a/n: i was going through some really crappy writer's block, then i found out that it was lexa's birthday and i punched the writer's block in the face in order to write this in like two hours
also did you know that one of the concepts for lexa's name was rosslyn? imagine if they had kept that. "rosslyn, the commander of twelve clans." the more you know. i'm very tired
"Wait, you mean that you don't have birthdays?" Clarke stared at Lexa incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief. "How can you not have birthdays? Even in the tiny confines of the Ark we had birthdays, how come you don't have them here on the ground?" Lexa shrugged, her armor clinking as she did so.
"We have no need for them here. We celebrate achievements, not sentimental jargon such as being pushed out of the mother's womb." Lexa's voice was strained, and Clarke could tell that this was not an opinion she had formed on her own - it had been implemented in her since a young age, and as such, she hadn't known anything else. Clarke felt the urge to go down to the Polis dungeons and punch Titus in the face - his teachings were what had almost killed Lexa, blown a hole in her stomach and nearly forced her fight to end when her life had really only just begun. The wound still hadn't fully healed, either, a fact that Clarke was made painfully aware of every time Lexa let out a sudden yelp of pain only to hide it behind clenched teeth and insist that she was fine. The healers had told her that it most likely would hinder her for the rest of her life, but Lexa had made the decision to continue her duty as heda. It was a fact that terrified Clarke to no end, but Lexa had at least managed to negotiate a period of rest time every few days, leaving an ambassador in her stead while she recovered her strength. Today was one of such days, a day that coincidentally fell on what was apparently her birthday.
"That's a load of garbage," Clarke said. "We couldn't do much for birthdays back in space, what with the strict food rations and fire being impossible-"
"Why couldn't your people light fires?" Clarke mimicked an explosion with her hands to answer.
"We would've died. All of us. It would've eaten up the oxygen and we would've blown up. So, naturally, we didn't exactly have a surplus supply of candles lying around. We do have that here, though." Lexa guiltily looked around at the luminescent candles that surrounded the two girls in her bedroom, all faintly glowing in the evening light. "All we need to do is get you a cake and one of those cone hats I saw in a movie once, and it'll be a real celebration."
"I have a few cakes stashed in the pantry," Lexa mused. "Still, what would be the point?" Clarke lightly prodded her with her elbow.
"Because it's fun, you dork. Lexa, you don't have to be the serious commander around me. It's nighttime, the meetings are over, and I don't even know why you're still wearing that armor."
"I would rather not be intruded upon and shot to death by one of my advisors again," Lexa deadpanned.
"If anyone tries to do that, I'll use that trick you showed me and throw them off of your balcony," Clarke replied, kissing Lexa on the cheek. "Anyway, what should we do for the hats?"
"What do they look like?" Clarke looked around her worn wooden desk for a sheet of blank parchment, gently putting aside her drawings - drawings of Polis, drawings of the woods, drawings of Lexa - until she found one that wasn't covered in charcoal.
"Like this." She crudely sketched one from memory as Lexa peered at the page.
"It looks like a bird's beak," she said. "Or a horrible misshapen building."
"Yeah, that's fair. I used to make them out of cardboard when I was little, but I get the feeling that there isn't any cardboard around here."
"I don't even know what cardboard is."
"I don't think it'll be too much of a problem, though." Clarke went back to her desk again, taking another sheet of parchment and rolling it into a cone shape the best she could with the thick material before wrapping some string around it. "This'll do, right?" Lexa looked at the makeshift hat critically, as if she expected it to suddenly jump out at her.
"Am I supposed to wear it?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's the intention. It's fine if you don't want to, th-" Lexa snatched the hat out of Clarke's hands.
"It's just like something that the nightbloods would make," she breathed, holding the hat in her calloused hands as if it was a small, skittish animal. "I love it, Clarke." With that, Lexa firmly placed it on her head with an expression of such regality and determination that Clarke couldn't help but snort, especially when it slid to the side. "Now, I think I'm going to find one of those cakes. You can wait here, if you want."
"Not a chance, Lexa. The pantry is all the way at the bottom of the tower, right? It takes about an hour to get down there, and another hour to go back up." Several months of living in the tower as Lexa's advisor had led to a fairly detailed knowledge of its layout, and that included its ridiculous amount of stairs. "You're supposed to spend birthdays with people you care about, I think. Either way, I'm not leaving you." Lexa shrugged.
"That's fine, Clarke. Don't blame me if your legs hurt afterwards, though." Lexa turned to head down the hallway with a swish of her red cape, the hat still sitting lopsidedly on her head. Clarke followed, a smile on her face at the sight.
"Were birthdays an important ceremony when you lived in space?" Lexa asked when the two girls had reached the halfway point of the tower's stone stairs.
"I guess. It probably varied from family to family, but we celebrated them." Clarke smiled softly at the memory, allowing the nostalgia to wash over her. "We would always sing songs, trade some things for a tiny pastry. It was nice."
"You miss that, then?" The thin candle that Lexa had been carrying down the stairs was starting to burn out.
"Space? No, I don't miss that. It was cramped up there, people got floated, and the air was always stale and cold. It wasn't until less than a year ago that I had even felt the sun on my face."
"I didn't mean that." The candle was growing dimmer, now, but Clarke could still see the green in Lexa's eyes, the weariness on her face. A burning anger filled her in that moment, a feeling of frustration at the world, at how the two of them could never live a life untouched by fear. Lexa was hardly even an adult - if the calendars were right, she had just become one - and yet she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders. Clarke wished to take away that burden, which, she supposed, was probably part of the reason why the two of them were walking down hundreds of stairs to steal a cake from the pantry. "I meant your family. Do you miss them?"
"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty hard not to." Clarke felt tears form at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Still, I think I'm doing okay."
"We're here," Lexa announced, giving Clarke a reassuring squeeze of her hand. "You've managed to lead your indecisive people before reaching twenty, I would say that's far more than okay, by the way. In any case, the pantry is just beyond there." Lexa pointed towards a small closet-like room, the doors barricaded by ornate wooden doors. "Nobody guards it at this time, so I believe that we'll be fine if we're quiet. I'll go ahead first. If I tilt the hat forward, it means that the, ahem, 'coast is clear,' as some of your people say." Clarke nodded, giddy as a schoolgirl, as Lexa crept forwards and cracked open the door. She dipped the hat, and Clarke immediately tiptoed in the direction of the pantry, her mouth watering at the scents.
"Have you been here before?" Clarke asked. Lexa plucked a cake off of the shelf.
"Once." Lexa's tone was embedded with blades, a difficult subject that she clearly didn't feel any need to talk about, and so Clarke didn't press it further. "Here, I think this one will do." Lexa was about to head out the door before Clarke put a hand on her shoulder.
"Wait."
"What is it? Do you see a guard?"
"No, I was just thinking . . . we don't really need to bring this up to your room, do we? I mean, we have the hat and the cake and the candle right here, I don't see what else we need. It'd take another hour to head back upstairs, and it could be precarious with everything in tow."
"I suppose." Lexa sat down, sticking the dying candle in the cake. Clarke followed suit. "So, what now?"
"I think that I'm supposed to sing a song. Usually, there would be more than one person doing it, probably singing horribly off-key while the birthday kid awkwardly sits in discomfort, but we can make do with what we have. And what we have, right now, is me."
"Wait, what is this supposed to-"
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lexa, happy birthday to you!" Clarke rocked back and forth on the floor as she sang the half-remembered song, and, just like in the movies, Lexa waited for the song to be over.
"That was . . . certainly something."
"It would've been even worse if there were more people than just me. Hey, your candle's dying! Quick, you need to make a wish and blow it out!" Lexa blinked.
"What for?"
"It's just a dumb superstition, but you have to do it!" Lexa let out an exasperated sigh before closing her eyes and letting a puff of air end the faintly glowing light.
"I'm not entirely sure if this is what I'm meant to do, but I simply wished for this night to be longer. This is . . . fun, Clarke." Clarke promptly swatted her on the knee. "What was that for?"
"You're not supposed to say your wish, idiot. Otherwise it won't come true, or at least that's what we're supposed to believe. I think that what you just said is doable." Lexa smiled, barely visible in the dark of the room.
"Yes, I think that we'll manage." With that, the two of them kissed, alone and happy in the pantry closet with smiles on their faces and a lopsided cone hat on Lexa's head.
"Happy birthday, Lexa."
"Thank you, Clarke."