clarke hooks her hand around the back of Lexa’s neck, her fingers curling in the soft baby curls that were too short for her braids. She draws her in for a kiss, one that leaves Lexa shuddering against her in a sobbing mess. Their lips taste of bitter salt and anguish. But somewhere under the sadness and grief, there is an inexplicable and incredible beauty. Somewhere, buried under the betrayal and the past, there is a fresh start.

There is… hope.

“I love you,” Clarke whispers the words to Lexa. “I love you, Lexa.”

“Clarke,” Lexa all but croaks her name feebly. “Clarke, please do not lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Clarke assures her steadily, “I mean it. I love you.”

“Heda,” Titus urges again, his voice cracking. “Now.”

Lexa takes a deep breath, resting her forehead against Clarke’s own.

“I love you, too. Never forget that. You are my soul, Clarke. My everything.”

Before Clarke can respond, she’s being whisked away by Titus. She doesn’t realize she’s screaming for Lexa until Titus tells her to quiet down. She’s sobbing as she watches Lexa remain standing in the room as she’s dragged away, her eyes distant and solemn and trained on her until they get to the elevator. By this time, Clarke has stopped screaming and has become numb.

“Thank you,” Titus says after awhile of riding in silence. Clarke glances up, confused at the gratitude. Noticing the befuddlement, Titus clears his throat.

“Thank you for giving her a chance to talk,” he tells her quietly, “for listening.”

“What’s happening?” Clarke asks, not bothering to respond to the thank-you. Titus’ eyes harden and his throat bobs in a rough swallow as he stares forward.

“You are leaving.”

“Not me,” Clarke says in a clipped voice. “What’s happening to Lexa?”

“She is finishing the agenda,” Titus answers cryptically. “Lexa is doing what is required of her to ensure peace between all the clans. She knew the costs of this alliance.” Suddenly, Clarke remembers the words Gustus had murmured to Lexa when they’d first met and travelled to TonDC for the ritualistic burning.

This alliance will become the death of you, Heda.

“Titus,” she chokes on his name, her eyes blurring with tears. “Tell me. Now.”

Titus hardens again, though Clarke doesn’t miss the sheen in his eyes. “You have already figured it out, Wanheda. What else is there to tell?” Clarke growls.

“Say it,” she demands in a low voice, “I need to hear it. I won’t believe it otherwise.” Titus takes a breath a blinks, unable to stop the rolling tear down his cheek. Clarke can see his hands shaking at his sides, and her heart tightens.

Then, he turns to her, eyes solemn and deep with grief.

“She is being executed.”

The words hit Clarke like a freight-train. She chokes on a sob as Titus hangs his head and looks away, unable to contain his own tears as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open to reveal a glassy-eyed Abby standing by Octavia and Indra. Kane waits in the back, his gaze lowered to the ground in quiet grief.

“No,” Clarke refuses as she rubs at her eyes, “no, take me back up, take me to her. I’m not going anywhere. Lexa’s not at fault for this, Pike is. It should be him being killed!” She’s near manic now, but this time it’s Abby that reaches for her.

“Clarke,” Abby whispers her name softly, “sweetheart, we have to go.”

“No,” Clarke snarls through her tears at her mother, “no, I’m not leaving her.”

“Staying would only ensue another war,” Indra growls, but despite the anger in her voice, Clarke can hear the mourning that laces each word. “Her death will be quick, a sword to the heart. If you interfere, it will be worse. Do not dishonour her sacrifice, girl.” Clarke shakes her head and pleads at the guards in the elevator to let her back up, but they remain standing still and silent.

Clarke doesn’t miss the tear tracks down their cheeks, however.

“Aden is the next Commander,” Titus tells her softly, “Lexa changed the rules of the conclave hours before coming to say farewell. You do not have to worry about your people. He will carry on her legacy of peace and unity.”

“I don’t want Aden,” Clarke spits at him. “I want her. I want Lexa.”

“Clarke,” Abby protests again, “honey, please–”

“I love her,” Clarke chokes out as she falls to her knees on the ground. “I love her, Mom. I love her so much and now, just as I get to forgive her, she’s going?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Abby gasps as she takes her daughter into her arms and holds her tight to her chest. “I’m sorry. I know you want to be with her, but you can’t. You know that your presence will only make thing harder for both of you.”

“I can’t let her die, Mom.” Clarke is sobbing the words now, her breaths turning into uneven hiccups, bordering on hyperventilating. “I can’t let her be alone when she’s been alone all of her life. She shouldn’t have to be alone. No one knows who she is except for me. No one knows that she loves children, or likes to plant flowers. No one knows that she loves tenderly and carefully and is so loyal and gentle. No one has seen her smile like I have, or heard her laugh.”

“Clarke,” Abby whispers as she rubs her back, “please–”

“And she’s beautiful, Mom. She doesn’t believe it, but she is so beautiful. She thinks herself as this monster, all because that’s what she’s always been told. She’s never felt safe enough to love because each time she does, she has to let it go in the worst of ways. We’re the reason why Anya and Gustus are dead. Those were the only two people, aside from Costia, that ever knew Lexa.”

“Clarke–”

“I can’t let her die!” Clarke pleads with her mother selfishly. “I won’t let her die.”

“Lexa wouldn’t want you to act this way.”

“Don’t you dare,” Clarke snarls as she shoves Abby away from her. “You know nothing about her.” Abby’s eyes grow hard with sympathy, but she remains firm.

“Then what would she want you to do, Clarke?”

The question is like a bullet to the heart, because that’s when Clarke knows. She feels it in her gut because she knows Lexa. She knows that Lexa would want her to carry the torch, to not let their vision of peace die out so soon. Lexa wouldn’t want her to fight against her sacrifice, but to honour it instead. 

Lexa always wanted for Clarke what she could never have for herself.

To be safe, happy, loved, and most of all, at peace.

“You must leave now, before the sun rises fully.” Titus’ voice cuts in with a soft rasp. Clarke looks up at him emptily, but her body works for her, moving on its own accord as she rises to her feet and stumbles over towards the back entrance where the horses are kept. Her mind is numb, but she isn’t confused.

“Wait,” Clarke interjects in a sniffle, “can I just stay? Just to see her?”

“Honey,” Abby says worriedly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know a place,” Titus interrupts before Clarke can take a jab at her mother. Clarke looks over at him, surprised to see a vast amount of appreciation in his gaze. She nods as he beckons for her to follow. He takes them through the brush of the trees before they come to a clearing overlooking the city’s centre.

Instantly, she spies the stump with Heda’s symbol carved into the wood.

It’s almost as though the entire city has turned up, their voices blending together as they chant out something akin to a prayer. Each citizen holds a torch, but instead of a yellow flame, a red one is present in each flaming stick. Clarke feels Titus leave her side, mumbling out about how he must prepare for the ritual, and that she’s welcome to stay as long as she pleases, so long as she has left by the time the guards go back to their usual shift rotation. 

Ignoring Abby’s incessant pleas to move away, Clarke stays planted, watching from high ground as drums start to beat and the chanting grows louder and deeper, resonating through the crowd as the sun spills over the mountainside.

And then, with one silent hum, the doors from the tower open to reveal Lexa.

The Commander mask is back on her face as she is brought out to the stump. Her eyes are set and hardened, showing know fear as Titus mumbles something to her. As soon as the words have finished leaving his mouth, Lexa’s gaze falters slightly and she looks up, her eyes directly meeting Clarke’s own.

And that’s when Clarke breaks.

She cups a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob, and her own cries are enough to trigger Lexa. The Commander’s lip trembles and she tries to shake her head, to tell Clarke to go, but the blonde can see the gratitude in Lexa’s eyes that Clarke is here, providing her with support as she is to pay the price of her decisions. Allowing the gentle rubbing of her back from her mother, Clarke continues to watch with blurred vision as Lexa’s hands are pried from the cuffs.

And then, something solemnly beautiful happens.

As Lexa is tied to the stump, each citizen of Polis takes a knee until they have all knelt before her, heads bowed in respect. Even Titus removes himself from her side so he may kneel on wobbly legs, his bowed head masking his tears as they drip uncontrollably from where he stands. Lexa’s eyes are glassy with awe, and as her people’s heads nod back up, they stay kneeling until Aden is called. 

The boy has never looked more like Lexa than he does now, Clarke realizes.

Aden is donned in Lexa’s armour, the pauldron attached to his shoulder two sizes too big for his body. To his credit, however, he looks brave and ready. Lexa smiles at him, and even from the distance, Clarke can see the affection and pride brewing in those green eyes. Aden looks shaky, but Lexa murmurs something inaudible to the boy and he straightens with a sharp nod. 

The drumming picks up, and Clarke knows what’s about to happen next.

The citizens of Polis begin to chant again, each of them watching with as much rapt attention as Clarke when Aden pulls the ceremonial sword – the same one Lexa had used to kill Gustus, Clarke notices – and draws it to arms. Tears well up in Clarke’s eyes again when Lexa’s gaze drifts upwards and finds her own.

“I love you,” Clarke breathes out, even though she knows Lexa can’t hear her. The brunette gives her the barest of nods before taking a breath and turning her attention back to Aden. She whispers something to her protégé before smiling sadly. Aden nods firmly, swallowing down his nerves as he tilts his head up.

Lexa keeps her eyes open and trained on the boy as the sword pierces through her thin tunic and slices into her heart. Even when Aden falters and whimpers, his hands shaking around the handle of his blade, Lexa uses the last of her strength to whisper a few words of pride, of encouragement, and of motivation. Black pools down her chest and some of it burbles from her mouth, and it’s taking everything in Clarke to not run to her and swoop her into her arms for that last moment, to hold her and love her and cherish her one final time.

Instead, Lexa’s eyes hazily drift upwards and she smiles, as earnestly and pure as she’s ever smiled in her life, and that’s when Clarke’s worries suddenly die.

For the first time in her life, Lexa is at peace.

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” Clarke whispers, knowing that Lexa is waiting, using her last breaths so she may finally hear the words she never thought she deserved. Lexa’s smile grows an inch wider and she barely manages a nod before the last breath leaves her lungs and she grows limp against the stump, her body still.

Leksa kom Trikru, Heda kom Ogozaun, the founder of the coalition, is dead.

“Reshwe Leksa,” Clarke murmurs the final prayer as she dips her head and closes her eyes, letting the last few tears streak down her face. “Ai hod yu in.”

Clarke takes a moment then, to close her eyes and send a final prayer to wherever Lexa’s spirit may be, to grant it safe passage wherever it may go. She pulls together those last few smiles and laughs that Lexa had shared with her. She immortalizes those memories that Lexa had told no one but her, and she makes sure that each detail is as accurate as possible. She keeps them locked inside her chest, in the deepest corners of her heart, and she will always guard them until she draws her own last breath and is reunited with her love again.

“Let’s go,” Clarke whispers as she looks up to her mother’s mournful gaze. “We have an alliance to keep.” Abby opens her mouth to ask Clarke a question, but the blonde only shakes her head as she walks back to the horses, without even so much as a glance over her shoulder. She keeps her head up, her eyes open, and her back straight as she makes her way to her horse – Lexa’s horse, if she remembers anything of the last three months – and mounts it carefully.

“Clarke?” Abby asks, gulping. Clarke shakes her head, looking ahead.

“The dead are gone,” Clarke says as she looks to Abby. “The living are hungry.”

The words, the ones that at one point had hurt to hear, now provide her with a new understanding and comfort. The wind bristles through the trees and whistles against the leaves. Clarke looks up to see a little girl with chestnut hair and forest green eyes staring back at her with a smile wider than the curvature of the Earth itself. She waves and giggles, her white dress flowing in the breeze as she turns and runs through the underbrush without a care in the world.

Despite having witnessed the death of her love, Clarke finds herself smiling.

“Death is not the end,” she murmurs to herself as she spurs her horse and follows in the little girl’s direction, ignoring the calls of her mother from behind her. She rides for a few moments until she comes upon a small house in the middle of the forest, abandoned and withered from age. 

Clarke dismounts and approaches the house cautiously. She knocks twice and when she finds no answer, she opens the door. It creaks as it gives way, and the mid-morning sun floods the interior with light. Not bothered about the status of her mother and whether or not she’d followed her to the small house, Clarke takes a step inside and looks around. There’s a bookshelf, filled to the brim with different kinds of readings, from books and scrolls to texts and scriptures. Blank canvases litter the sides and in the corner, there is an easel with unopened bottles of what looks to be paint. Frowning, Clarke ventures further inside until she finds a table with a note on it. Carefully, she takes it into her hands and blows the film of dust off the paper covering before turning it over to read.

Kom chilnes yu na ban sishou-de au,
Kom hodnes yu na hon neson op.
Gouthru klir hashta yu soujon,
Kom taim oso falikom daun gon graun-de.

“The Traveller’s Blessing?” Clarke ponders she fingers over the writing. “But… how?” As far as she knew, only the Sky People knew of the prayer. 

And then, as Clarke looks up from the note, she looks into the face of a woman.

“Hello, Clarke,” the woman says, her eyes kind and gentle. “We meet at last.”

“Who are you?” Clarke asks, gulping slightly. The woman only smiles.

“Becca Kom Heda,” the woman answers. Clarke frowns, eyes widening.

“But that’s the name of…”

“Yes,” Becca says with nod, her gaze patient. “I am the first Commander.”

“But you’re dead,” Clarke whispers as she puts the note down. “You can’t…”

“When the Commander dies, my spirit chooses a new vessel.”

“I thought that was just myth.”

“Once the Ark thought a habitable Earth was a myth.”

“What’s your point?” Clarke asks, unsure if she’s delusional at this point.

Becca smiles again. “Not all myths are legends. Some can become real.”

“So what does that have to do with me?” Clarke asks, still confused. “I can’t be the new commander, I don’t have black blood.” This time, even Becca looks perplexed. She steps closer, her boots making not even a single sound against the old wooden floors. Clarke remains frozen and wary, but not scared.

“My spirit has passed to Aden. His conclave was a success in the transfer, but part of it has lingered behind in search of another vessel. You have been chosen for something different,” Becca says, “but I do not think it is me acting this way. I would claim it to be a malfunction, but something tells me otherwise.”

“Lexa…,” Clarke trails off with a lilt to her voice, “she couldn’t…”

“Hello, Clarke.”

Clarke whips her head around to see Lexa standing next to the little girl with brown hair and green eyes, the one she’d seen earlier and had followed into the forest. Without thinking, Clarke bounds forwards and wraps her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, unsure of how she’s managing to feel Lexa under the skin of her palms, but she somehow is. Her eyes stay open, trained on Lexa’s face as she pulls away to gaze upon her worriedly. If this is a delusion, she wants to stay as long as possible if it means feeling her late lover for a moment longer. 

“How?” Clarke gasps out. Lexa gives her that familiar smirk.

“I told you my spirit would choose wisely, did I not?” Lexa replies. “And my spirit has chosen yours in every lifetime, from start to finish.” Clarke looks past Lexa’s shoulder to see a thousand different people, men and women both, and for some strange reason, they all leave a familiar pull in her heart. When Clarke turns around to ask Becca a question, she finds the house gone and the forest replaced by a wheat field. She turns again to Lexa, who smiles at her earnestly.

“Soul mates,” Clarke breathes out, “that’s why I can see you.”

“Your spirit remains tethered to this Earth,” Lexa explains as she takes Clarke’s palm in her hand and raises it to her lips so she may bestow the softest of kisses. “Mine is in this in-between realm, waiting until you join me for the next incarnation. I will linger here until we are reunited, so we may both begin again.”

“Do I get to stay here?” Clarke asks as she inches closer to Lexa. A solemn look passes through Lexa’s youthful gaze, darkening it only slightly. 

“Not yet, my love. You still have a journey to complete. Once it is over, your spirit will be free to join mine,” Lexa tells her gently, kissing her forehead this time. “But I will always be there, right beside you. I am yours, Clarke. Forever.”

“You are mine,” Clarke breathes out as Lexa’s lips find hers in a soft kiss. “I love you, Lexa. I’m… I’m so sorry it took so long to figure out before. I was too late.”

“You came when I needed you the most,” Lexa whispers instead, “and that is more than enough, my sweetheart. My soul is at peace. I am at peace.”

“I won’t get to see you after this, will I?” Clarke asks, knowing her question is rhetorical. Lexa shakes her head and answers with a soft, slow, seemingly mournful kiss. Clarke returns it fervently, drawing Lexa as close as possible.

“Then I don’t want to waste another minute before we have to part,” Clarke breathes against Lexa’s lips, “I don’t want to go another second without you.”

“I will always be with you,” Lexa hums mid-kiss as Clarke’s hands go to unfasten her tunic, “you are not alone, Clarke. I reside within you, around you, and beside you. You may never see me again, but I am always there. I promise.”

“Then show me,” Clarke whispers as she holds Lexa close, “please.”

“Always,” Lexa murmurs back as she reattaches their lips. “I love you.”

–

When Clarke wakes up, she’s in the medical bay of Arkadia.

Her mother, who’d been waiting for a total of three days for her to wake up, quickly informs her that she’d passed out after seeing Lexa’s body grow still. She’d not exhibited any bizarre symptoms, but she’d not woken up. It was almost as though she’d drifted into a coma-like state for three days.

Clarke doesn’t tell her about Becca or Lexa or the little girl. Instead, she shrugs and tells her that it must’ve been the grief and exhaustion. She tears up when she remembers that Lexa’s physical form is no longer here, that she won’t get to see her lover stripped down and as every bit as youthful as she was underneath the Commander’s gear. But she knows, she feels Lexa around her.

And even though Lexa herself is dead, her spirit is strong and comforting, like a gentle hum in the base of her heart. It gives her a sense of blissful peace.

When Titus comes to Arkadia a week later with Lexa’s ashes, she takes them to the forest and finds the place where they’d camped out after having escaped pauna and she spreads them, her eyes misting with the memories of falling in love with the protector of the Earth. She finishes the scattering with a recitation of the Traveller’s Blessing that she’d found in Trigedasleng, and when she’s finished, the warm breeze gently answers back in a peaceful response. 

The following month, when the uproar of Pike’s resignation has died down, Clarke travels to Polis and meets with Aden. They both go over treaties and regulations, and surprisingly, Titus allows her to help him in the first few months of his leadership. In that time, they manage to open up an orphanage in Lexa’s name, change the conclave from a spiritual transfer of an AI to a democratic system in which anyone is entitled to the title of Heda. They create a monument in the middle of Polis’ square in honour of the Commander of Peace.

Sometimes at night, Clarke feels Lexa’s spirit beside her. More times than not, Clarke talks to her. Lexa answers back in a fluttering breeze or even as a warm feeling in the base of her heart. It leaves her content, full, and at peace.

Many years later, after losing her fight to illness, Clarke’s spirit returns to Lexa.

And together, they begin again in search of their new incarnation.