"they never got a real 'morning after', waking up tousled and sleepy after sleeping solidly in each other's arms. they never got to take their time; to spend hours wrapped up in each other, memorizing every part of the other. they never got to have drunk sex, tipsy on wine and each other- and they never got to wake up hungover together, comforting each other in their mutual misery. they never got to have a fight- not a fight about the fates of nations or peoples, but about the fact that lexa retreats behind her title of commander instead of allowing clarke to comfort her, or that clarke has a casual disrespect about the rules of etiquette that infuriates lexa. they never got to have angry sex, never got to leave stinging thin lines on shoulder blades, or brutal hickies in places impossible to hide. they never got to have make up sex. they never got to have a quickie before a meeting. they never got to have make up sex. they never got to have quick kisses in the mornings before they separated for their days of work, nor kisses goodnight before they fell asleep. they never got to hold hands or link arms as they walked through the street- lexa was never able to show clarke the peaceful beauty of polis, as wrapped up in politics as they were."- post/140671160305/sometimes-i-think-about-all-the-intimacies-clarke
xXxX
Clarke didn't open her eyes. Just a bit longer, she thought.
Lexa's bedroom was bathed with a golden glow, the morning light soft and warm. Somewhere outside the patterned window she could hear the low hum of Polis awakening below them. But it was quiet enough, for now, to hear Lexa's steady breathing next to her, and her heart skipped a beat to sync its drumbeat into this morning music. She opened her eyes then, and her heart leaped again.
Lexa lay next to her among the fabrics and furs of the bed. Her legs were twined with Clarke's, her hand loosely but possessively resting on her stomach. The morning sun was golden on her bare skin, and it reminded Clarke of the fire her lips had traced on the Commander's skin hours earlier. Her hair, tousled from being out of its customary braids—and more than likely the way Clarke had run her fingers through it—fanned out across the pillow. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, but what took Clarke's breath away was the utter peacefulness on the Commander's features. Here, with Clarke, there was no war, no danger, no politics. It was just them and the love between them, passing between them like threads sewing two pieces of cloth together. Last night, with every kiss, every sigh, every tentative—and then bold—caress, they healed and strengthed each other.
The emotion was too much for Clarke to hold and she sat up incrementally, leaning forward to kiss Lexa's forehead, her cheek, and then the corner of her lips before she settled back down. Her hands suddenly itched to draw, to capture her beloved in this rare moment, but she knew leaving the bed would end the spell and life would come crashing back down.
"Klark..." Lexa's voice was thick with sleep, but it couldn't hide the loving tone that rounded out the edges of the consonants in Clarke's name. Her thumb caressed a small circle on the plane of Clarke's stomach.
"Shhh. I don't want to get out of bed."
Lexa's eyes opened. They were deep green, darker than a pine forest in winter, and Clarke willingly drowned herself in them. "Who said anything about leaving this bed? This is the only place I want to be today." Lexa said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a gentle, yet sly, smile. Her hand shifted on Clarke's stomach, a full caress tracing a path of tender fire.
The two women shifted, finding each other again. Each touch was slow, each glance made to commit the moment to memory, as they wove the love between them into the fabric of the world.
xXxXxX
The door opened with a bang, slamming into the wall sharply as Clarke stumbled through it. The room spun a bit, and she clung tighter to Lexa's hand in her own. The music from the feast followed them into the room, pipes and drums weaving a wild and heady rhythm, interspersed with loud shouts and claps from the warriors shouting encouragement to the musicians. More than one warrior had seen the hasty way Clarke had dragged Lexa from the table with a wolfish grin and a laugh, and added their own raucous good-natured shouts of encouragement behind Heda and Wanheda as they left the room.
Clarke tugged Lexa the last few steps into the room, capturing her lover tightly in her arms. Their mouths collided with unfettered need. Lexa's kiss was hungry but reserved, her desire held back by the last iron chains of her deep-rooted self-control, even as her hands skimmed over Clarke's back, pulling the blonde woman against her. Clarke rumbled in frustration. The room may be spinning around them, but Clarke's uninhibited need for Lexa was the bright flame on which she focused.
She broke apart from the kiss only enough to reach for the door, slamming it closed behind them. The music was muffled, but the sound of the drums beat through the door, an insistent driving echo. Blue fire blazed in her eyes, and her blood raced through her veins in time to a quickening beat. Her gaze locked with Lexa's, and she pushed the warrior back against the closed door, pressing close enough to feel the heat blazing between them.
"Ai gaf yu in, Leksa."
The last shred of reserved control dropped and Lexa surrendered entirely. To love, to the wine, to instinct. To Clarke.
Their mouths met hungrily. Clarke nipped gently at Lexa's bottom lip, and the tip of her tongue soothed the spot immediately. Lexa deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness of berry wine on her lover, knowing that Clarke could taste the bright notes of mead on her own kisses. Clarke rumbled again impatiently as her hands slid up Lexa's sides, fumbling briefly with the ties of Lexa's dress pinned between her body and the door. She chuckled a little in drunken celebration when the ties loosened and the dress fell away, Clarke's mouth following the path of the fabric as it slid down her skin until she was kneeling before her lover.
Lexa gasped, tilting her head back against the door as sensation overwhelmed her. She lost herself in the feeling, carried along by wine and the music and love, until she was completely undone.
They awoke much later, tangled in a pile of discarded clothes, clinging tightly to each other on the fur rug in the middle of the floor of Lexa's room. One of them, maybe both, groaned at the headache.
"Skrish."
"Sha."
"Ai hod yu in."
"Shof op."
-/Translations/-
"Ai gaf yu in, Leksa."= I need you, Lexa
"Skrish..."= "Shit." "Yeah." "I love you" "Shut up"
xXxXxX
"Heda, ai kru laik laksen."
Lexa's face was an implacable mask as she sat upon her throne, regarding the kneeling Azgeda warband commander kneeling before her. From her place at the head of the row of attending ambassadors seated in the throne room, Clarke could see the Commander's green eyes studying the man closely, weighing his fate with hard eyes. Her forefinger tapped briefly against the arm of the throne, nearly too subtle for many in the room to notice, but Clarke knew the gesture was a sign at just how troubled Lexa's thoughts were.
"Bilaik may be ridiyo, ba der ste nou ogoud kom jomp op. Tona kru laik laksen, noumou Azgeda."
"Heda, ai yongon ste haken, ai stegeda ste won op, nou ai op—"
Lexa's eyes darkened and her jaw clenched briefly. Her voice was a quiet, dangerous growl when she spoke. "Ai laik Heda! I op otaim!"
"Heda…" Clarke stood from her chair smoothly. Her expression was calm, but tension sat heavy in her chest. Ice Nation had committed many transgressions, but it had been a very hard winter. Sickness and starvation had visited many villages in the past months, and it was nearly understandable—but not excusable- that some within Azgeda had returned to raiding.
All eyes in the room turned to Clarke, including Lexa's. The Commander's mouth was set in a hard, angry line.
Clarke switched into Gonasleng, not yet having all the words she needed. "Heda, Skaikru farms were burnt in these raids. I ask that these men be taken prisoner for this crime, and made to work to rebuild the farms they destroyed. One year of service for each farm they have destroyed."
Lexa's eyes flickered. "Trikru villages burned too, Wanheda. Livestock and crops taken and destroyed." The man flinched, knowing the law for such crimes, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground.
"Sha, Heda. They have wronged Trikru, and Skaikru both. Their raids put the entire coalition in danger. Let them be forced to rebuild what they have destroyed, and provide for the coalition. Let them see there can be value in working rather than taking. Let them walk the warrior's path no longer; their hands will never touch a sword again. To arrogant warriors of Azgeda, surely punishment of this nature brings dishonor worse than death?" The man's scowl showed the truth to Clarke's words.
Lexa was still for a series of moments, then her eyes left Clarke's to settle back on the man. "Jus nou drein jus daun. Seven years of hard labor on Skaikru and Trikru farms. You have Wanheda to thank for your life and the lives of your men. I would not have been so merciful." Her gaze shifted, and she raised her hand in finality. "Guards, take them from Polis. Everyone else, leave. Now."
The guards quickly grabbed the man, dragging him to his feet and quickly taking him from the room. Ambassadors and other courtiers stood to leave with a murmur of conversation. Clarke turned to join the exodus, when Lexa's voice rang out.
"Wanheda, I would have you stay." Her tone brooked no argument.
Clarke stilled, feeling Lexa's gaze on her back. She took a deep breath as the last of the people left the room, and the double doors thumped closed behind them.
"I do not recall asking for your counsel, Ambassador. You are perfectly capable of respecting the rules of etiquette demanded here. Just as I am perfectly able to pass my own judgement." Lexa's words struck sharply against Clarke's back. Her tone was reserved but cutting, the same one she used to upbraid wayward warriors and counselors as Heda.
Clarke turned to face the Commander. Lexa's face was the same stoic mask, but something Clarke recognized simmered in her deep green eyes, fanning the spark of Clarke's anger.
"Are you, Lexa?!" Clarke crossed half of the distance between them quickly, her eyes blazing. "I know how you've walked the villages. I know you feel their pain, see their suffering. You think I don't know about the supplies you've sent to Azgeda, and how it must anger you that they've thrown that in your face?! Is that why you were about to execute him, Lexa? So that you could have a target for that pain?!"
Lexa's fist slammed angrily on the arm of the throne as she flung herself to her feet, seething. "I am more than capable of separating my feelings from duty!"
"I damn well know that, Lexa! But stop hiding behind that mask you wear. Stop being Heda for just one moment, and realize that not every decision is so black and white. If you want to break the old ways, then break them. We may be lovers, Lexa, but I am still an ambassador and representative to my people. You asked me to help you build a different path for our people, and I am doing that. But don't you dare hide from me or that goal." The anger Clarke felt waned halfway through her statement, and her voice shook slightly at the end with unshed tears of frustration. It was as if a hurricane had swept over her, leaving her shattered and drained in its wake.
Lexa worked her jaw, and her balled up fists loosened. Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke. "Ai laik Heda, Klark. It is who I am. You say I hide behind that, but if I don't-"She swallowed and left the words unsaid, though her eyes betrayed every nuance when she continued. "You know why I cannot let them see."
Clarke dipped her head. "We bear it so they don't have to." Lexa's mournful gaze met hers in a bitter smile. A long moment passed between them, and it was Lexa who broke the silence.
"Come, Klark. Enough of being who we must be for our people." She extended her hand to Clarke, who took it quietly, recognizing it for the apology Lexa meant it to be.
-/Translations/-
"Heda, ai kru laik laksen."="Heda, my people are suffering (hurt)"
"Bilaik may be ridiyo, ba der ste nou ogoud kom jomp op. Tona kru laik laksen, noumou Azgeda."="That may be true, but there is no good reason to fight. Many people are suffering, not just Ice Nation."
"Heda, ai yongon ste haken, ai stegeda ste won op, nou ai op—"="Heda, our children are sick, our villages will die, you don't see—"
"Ai laik Heda! I op otaim!"="I am Heda. I always see!"
xXxXxX
Raven laughed loudly, as Clarke slugged the shot of moonshine, banging her empty cup down on the mess hall table.
"Oh, now I know I've struck a nerve. Clarke Griffin, Sky Princess herself, turning bright red!"
"Oh come on, Raven, everyone has make up sex, "Clarke retorted, "You and Wick should know. You two quibble about everything."
"Fair point, but-"Raven's eyes narrowed slyly as she splashed a bit more of the booze into their cups. "I never really imagined it was possible to argue with Lexa. Which ruled out make up sex."
"Look, are we going to play this stupid game, or are you just going to keep making fun of me? You have two more questions than our bet is even and you can stop saying I owe you that drink." Clarke's sarcasm was teasing; it had been all too long since she'd gotten to drink with a friend.
"Ok." Raven grinned again. "Never have I ever had sex in the Chancellor's office. That's an easy one you can't say I'm singling—"Raven stopped, mouth agape as Clarke raised the cup, gulping the contents. She cried out in laughter, clapping her hands. "No fucking way! When?!"
Clarke finished the cup, wincing as she set it down. "Last month. When we were both here in Arkadia working on those trade agreements. Abby and Kane were running late, so…"
Raven clapped her hand over her mouth, choking down laughter. "No. Way."
"It's called a quickie, Raven."
"Yeah but in your mom's office? Imagine if she saw—"
"Ugh." Clarke held up her hand. "Stop, that mental image is ruining a nice memory. One more question Raven…"
The mechanic could barely concentrate through her laughter. "Okay, well let me think…" The evil glint returned to her eyes after a few moments. "Never have I ever left a hickey where—"
"Clarke?" Lexa's voice rang out from the doorway to the mess hall.
Raven and Clarke turned to look as the Commander made her way across the room to them. Raven had an enormous grin on her face, eyes sparkling. Clarke just cleared her throat, hoping to high heaven that Raven wouldn't say anything as Lexa stood next to Clarke.
"Greetings, Raven kom Skaikru."
"Lexa…" Raven nodded, lifting her cup in salute.
"Ready to go?" Clarke asked, looking up at her lover.
"Sha. The horses are outside. The meeting with Kane did not take long."
"Good," said Clarke, standing, "I missed you." She leaned in against Lexa, kissing the other woman's cheek. Her hand rested against Lexa's collarbone, and in the process slightly moved the fur-lined collar of the Grounder woman's light armor away from her neck. A dark oval bruise was marked on the skin there. Clarke's hand dropped a moment later and the collar fell back in place.
The blonde woman lifted her cup, saluting Raven—who sat, mouth agape- with a toast before finishing the last of the moonshine with a smile. The two women took their leave, leaving Raven behind in the mess hall.
"Well….shit," Raven whispered with a laugh, pouring herself another drink.
xXxXxX
Lexa shivered, bundling her cloak tightly around her. Spring was not far off, yet the last of the winter's snowflakes weakly swirled through the air. Some rested on her hair, sticking to her intricate braids, the dark chestnut of her hair shot through with steel gray. She shook her head to clear the snow, pulling her cloak up as she searched the market below from her balcony. She spotted her target and began to follow. After all these years, all these decades of war and peace, she could still stalk a target better than any warrior, even if the cold made her scars ache.
She stepped through the door, past the place where Clarke insisted they always share a kiss before they parted for the day. To remember her, to seal a promise, to provide comfort or strength for the days ahead. Whatever the reason, there was always a kiss.
Lexa made her way through the familiar streets. She passed the familiar landmarks, and memories shadowed her steps. The way Clarke had smiled with delight the first time they'd walked these streets, when she'd first proudly given the Skayon girl a tour of the capital city. She walked past the bakers, remembering the way Clarke had shyly asked Lexa to buy her a sweet roll, and the sticky kiss they'd shared afterwards. She walked past the carpenters, the fletchers, the blacksmiths, recalling the way her lover had stared at her peoples' skilled hands as they built the tools upon which their current golden age of peace had been built. She paused briefly near the potter's stands, remembering the way in which Clarke had pursed her lip in concentration when the potter had invited her to take the wheel. The bowl she'd made, uneven but radiating with earnest love, still rested next to Lexa's bed, collecting the wax of a thousand candles since Clarke had first given it to her.
And so Lexa walked, memories flowing through her mind. Of her people, her city, her love. All inescapably woven together.
Lexa reached her target, letting the whisper of her cloak betray her presence to the woman sitting nearby.
Clarke looked up at her, and smiled. The smile lines at the corner of her eyes deepened, and she lifted her hand from the sketchbook in her lap, idly flicking a loose braid back over her shoulder. Her fingers were dusted black from the charcoal she was using to sketch, and it left a faint smudge on her cheek.
"Heya, houmon."
"Hei, mohodnes," Lexa replied. She reached down and tenderly wiped the smudge from Clarke's cheek. Their eyes met, and light bloomed in both of their hearts. Lexa's gaze tore away from Clarke's to glance at the half-finished sketch resting on her lap. "What are you drawing today?"
Clarke tipped her head up, gesturing to the market stall across from her, where a young woman bundled medicinal herbs, chatting with passersby, doling out advice and remedies. "The healer. I've seen her on our walks through the city. I like the way her eyes light up when she helps someone."
Lexa looked up briefly. Her eye was not trained as an artist's like Clarke's, but it was no less sharp. "She reminds me of you, when we first met."
Clarke matched her smile. "Maybe."
Lexa rested her hand briefly on the curve of Clarke's shoulder. "Would you walk with me through Polis this morning? I'd love your company."
Clarke nodded happily, tucking her sketchbook and charcoal into the small bag slung over her shoulder. She stood, and taking Lexa's hand, walked the streets of Polis. It was not their first time walking the city, nor the last, but the sense of accomplishment, of reveling in everything their love, their dedication to peace had built, lasted with each step they took together.
-/Translations/-
"Heya, houmon."= Hello, wife
"Hei, mohodnes," = Hello, my love
XxXxX
Musical inspiration for the drunk scene was "Drink Up, There's More!" from the Witcher 3 soundtrack.