Chapter 1
The day was dark and the air carried the first chill of winter. Lexa had left their room more than an hour before, reports of unrest along the Ice Nation border tearing her away from Clarke’s arms. There always seemed to be unrest along the border, she thought with a bitter smirk. No matter how resolutely Lexa stomped down on it.
She rolled on her side with a groan, burying deeper under the furs. She should get up and dress on the off chance Lexa needed her to join the meeting, but the cold made that thought less than enticing. Not all of the ambassadors accepted her, but they feared what Wanheda represented and she allowed Lexa to use that as leverage when needed.
Clarke groaned, throwing the pelts off her body before she had time to reconsider. The cold slapped her bare skin, and she scrambled off the bed in a rush to add wood to the dying fire. Once lively flames filled the stone hearth again, she stepped back with a grunt of satisfaction.
She padded to a nearby table and her eyebrows rose in surprise when she found that the water Lexa had left for her in the washbasin was covered by a thin film of ice. Perhaps she should arrange to visit Arkadia before winter made travel all but impossible, make sure they had enough supplies to manage without trouble. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she scowled. It wasn’t easy for her to go back there. Arkadia reminded her of all the lives she ended in order to save her people, but she knew her mother and her friends would be happy to see her. They always were and she even managed to fake the same for a while. But as the hours dragged on her smile would falter, until the itch to leave became unbearable. Her mother had given up convincing her to stay and after a few heated discussions she had accepted Clarke’s place was in Polis.
Clarke ran a hand through hair tousled by sleep and grimaced when her fingers got snagged in a few knots. She splashed her face and shivered at the contact with the cold water. Moving to the carved wardrobe she shared with Lexa, she picked out the warmest clothes in her possession. Her teeth were chattering despite the fire and she began to dress quickly, discarding the flimsy shirt and cotton pants she had slept in. Like every other Skaikru, she wasn’t used to the cold yet and really didn’t want to get sick.
As she pulled a heavier shirt over her head and tugged it down in place, her knuckles brushed the scar on her stomach. She froze for a moment, a wave of nausea making the room tilt around her, then took a few shallow breaths to calm herself.
Actually Clarke didn’t remember much of what had happened. Titus brandishing a gun, bullets whizzing around the room as she ducked and tried to run. After that everything became laced with pain, foggy and distant. She had tried to figure out the details, but her brain refused to help and when she had asked Lexa, the brunette’s eyes had filled with anguish. Clarke had dropped the subject, reassuring the Commander it was all right if she didn’t want to talk about it.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked in front of the full mirror that stood in a corner of the room. Her reflection frowned back at her as she examined the healing wound. The circular scar was still an angry red, but the bruising around it was almost gone, leaving behind an ugly shade of yellow. Clarke knew that in a few years it would not be more than a raised, warped patch of skin but her limbs felt heavy for a moment. She struggled to dispel the feeling that she was looking at someone else’s body. Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard, turning away abruptly.
Sweat sheened her forehead and she clenched her jaw concentrating on small actions. A soft woolen sweater went over the shirt, a shade of blue slightly darker than her eyes. It was followed by black pants and leather boots that laced up to mid-calf. It didn’t help. Sweat plastered the fresh shirt to her back and her hands kept shaking, little tremors that made her fingers clumsy and slow.
Clarke walked briskly to the hearth, stoked a fire that didn’t need it and busied herself with making tea. Lexa ground the leaves herself, and always kept a well stocked supply at hand. The blonde filled the kettle and carefully set it on a hook over the fire. She walked restlessly around the room as she waited for it to whistle. She realized she was panting slightly and she moved to the window, fighting to slow the mad thumping inside her chest.
A curtain of rain plunged the city below into a hazy dream. Her eyes roamed the blurred landscape in search of a distraction and when the loud sound of whistling steam filled the room behind her, she jumped letting out something between a whine and a startled yelp.
There was a discreet knock at the door and she whipped around, just as it creaked open.
“Wanheda?” the leader of her personal guard half pushed inside the room, a worried frown on his face. Not that Angus ever sported another expression, she thought wrily as their eyes met.
“Everything is alright,” she soothed, struggling to keep her voice even. He grunted, evidently not satisfied with her reply and stalked forward, hard eyes darting around Heda’s living quarters.
“I am sure there aren’t any assassins under the bed.” Clarke couldn’t hold back a laugh, comforted by his presence.
Angus halted his search to glare at her, tapping the hilt of his sword. Slowly he went to the bed and grabbed the mattress. Lifting it slightly, he made a show of looking under it.
“One can never be too sure.” Who knew, the man had a sense of humor. Angus flashed her a rare smile, and suddenly the heaviness that had haunted her since she had gotten out of bed melted away. Clarke poured a cup of tea and offered it to him, but he declined with a shake of his head. Yet he lingered and she was grateful. At first, when Lexa had appointed him as captain of Clarke’s personal guard, he had intimidated her. He was as big as Lincoln, but seemed to lack the younger warrior’s compassion. Perhaps Clarke thought, he had seen too much death and his kindness was so buried inside him it was not visible. At times she wondered if she shouldn’t follow his example. Maybe if she built higher walls, guilt would stop haunting her.
He cleared his throat and Clarke realized she had been staring. She took a sip of tea, hoping she could hide the blush that splashed across her cheeks.
“What do you make of the scouts’ reports?” she asked, breaking the silence before it became too awkward.
“If a man has trouble keeping his warriors in line he shouldn’t call himself king.” His jaw worked and he eyed the floor, seemingly on the verge of spitting on it in disgust, then he must have remembered whose room it was because he swallowed.
Clarke shook her head at his words. She was so tired of the senseless violence. After Lexa had killed Nia and proclaimed Roan Haihefa, they had hoped peace would finally be possible. Ontari had thought differently, defying her king’s orders and gathering those of the Azgeda warriors that wanted revenge for his mother’s death. At least the Skaikru leaders had shown more sense, she mused as her mouth soured.
Before she could reply, the door banged open and Lexa strode inside. Her green eyes went from Angus to Clarke questioningly and the warrior shrugged, inclining his head respectfully before leaving them alone.
“I’m fine,” Clarke forestalled.
Lexa shot her a piercing look, but didn’t press her further. Clarke was still brittle, but she guessed it was to be expected after what the girl had been through. Lexa had come to terms with her own death since before she became Heda. She knew it would come violently and had made her peace with that fact as any warrior did. For the Skaikru it was different. Earth had presented them with a reality they were still struggling to accept.
The Commander unclasped her sash from the armor’s shoulder guard and folded it, dropping it on a nearby chair. Then she walked to the bed and sat down with a sigh. She pressed slender fingers to the side of her head, rubbing small circles against a sore spot on her temple. She willed the headache away, but it had gained a hold already and pressure built behind her eyes. She snarled, frustrated that her people chose war whenever they had a chance at peace.
“How bad is it?” Lexa raised her eyes at Clarke’s gentle question and the blonde handed her a cup of tea. She took it carefully and smiled when their fingers brushed. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed at the steam rising off the mug. Her muscles relaxed slightly and the throbbing inside her skull abated. She took a grateful sip, burning her tongue.
“Bad enough,” she answered, as Clarke sat down beside her.
Their shoulders touched, then the blonde leaned into her and Lexa closed her eyes, snaking her free arm around her lover’s waist. She turned her head, nuzzling into Clarke’s neck. Her scent filled Lexa’s nose and she inhaled greedily. The blonde’s body pressing against her own felt like home and she had to leave it. She stiffened at the thought.
Clarke pulled back slowly, blue eyes serious. Lexa’s muscles had tensed and she feared the reason behind the rigidity in her back.
“When do you go?” The words caught in her throat.
Lexa’s downcast gaze was all the answer she needed.
Clarke set her cup down on the night table and pressed her fingers under her lover’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.
“How long?”
The Commander shrugged. “Two weeks?” She sighed dejectedly, clearly unwilling to leave, “perhaps more.”
Clarke was afraid, but she pushed all her other questions away. Lexa had a duty to her people and if she had to leave the blonde would make the most of the few moments they still had together. She leaned forward, capturing the Commander’s lips with her own and she felt her lover lean into the kiss after a moment’s hesitation. It was hungry and a bit sloppy, almost desperate.
“Come back to me.” She breathed against Lexa’s mouth.
“Always.” Then their time was over and Clarke could only watch helplessly as Lexa gathered her gear and filled a satchel with supplies. When it was time to secure the sash to her armor again, Clarke stood and took it out of Lexa’s hands, fixing it to the pauldron with practiced fingers.
Lexa walked to the door silently and pushed it open, then she halted on the threshold casting one last look over her shoulder. She drank Clarke in with hooded eyes, etching every detail into her mind.
“Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim, Klark.” [may we meet again] she murmured.
The feeling of Clarke’s lips on hers kept her warm all the way north.
The first few days were easy for Clarke or as easy as life in Polis ever got. Cold weather settled in, drenching the city and its people in freezing rain. As usual Lexa had left orders behind and the Commander’s advisors turned to Clarke for advice as they ran their day-to-day tasks.
More and more people started getting sick, and the young healer knew it would only get worse when the first snows came. So she spent long hours in the infirmary, helping Nyko and the other healers grind dried herbs into powders to be packaged and sent out to the herbalists in the outer villages. The constant chill in the air made her bones ache and the healing wound in her stomach twinged after a long day, but she pushed forward relentlessly. Keeping occupied kept her worried mind busy and, as she had predicted, they found themselves swarmed with patients soon enough, as well as the occasional injured worker.
On top of that she and the other advisors organized a shipment of furs and other supplies to Arkadia. Clarke saw it off personally even if she could not go herself, standing in the empty courtyard as rain pelted her head. She was always surprised when they agreed to her suggestions and vividly remembered the first time Lexa had left her in charge. She had been terrified of screwing up, desperate to gain the approval of people that still looked at Skaikru as invaders, despite the peace.
In time most of them had warmed to her, and the few that hadn’t were usually from clans that had been hostile to Trikru long before Clarke and her people came to the ground.
Soon enough her work with the healers stopped being a distraction and she found herself aimlessly wandering the halls, the loneliness of Heda’s rooms too much to bear for long. Angus trailed her everywhere like her personal thunderstorm and her bleak mood worsened.
They were walking side by side towards the throne room, others of her guard trailing a few respectful steps behind, when she heard muffled voices coming from inside the double doors. She frowned confused, then anger simmered in her gut. There were no meetings scheduled for the evening, and if the Sand Clan ambassador was trying to blindside her again she would…
She quickened her pace, stalking up to the doors and throwing them open as her guards scrambled to keep up. She was not prepared for what she found.
The Nightbloods were sitting in a tight semicircle at the foot of Lexa’s throne, talking quietly. They turned hurriedly as the doors crashed open behind them, and the way the younger ones huddled together at her sight, reminded Clarke of little ducklings bereft of their mother.
She realized she was wearing a scowl and hastily smoothed her features before hurrying inside. When she heard Angus follow, she gave a tiny shake of the head and the man immediately dropped back, dragging the doors closed behind him.
Aden stood and met her halfway to the throne. He held his chin much like Lexa did, yet there was a hesitant look in his eyes and a slight blush creeped on his cheeks.
“We weren’t doing anything,” he began, but stopped when Clarke reached out, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I know,” her voice was quiet, “you miss her too.”
The boy lowered his eyes, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. Clarke realized the children didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. She had seen them sparring in the courtyard regularly as she glanced out of the window on her way to the infirmary, and had not thought much of it until now. But their training extended beyond learning to fight and now that Lexa was away and Titus had been thrown in prison there was nobody to teach them.
Clarke motioned him back to the others and she lowered herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged among them.
There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Clarke had never interacted much with kids except when they were sick and she didn’t know what to do exactly. It was one of them who broke the stalemate.
A girl no more than five years old, resolutely crawled to her and climbed onto her lap, clearly satisfied that she had been the first to come up with that idea.
“Tell us a story, Skaiprisa!” she gave Clarke a wide eyed, pleading look that the girl found impossible to resist. She wondered briefly if they acted so forward with Lexa.
Aden cleared his throat and scolded the younger child gently, but firmly. “Be respectful. You are talking to Wanheda.”
Clarke had to hide a grimace at the title they insisted pegging on her. She didn’t think she would ever get used to what it meant.
“When we’re alone you can call me Clarke.” She knew the power behind her title was what kept her safe from harm after a fashion. Aden nodded solemnly and the others did the same after taking one look at him. It was obvious they took their lead from the oldest boy.
“Would you…” he hesitated, struggling not to look too eager, “would you tell us about the stars?”
His question opened the floodgates and all of the children chimed in, asking a million different things about Skaikru. Clarke debunked as many rumors as she could, and some of the notions the children came up with had her laugh out loud. They joined in merrily and the throne room echoed with a sound it rarely heard.
“How do the stars look from behind, Clarke?” The little girl on her lap, snuggled happily against her, voice full of wonder, “are they hot when you touch them?” Her dark eyes were shining with curiosity.
Clarke ruffled her hair with a small smile. “They burn like the biggest bonfire you can imagine, but you can’t actually touch them. They’re very far.”
“Oh.” The child looked a bit crestfallen.
“So you can’t go behind them?” An older boy asked.
If Raven was here, she’d pull out some big words and woo the children with stories of starships and warp jumps. Clarke only knew how to fall to Earth and nothing about travelling to other galaxies.
“I guess,” she shrugged apologetically to her disappointed audience, “but if you looke at them long enough they throb you know?”
Aden leant forward, interested. “Like a heart?”
She nodded and he gave her a smile she felt compelled to share.
“We’re not supposed to talk about them but...my father used to say the stars were the spirits of our loved ones, waiting to fall back to earth.” Sadness crossed his features as he mentioned his family.
“Are you a spirit Clarke?” The little girl poked a finger between the blonde’s ribs and she groaned.
“I…” she didn’t quite know how to reply.
“Sonraun nodotaim-de.” [life again] Aden’s voice was the softest murmur, only meant for Clarke. She knew the Grounders believed in reincarnation and, while in the beginning she had shaken her head and wondered at that notion, now it comforted her to think that she and Lexa would never be truly apart. When his eyes tangled with hers, they held a wisdom beyond his years. Lexa was right she thought, he would be a fine leader one day.
The weight of the girl’s head against her shoulder brought Clarke back to the throne room. The child had buried her face against her chest and was struggling to keep her eyes open.
“I believe it’s time for bed,” she announced, cradling the girl in her arms and standing up. The sky outside had darkened to pitch black, and the pinprick glows of torches far below looked like an earthly reflection of the hidden stars above. Aden followed her cue and rounded up the younger Natblida, ignoring their protests.
“Will you tell us more stories tomorrow?” One of them asked, voice laced with hope.
“Tomorrow I will teach you.” Clarke smiled at the groans that greeted her announcement. She knew exactly how she’d contribute to their training.
They exited the throne room in a shuffling line, much to the amusement of the guards, who escorted the group to the part of the tower assigned to the initiates.
Clarke stepped inside their shared quarters, and Aden directed her to the girl’s bed. The room was a wide communal space, beds lined along one wall with small night tables between each cot. As she passed by, Clarke noticed the small desks were littered with things that would be of interest to a child: a piece of string, a strange feather, shells from a distant shore or some colorful rock. Each Natblida seemed to have gathered a small collection of curiosities and she thought perhaps they were not allowed many personal effects. She resolved to ask Lexa. Maybe she could persuade the Commander to allow art supplies into their living quarters.
Clarke set the sleeping girl down carefully and, after having removed her shoes, tucked her securely under some blankets. As she turned to leave, Aden tugged at her sleeve. He pulled her to a corner of the room while the other initiates were clambering into bed, then he seemed to lose his nerve and looked everywhere but at her.
“Aden,” Clarke drew his attention as gently as possible. She wanted to hug him, but she understood he was trying to be some sort of miniature Lexa. An example for the other Nightbloods while she was away.
He flinched when she spoke his name, then after one deep, shaky breath he managed to meet her eyes.
“I was wondering….” he faltered, swallowed hard then resumed, “would you come say good night everyday? For the little ones.” By the end of the question he was stammering slightly and pointedly looking at his boots.
Clarke wanted to kick herself. Of course that was what Lexa was doing every evening when she vanished for a time after their dinners. She had never asked, assuming the Commander needed some time alone after a busy day, but she should have known better. Clarke had been so caught up in her own worry, that she had been too distracted to see how others were affected by Lexa’s absence too.
“Of course I’ll come,” she assured and Aden brightened visibly. She gently pushed him towards his own bed, and watched the kids get comfortable under the blankets. Soon the room fell quiet but she lingered, aware that the bed awaiting her tired body was empty and cold.
When she finally trudged to Heda’s apartments and threw herself on their bed, she lay awake in the dark, unable to relax enough to sleep.
Wherever Lexa was, Clarke hoped she was dreaming of her.