She was gone.
The cold lifeless form in front of her was not Lexa. What made Lexa 'Lexa', that spark, that defiance, that intensity... It had blinked out, a flame that had burnt bright and had been lost to the wind. No. Not the wind. A sword...
A painful heaving sob left Clarke's body, breaking the silence that enveloped them since she had entered the room. She doesn't know how long she has been kneeling here, minutes, hours. It didn't matter.
No one would dare interrupt a grieving Wanheda.
Wanheda. Commander of death. Like Clarke had any control over death, over this.
Her eyes grow blurry and for a moment the body in front of her disappears into a haze and she can let herself believe for the smallest, beautiful moment that Lexa is just asleep and that her green eyes will open and she will sit up and flash that small smile she reserved only for Clarke herself.
Of the deaths she had suffered, Lexa's was the only one she believed she could not stand up from.
Lexa would want her to. She would be the first one to grab Clarke by the arm and drag her to her feet and demand she step up to her responsibilities and move past this. Move past her...
Clarke wipes the tears clear from her eyes and face with the palms of her hands and sniffs angrily, forcing herself to look at her.
She is still beautiful in death. Regal, innocent. Beautiful.
Clarke reaches a hand forward and with a feather light touch, she brushes a strand of Lexa's hair from her forehead and tucks it behind an ear, the most gentle of embraces she can now only dream of having done while Lexa was alive.
Now she only had memories. Memories of the softness of her skin, the easy fit of her lips on Clarke's, the open vulnerability of Lexa as she knelt at Clarke's feet only three short nights before and swore her fealty, her devotion, her love and her weakness.
Another shuttering breath escapes Clarke's lungs as if her body is struggling to remind her she needs to breathe to survive.
It had happened unexpectedly. No one believed she would fall. Clarke certainly hadn't. Defeat was not a word many people had associated with the Commander.
That fleeting second when the sword had slipped through the skin of her chest, Lexa had sought out Clarke in the crowd for a heart stopping moment. Clarke saw fear, and regret and pain and then Lexa's eyes rolled back and she fell to the ground and that was the last time Clarke had seen the green of her eyes.
And as Lexa moved from this life to whatever came next, Clarke felt like part of herself had been ripped in half and taken along with the girl she loved, leaving behind a bloody shredded half person.
She had loved Lexa.
She had been in love with Lexa.
And now Lexa was no more.
She was gone.
Clarke leant forward, her forehead resting on Lexa's shoulder. She inhaled, long and deep, capturing the last bit of Lexa's scent and praying that it stayed with her until she met her once more.
Death is not the end.
She turned her chin up and pressed her lips to Lexa's forehead, a goodbye kiss she should never have denied. Love was not weakness. Nothing about Lexa had been weak.
She stands and looks down at the body of the Commander, her red sash laying across her chest, and speaks with a voice wavering and heavy with tears she can't afford to let fall.
'Yu gonplei stei odon.'
