This was inspired by a drawing and a dream from bilexuality
I hadn't written in so long so forgive me if I don't do this justice but I did do my best.
Clarke wasn't sure how long she had been standing there at the foot of her bed, her eyes never straying from the stained fur sheets. She was aware that Murphy was talking behind her but no sound came to her ears except her voice.
Don't be afraid.
Don't be afraid.
Again and again like a mantra in her brain.
The funny thing was is that Clarke wasn't afraid. There was not trace of fear or even worry in her veins. No, she wasn't scared.
She felt so many things but fear wasn't one of them. Her lungs burned from the breath she had not released since the guards closed the door behind her, fearing that the simple act of breathing could cause her resolve to shatter. Clarke was good at closing herself off, she was good at numbing her heart to do what needed to be done but now she could barely control the way her body shook in an effort to stop the sob from escaping.
Her arms instinctively wrap around herself as if to try and hold her entire being together. It was pointless though. Slowly but surely Clarke could feel the seams begin to come apart, unraveling and exposing ever broken piece inside her that no one else had a right to see.
No one else but Lexa. No one but her.
Especially not Murphy.
Tearing her gaze from her bed blood-soaked bed, Clarke whips around and pulls on the doorknob, "Let me out!" She cried out as the grip on her emotions slip even further, "I need to see her!" she sobbed, punching a clenched fist against the wooden frame of the door.
As if by some diving power, the doors swing open and Titus walks back into the room with his robe still drenched in her blood. The vision makes Clarke's stomach twist painfully and she shifts her gaze to the man's tortured face. "Take Wanheda to the Commander's chambers. She will be kept there until the conclave is finished." was all he said before the armoured guards come into the room.
What stood out was not the hostility towards Clarke but the lack of it. The guards that came in grabbed Murphy and practically dragged him out of the room while the two only stood on either side of Clarke, one of them placing a gentle hand on her back to urge her forward. Her brows furrow in confusion as she met Titus' gaze yet again, the conflict and pain clear behind those eyes.
"Lexa?"
He nods and Clarke's heart both grows and sinks.
Even in death, Lexa was protecting her.
Lexa had always protected her.
From Indra's rage and spear, from the anger of her people when Clarke killed Finn, From the resentment of Quint, and even from the mountain. Despite the betrayal, Lexa had made sure that Clarke was safe outside of the doors.
Lexa protected her from Azgeda and Trikru. Had taken all of Clarke's rage just so she could heal. Had sworn herself to Clark; not the Skaikru, but Clarke.
Yu jomp em op en yu jomp ai op.
Lexa's words echo in her mind, words she had not understood then but now she did; now Clarke understood those words all too well.
You attack her and you attack me.
Titus tried to kill Clarke and ended up killing Lexa.
Lexa died so that Clarke could live.
Her footsteps quicken and she nearly runs the distance to Lexa's room, her hand covering her lips to keep herself quiet. Thankfully, the guard simply let her go and she barrels through the panelled door before pressing her back against it.
Alone and isolated, Clarke finally allows the tears the fall. Everything came down unto her shoulders and for the first time, Clarke couldn't take it. She had finally just dug herself out of the darkness that the mountain had left inside of her, had finally been honest with Lexa about how she felt, had finally allowed herself to love again and now… now Lexa was dead.
Lexa was dead and nothing Clarke could do would ever change that.
She was gone.
You have to go back, they're your people. That's why I—That's why you're you.
Fresh tears spring to the surface as Clarke thought about what she could have done to deserve this, what decisions she could have made that would have ensured a longer life with Lexa.
If only she had forgiven Lexa earlier.
If only she had not pushed Lexa to promote peace to save her own people.
If only she had not listened to Octavia and kept her decision to stay.
If only she would have done things differently, maybe Lexa would still be alive.
Wanheda.
The Commander of Death.
The deaths at the mountain was a tragic necessity but Lexa… Lexa's death was her fault. The commander's death was on her shoulders as heavily, if not more, as it was on Titus'. Clarke recalls a conversation that was long forgotten, one with a passing stranger in a trading post far from Polis and Arkadia.
No kill marks?
No, back's not big enough.
It wasn't completely true, neither was it a lie. The deaths in Mount Weather was not Clarke's alone to bear, in her mind there were several people who played a part in what happened; Bellamy, Raven, Jasped, even Lexa and everyone else who had pushed her to that point where she had no other choice.
But Lexa, Lexa was her kill.
She had broken the down every wall that Lexa had without meaning to and because of that she became vulnerable; Nia and Semet were proof of that, proof that Lexa was right all along when she said that love was weakness.
Had Lexa never loved Clarke, had Clarke never loved Lexa, maybe then the commander would still be alive.
Clarke turns to wipe her tears when she notices something on the floor beside Lexa's bed. Sniffling, she pulls herself from the door and stands just beside the bed with her eyes locked on the ground. A soft sob ripping from her throat when she realises what was there.
Lexa's forehead piece.
Her trembling blood-soaked fingers pluck the metal from the ground and raises it to where she could inspect it closely.
"Clarke…" Lexa breaths, pulling the blonde's lips to her own in a firm kiss, "… I—" She doesn't get to finish before the metal piece simply rolls off of her forehead, clinking quietly to the ground, "oops?" Lexa chuckled before flipping their position, slipping on top of Clarke and—
Her desperation comes to a peak and Clarke swipes her hand across the small table, knocking a bowl off and shattering at her feet.
I went through all that trouble to save you.
Lexa did everything for Clarke and now it was Clarke's fault she was dead. She leaned down once again to grab a larger piece of broken glass, gripping it tightly in her shaking fingers before taking a seat on the bed.
A kill mark.
Not to honor her first victory or her first victim, no Clarke had numerous already.
A kill mark to remind her of the woman who had humbled herself in front of Clarke, who had kept her safe, and who pulled out of the darkness of her own guilt and rage.
A kill mark to keep Lexa with her forever.
Slowly, as if in a trance and without letting go of the glass, Clarke pulls off her shirt and discards it somewhere to the side.
"In peace may you leave the shore…" She whispered as she pushes the length of her hair to the right and away from her shoulders.
"In love may you find the next…" her voice cracks as she raises the forehead piece to her lips, feeling the cold metal against her flesh as another wave of tears pour from her reddened eyes.
Clarke then places the glass on her left hand and raised it towards the other side of her body until she feels the sharp jagged edges against the skin on her right shoulder, "safe passage on your travels, until our final journey on the ground…"
Slowly, she presses down on the skin and drags the glass along along the shoulder, swallowing down the whimper and screams that wished to escape. She runs the blade a few inches before finally lowering it, her eyes locking on her hand where her blood had stained the skin that was still covered in Lexa's.
"May we meet again." Clarke sobbed before letting go of the glass, her heart and body collapsing around the small metal piece that she held to her chest.