Chapter 1
Heavy lies the crown.
It’s an old world phrase—one of the oldest. Perhaps that is a testament to its universality. Even after the Earth has been scorched and pillaged and strangled by mankind only to be rebuilt by the remains, those words still hold true.
But Lexa doesn’t wear a crown. Instead, the seal was placed on her forehead, the tale of her ascension was etched into her skin, and the Flame was implanted in her neck.
(It aches when it rains.)
The burden of rule is a heavy one, people often forget. They only see the power. Lexa has learned that her power is nothing in comparison to the weight upon her shoulders—her people and their happiness. Their expectations.
Historically, she knows that other Commanders have ignored their burden. Choosing instead to wield their power to fit their own ends and desires. Because of that, Lexa suspects, their tenure on the throne was cut short, the Commander’s Spirit having abandoned them.
No, unlike her shortsighted predecessors, Lexa has always been focused, devoted, and measured.
With two exceptions, that is.
The first was when she awoke to Costia’s head, bruised and covered in dried blood, in her bed. It took all of Titus and Gustus’s pleading for her not to rain Hell upon Queen Nia. Talks of the Coalition had just begun between clans and it wouldn’t do well for Lexa to begin a war of her own when she had just sent out emissaries claiming she wanted to unite the clans in peace.
So she did what she could. She implicated Roan in the kidnapping and consequential murder, and challenged his honor in the ring. To her surprise, and Nia’s dismay, the prince did not refute the claims, facing whatever punishment Lexa deemed appropriate. Titus called for execution, but Gustus suggested banishment considering that Lexa was asking for all the other clans to live under her peaceful and righteous rule. So that’s what she did, even though she knew Roan had nothing to do with Costia’s death, and—despite her lofty ideals—Lexa still thirsted for revenge.
And the second? The second exception is now.
“Don’t go.”
Clarke is pulling on the same shirt she’s been wearing since she was brought to the tower even though Lexa has told her time and time again that there are plenty of clothes in her quarters specifically tailored for her to wear. Each time Clarke replies with something about Ark sustainability, which Lexa understands, but also does not.
(Clarke is no longer on the Ark. She is in Polis. With her.)
“Lexa,” Clarke sighs, leaning back down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “You know I don’t want to. Don’t make it harder.”
“Aren’t you tired of doing things you don’t want to do, Clarke?”
“Aren’t you?” she replies, turning away to retrieve the pants she kicked across the room not an hour earlier.
“Yes.”
The firmness of her answer causes Clarke to pause and Lexa relishes in it. She is not shying away from this and she needs Clarke to see that.
Clarke turns, surprise clear on her face. “Lexa—”
It’s a warning that Lexa does not heed. Instead she walks to Clarke, only a sheet covering her nude form.
“You have done enough for your people, more than enough. Stay here, let the blockade do its job, and soon they will see reason.” She takes Clarke’s face into her hands. “But you don’t have to fix their mistakes this time. This time they should learn.”
“I can’t abandon my people, Lexa. Please don’t ask me to.” She pulls Lexa’s hands from her face.
“I’m not, Clarke.”
“You are.”
“We can get your family out. Your mother, Kane, Raven—”
“You know that’s not a feasible solution, Lexa. I won’t pick and choose.”
Clarke drops Lexa’s gaze, finally pulling on her pants. It is clear she thinks this conversation is over. Lexa disagrees.
“Your people seem intent on fighting you, Clarke. Part of being a leader is knowing when to concede a battle.”
Clarke pulls on her boots before she looks at Lexa again. “I didn’t expect this from you.”
“What?”
“You’re…throwing a fit.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t want me to go, so you’re throwing a fit.” She shrugs. “Or as close to a fit as a Heda can, I guess.
“Clarke, please,” Lexa pleads, grabbing Clarke’s wrists. “I won’t lose you again.”
“And you aren’t. I will be back as soon as Pike is taken care of.” She presses another kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth with a sense of familiarity that Lexa wants nothing more than to relish. “Now, get dressed, Heda.”
I love you.
It’s on the tip of her tongue.
But Clarke has left the bedroom already, and Lexa is left alone in nothing but a sheet, with the memory of Clarke’s lips tingling on her mouth.
She does not get dressed. Instead, she begins to pace.
*
Aden remembers very little of his life before Polis. He had not yet seen four summers when he was brought to the tower. He doubts he could pick out his nomon or nontu in a crowd. Sometimes he thinks he can hear their voices in his dreams, but after all this time, he cannot be sure.
When Heda Lexa took the Flame, he had been training under Titus for a year. They had not been introduced until after her ascension, per tradition. Her eyes were red with tears shed, and her voice was gravelly and raw.
“Heda. Ai laik Aden kom Trishana. Ai laik Natblida.”
She nodded stiffly before whispering, “Moba, goufa. Ai trana kik thru.”
Several years later, when he learned of what happens during conclave, Aden finally understood his Heda’s words. She was going to try to survive so that he would not have to face what she did.
Somewhere in his heart, Aden knew it was useless. Eventually his Heda would die, a conclave would be called, and his blood would be tested. But as the days drew on, and his Heda’s reign persisted, Aden also began to dream of a life without Death looming over both of them.
It was his Heda’s dream, and so it was his. And for that, she would have his unendingly loyalty.
For this reason, when Aden opened the door to his quarters only to find his Heda waiting for him, he tried his best not to look surprised. He simply bowed.
“Heda.”
“Aden, I need to ask a favor of you.”
“Anything, Heda.”
She nods, looking at his feet before looking back up at him.
“Do you remember Octavia kom Skaikru?”
*
Gunshots in Polis. They are a novelty of sorts.
Lexa registers Clarke first, then Titus, then the fact that Titus is holding a gun, that Titus shot her, and—finally—that she has been shot with a gun.
The pain in her abdomen was a bullet. From a gun. That Titus shot.
As she starts to fall to the ground, she realizes that Titus meant to shoot Clarke, and suddenly her blood is on fire.
Clarke is yelling instructions and Titus is lifting her onto the bed, and all Lexa wants to do is scream for him to never touch her again, but she can’t seem to find her breath.
Clarke rips open her shirt, and Lexa can see the tears in her eyes. She can’t tell if that’s because it’s a bad wound or because Clarke is scared. Lexa is scared, but she still tells Clarke, “Don’t be afraid”.
That seems to steady Clarke. She calls for bandages. A boy Lexa does not recognize and had not realized was there helps her.
Titus comes to kneel at her side. “Heda—”
“Gon we,” she manages to growl.
Before he can respond, Aden with Octavia and Indra in tow burst into the room.
“HEDA!” Aden and Indra yell in unison.
“What the fuck happened?” Octavia growls.
Lexa watches as Clarke manages to take this new development in stride.
“Indra, go find a healer! Octavia come here and hold pressure. Aden—” Indra has yet to move. “INDRA, BANTS! NAU!”
Finally, Indra’s native tongue seems to snap her into action because she sprints from the room. Clarke redirects her attention to Aden.
“Aden, come here and help me turn her. We need to see if the bullet went all the way through.”
He nods, steeling himself before taking position where Clarke had indicated. Clarke grabs a handful of bandages before whispering into Lexa’s ear.
“This is going to hurt.”
“I am already in pain, Clarke.”
Clarke takes hold of her shoulder and nods to Aden. “Take her side.”
Lexa feels his small hands grip her thigh and abdomen. They aren’t as small as they used to be. What a ridiculous thing to notice now.
Clarke’s voice pulls her from her fragmented thoughts. “What is it you told me about mockery?”
“It is not the product of—” her adage is cut off by her own scream as Aden and Clarke work together to lift her back a little off the bed. She feels Clarke swipe her hand under her quickly before saying, “All clear.”
“Is that good?” Lexa asks as Aden and Clarke gently lower her back down and Octavia and Murphy resume pressure.
Clarke grimaces, and Lexa knows that whatever she says next is a lie. “Yeah. It’s good.”
Lexa nods in agreement anyway.
Indra arrives with a healer a moment later.
“Okay, great,” Clarke ushers the healer forward. “Do you have anything that will put her to sleep?”
“Yes, but—”
“Clarke?” Lexa can’t keep the tremor out of her voice.
Clarke kneels down to her level, bringing a hand to brush the hair out of Lexa’s face. “Listen. The bullet is still inside of you. I need to operate to get it out, and it will hurt a lot less if you are asleep.”
“If I die—”
“Nope, we aren’t going to talk like that.”
“Clarke—”
“Lexa, you aren’t going to die. Aden is here if you need a transfusion. That’s literally the only risk here. From what I can tell, the bullet didn’t hit any other organs. Otherwise you would be bleeding a lot more.”
Clarke takes Lexa’s face into her hands, and Lexa can feel her thumbs stroke against her cheeks.
“You are going to go to sleep, and when you wake up, you are going to feel like skirsh, but I will be with you.”
“You will?” Again, Lexa cannot keep the tremor from her voice.
“Yes, Lexa. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
“Alright.”
Clarke steps back and the healer takes her place, bringing a small vial to Lexa’s lips. She swallows the contents, and watches Clarke prepare for the operation while her eyelids become heavy.
“Clarke?” she mumbles.
“Just relax, Lexa.”
“I know, but,” her words come out slowly, her tongue thick with the drug, “Clarke, I…”
I love you.
It’s on the tip of her tongue.
Sleep beats her to it.
*
Octavia Blake isn’t stupid. She may have been confined to five hundred square foot shoebox on a glorified tin can in space for most of her life, but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid.
She suspected that something was going on between Clarke and the Commander in Tondisi, which she couldn’t have cared less about at the time.
After the missile, however, they made her sick.
Lexa left them at the Mountain, and Octavia felt a cold sense of satisfaction that she would never name. Clarke made a mistake when it came to Lexa, of that she was sure.
Then Clarke left, and Octavia hated her. This mess was Clarke’s mess, and she left for the woods when that’s all Octavia wanted to do. But she stayed. She and Lincoln stayed for Bellamy and for everyone else that ever counted on them. But Clarke got to leave.
It wasn’t fair.
And when Octavia saw Clarke’s room in Lexa’s tower, bathed in golden light, she knew that whatever had begun in Tondisi between the two leaders had begun again, and Octavia wanted to scream.
But now, seeing Clarke fight to keep her eyes open to watch over the Commander’s prone and vulnerable form, Octavia didn’t have it in her to do anything else but ache.
She aches for Clarke. She aches for Lincoln. She aches for the war they keep trying to stop.
Before she knew what had happened in the tower, Aden had tracked her and Indra down. Lexa had a proposition for Octavia specifically and needed her to return so they could discuss it. If she were anyone else but the Commander, she would have ignored Aden completely. But instead, she came back.
She came back to Lexa with a bullet in the gut and Clarke crying, and suddenly Octavia couldn’t find it within her to be mad about two girls falling in love with each other.
So she stands vigil while Clarke tries not to fall asleep, even though Aden already has, curled up in the chaise across from the bed, and Indra keeps guard outside.
Titus has been trying to come in to check on his Heda every hour or so. The first time, Clarke gave him a black eye and Aden, taller and more regal than he was before, propped up by the gravitas of the situation, tightly explained that he would not be permitted near Heda until further notice.
Since then Octavia has heard the same exchange take place outside of the door on the hour.
“Heda?”
“Gon we.”
Indra is a consistent guard.
Eventually, Octavia broodily leans into the bay window in—she’s not sure if this is Clarke’s room or Lexa’s. It’s pretty ornate, so she’s gonna go with the latter. She hazards another glance Clarke’s way and finds her sleeping sitting up, wobbling and fighting her body.
Under pretty much any other circumstances, she would laugh.
The healer left for the night several hours ago, but only after Clarke assured her that Clarke would be able to handle the Commander on her own. Clarke had ushered the healer out of the room reminding them all that the surgery had went well.
It had—Aden only had to supply one transfusion, and the bullet apparently managed to dodge all of the internal organs, so all they really had to do was remove the bullet and pack the wound with gauze. With some help from Indra and herself, they were even able to switch out Lexa’s black stained furs for clean ones without too much fuss.
Still, Octavia knows what it’s like to worry over a loved one. Especially one that you aren’t technically supposed to love—whatever the fuck that means.
It’s a brave new world, so Octavia only briefly weighs the pros and cons before guiding a half asleep Clarke to the other side of Lexa’s bed and tucking her in. Once Clarke reclines, she seems to wake up a little more and realize her circumstances.
“Octavia. We—it’s not—”
“Sure thing, Wanheda. But you still need to sleep.”
Clarke pushes against Octavia’s arms.
“Lexa needs her space—”
“This bed is so big I think all of the 100 could have shared it. I doubt Lexa will even notice you,” she assures.
For what Octavia imagines is the first time, Clarke gives in to her basic human needs and allows Octavia to help her into bed.
With Clarke settled, Octavia blows out most of the candles in the room before folding herself into the bay window again. By the time she gets comfortable, she notices that Clarke is already asleep.
*
Lexa’s eyes are heavy and her stomach burns and aches, but she also very, very warm.
She’s awake, but she can’t seem to get her body to cooperate. She can only manage a frustrated whimper.
Something large moves next to her, and Lexa’s heart begins to race. She is vulnerable. She can’t even open her eyes for Flame’s sake! She has no way to defend herself from any sort of threat.
She whimpers again, and tears prick at the corner of her eyes.
“Lexa? Hey, hey,” Clarke soothes, “it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Oh. The thing next to her is Clarke.
(She is still here. Like she said she would be.)
Despite being Heda, Commander of the Blood, it takes all of Lexa’s strength and two tries to simply open her eyes.
She is met with Clarke—beautiful, concerned, powerful Clarke with her clear blue eyes, still a little puffy with sleep and tears she probably doesn’t want Lexa to ever mention. Her hair is mussed and she’s scared but smiling, and Lexa knows she’s the most beautiful woman on this planet.
As ridiculous as it seems, Clarke fell from the sky for her. Lexa is still struggling to figure out exactly what she did to deserve such a gift.
“You’re here,” Lexa rasps out, her voice hoarse from the anesthesia.
“I told you I would be.”
“Yes, but…in bed with me?”
Even in the dim candlelight and only the very first whispers of dawn, Lexa can see Clarke blush.
“That was Octavia’s idea.” Lexa starts to laugh, but the motion makes pain rip through her abdomen, so it ends in a hiss. “Take it easy,” Clarke warns, bringing a hand up to brush against Lexa’s cheek.
“Octavia kom Skaikru is full of surprises.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Clarke says with a grin before switching gears. “What do you need?” she asks, her voice coated in soft concern.
“I am…thirsty.”
“Okay, and how is your pain?”
Lexa attempts to steel her features. Her pain wasn’t that bad—just a persistent throbbing burn where the bullet once was. “Hurts.”
Clarke would not be deterred. “I know that. I had to dig a tiny piece of metal out of your body.”
“Then why did you ask?” Lexa counters.
Clarke rolls her eyes with a sigh, and Lexa can’t help but smile. She is here with Clarke. Clarke is here with her. All is not lost.
“If I made laudnes tae would you drink it?”
“Sha.”
“Kei.” Clarke pushes herself off of the bed, intent on getting a pot of tea started, but Lexa grabs her hand at the last moment.
“Klark—”
“Nou get yo daun. Ai komba raun,” Clarke soothes before disappearing into one of the adjoining rooms.
As Lexa listens to Clark putting a kettle on, she assesses the room around her. She’s still in Clarke’s room, and there are only a few candles illuminating the space. Aden is asleep on the chaise a few feet away, and if she turns, she can only just see evidence of Octavia asleep in the bay window.
She pulls back the furs to examine what she can of her wound. It’s been dressed with clean bandages, and despite the burn she feels, the skin around her wound doesn’t feel warm.
Would it be too naïve to think that this most recent brush with Death has passed already?
She looks around again, and realizes that Titus is nowhere to be seen. Good, she thinks. Once she is well again, Lexa will deal with Titus’ trespass against her.
Clarke returns a few minutes later with a tray. “Water first, then tea.”
“Kei, niron.”
The term of endearment slips out of its own accord. Probably because Lexa is exhausted and she’s been fighting using it for the past few weeks anyway. Still, Lexa hopes that Clarke’s knowledge of her language does not include this particular word. But she is not that lucky. Clarke blanches before gently bringing the mug of water to Lexa’s lips.
Still, neither of them says anything until Lexa has drained both the mug of water and pain reducing tea. Clarke sets the tray on the bedside table, furrowing her brow before she gently asks, “Niron?”
“I mean what I say, Clarke.”
“I know, it’s just—”
Lexa takes great pains to clasp Clarke’s hand before she says, “I love you, Clarke.” When Clarke doesn’t immediately say anything back, Lexa presses on. “If you do not feel the same, or if you are not ready, I understand. But I just needed you to know.” She takes a steadying breath and repeats, “I love you.”
The silence that follows is deafening, and Lexa almost lets go of Clarke’s hand.
Almost.
But Clarke meets her gaze, and that seems to snap her into action. She climbs back into the bed burrowing under the furs, close to Lexa’s side. When all is said and done, Clarke’s face is only an inch or so from Lexa’s when she finally speaks.
“I love you too, Lexa.” She kisses Lexa softly, and then pulls back. “I was so scared that I lost you,” she sobs quietly.
“I’m right here, Clarke.”
“I know. But please try not to get in a life threatening situation until your bullet wound heals.”
Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke, kissing her cheek before whispering, “To be fair, you were the one being shot at.”
“People are always shooting at me,” Clarke dismisses.
“Sha, en em jomp yu op en em jomp ai op.”
“I wish things weren’t always so literal with you.”
“I don’t mind.”
Clarke nuzzles into Lexa’s neck. “Shh, you still need rest…niron.”
Lexa can feel Clarke’s smile into her neck after trying out the endearment for herself, and Lexa feels a different kind of warmth fill her stomach.
“As you command, Clarke.”