The ride back to Polis seems longer than she remembers it to be. The growing distance does nothing to dull the heaviness that has found a home in her bones since she ordered the retreat. Since she turned her back on blue stormy eyes. Since she left Clarke at the bottom of the Mountain. With every rhythmic back and forth, with every brush of the horse's legs against the tall grass, her limbs grow heavier and heavier, as if her body was protesting. Protesting without a doubt the pace of the journey itself and the hard regimen she's observed over the past weeks. Lexa though can't help but wonder if it's protesting the decision she took as well.
Jaw locked, back straight, she refuses to dwell on it, refuses to question her choice, because for the second time in her life, she's not sure she wouldn't regret it.
Her advisors tell her she is a great commander. On some level, she knows it to be true. She sees it in her warriors' pride to fight for her (to die for her) and in her people's eagerness to welcome her when she visits their villages. She feels it – felt it - in Gustus' quiet unwavering support and Anya's fierce protectiveness. And she's had to take decisions in the spur of the moment before, of course: decisions in the heat of battle that would decide the fate of entire armies; sparing an enemy when her heart is screaming at her to run them through with her sword; slipping away from a sleeping village and letting a missile bury an entire community.
But they're a tricky uncertain matter and she's always preferred having the time to reflect and outline all possible outcomes and consequences. The time to discuss a move with Gustus and Anya and to tirelessly argue with Titus for days on end. The time to wake Costia up before dawn and silently ask her for her opinion (breaking in so doing every rule Titus spent so many years trying to hammer into her. But Costia is special, has always been – will always be. Lexa's come to terms with it and so should he).
The coalition with the 12 clans is the result of such a process: days of heated discussions defending the idea to her generals (Anya amongst the hardest to convince); hours spent awake in her bed doubting herself and the path she was carving for her people; nights devoted to soaking up Costia's unwavering support (and Lexa is immensely proud of the peace it has brought to her people). The decision to leave Skaikru to fend for themselves is not and she knows it will be a source of endless 'what ifs' in the months – years – to come. What if she had refused the deal offered by the Maunon. What if, Clarke by her side, they had stormed the Mountain and brought an end, together, to the reaping, once and for all. What if Clarke had made it out alive.
She casts a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the unit she's been traveling with for the past 2 days is following closely. She's left the bulk of her army behind, wishing to get to Polis faster, with Indra in charge of the reconstruction of TonDC and Nyko in charge of the healers looking after the broken souls released by the Mountain. Her warriors will soon return to their villages, with tales of the battle and of their fierce Commander. So will the ones they saved from the Mountain, once they are strong enough. She had never asked Clarke about the horrors she had witnessed inside the Mountain. Not because she didn't wish to know how her people fared but because there was something in the young leader's eyes every time they broached the topic that silently warned her off. But the emaciated and hollow silhouettes that spilled out tell the whole story without the need for words.
The unofficial reason for her army to remain, for now, in the area – one she has shared only with Indra - is to be ready were Skaikru to try and retaliate for her betrayal. It's an eventuality she has to prepare for: even though the Mountain Men should offer too big a distraction for them to turn their sights on Trikru, the Sky People have proven unpredictable and surprisingly resourceful in the past. Gustus would have approved of the precaution. Anya would have volunteered to stay behind.
Gustus and Anya of course are no more and the thought brings with it the usual grimace, except she won't try to fight it tonight. Death has long been a constant companion and in times where Lexa feels too tired, the names of the fallen – some (too many) by her own sword – come together to form a quiet chant in the back of her head. It unnerves her that her eyes still linger on each face, searching among the men and women sitting tiredly on their horses. Part of her wonders if she'll ever grow accustomed to the absence of Gustus' tall figure, riding slightly behind to her right, his eyes never leaving her and yet always aware of their surroundings: cataloguing every suspicious movement in the bushes and rustle in the trees. Part of her already knows.
She's been away from Polis for too long. Titus' latest missives spoke of the usual bickering between her ambassadors but also of an underlying nervosity among them concerning the Sky People. There will be heated discussions about her decision, for sure. The Mountain is still standing after all. She had promised its downfall and is coming back empty handed. Some of the Mountain Men are now even able to roam her lands, free of their usual protection attire and deadlier than ever. Breaking an alliance for the sake of her people they will understand, she knows. But coming to an agreement with an enemy that has bled their people for decades will undoubtedly leave many upset. She will have to remind them of the numbers they saved; remind them that their Commander forced this formidable enemy to negotiate, something none before her could have ever dreamt of (only Lexa knows: what happened that night was anything but a dream).
More importantly, they will have to immediately start planning their next moves against the Mountain. Force them to fight in the open perhaps, in a forest her warriors know inside out? They'll need bigger numbers this time around, organized in small flexible units maybe, with protective armour like the mechanic from the Sky had talked about. But these are matters and strategies for tomorrow. For now, just for tonight, with the shadow of the Mountain left far behind and the name of the dead running around in her mind, Lexa wants to focus on the warmth and comfort that Polis never fails to provide. She wants to stand in her balcony and let the sight and sounds of the bustling city at her feet wash over her. She wants to sit with her Natblida and see the progress they've made in her absence. She wants to drink in her people's moods and plunge elbow-deep in Kostas' work.
And she wants to see Costia. She needs to feel her, craves the reassurance of her body lying next to her at night, longs to hear the heady whispers and playful nonsense of her lover against her skin. Hopes beyond reason that it can erase the memory of that moment in her tent, before Trikru and Skaikru marched together on the Maun-de. That moment when Clarke was too close, the air too hot and their lips about to meet. That unforgivable – and Lexa fears unforgettable – moment of weakness that would have cost her so dearly.
Clarke. Maybe it's because she sees something of herself in the fledgling leader. Maybe it was all just a trick the adrenaline of the coming battle played on her. Lexa can't deny though that she felt a connection to the cloudling but refuses to examine – let alone acknowledge - its nature. If they saw her like this, Anya wouldn't rein in her scathing remarks at her inability to get the blonde out of her head and Gustus would frown and tap her on the top of her hair to remind her of her duty. (Titus, well, Titus would launch into one of his usual disapproving rants, no doubt). Whatever there was, whatever it is, nobody can know. Clarke is most likely dead by now, and even if she isn't, Lexa has accepted that with her betrayal she has most likely destroyed any nascent affinity they shared.
She's started to drift when a slow murmur among the riders brings her back to the present and her eyes settle on the majestic sight before them: the outline and murmur of Polis, enveloped in dawn's embrace. And somewhere in this sprawling mass of dwellings: Costia, warm and soft.
She wants to rest or at least change but it looks like she won't get to do either. As soon as she steps foot into the building Titus sweeps her up for what promises to be an endless briefing session to bring her up to speed.
They finally seem to have reached a lull: she's explained in detail to him what happened and what they now need to prepare for and she's about to take her leave when he asks: 'Are we sure the Coalition will hold if the Mountain falls?' Only Titus would know to ask this question and Lexa is reminded yet again of the formidable teacher he is. For as much as the fighting pits were Anya's dominion and Gustus' tests all about tactics, Titus is and has always been a great strategist, never losing sight of the broader picture.
She must admit that very question has been on her mind more often than not lately. Ever since she entered into an alliance with Skaikru to end the Mountain and victory became all of a sudden a possibility within her grasp.
Titus already has an opinion of course. Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen him without one, whatever the topic: the coalition, the nightbloods, protocol and of course Costia sharing her bed. And from the way he formulated his question, it would appear he believes the Coalition won't survive. Lexa would clunk her tongue impatiently and dismiss him if Titus' comment didn't echo so closely her own fears. And on some level she's aware these fears may be part of the reason she found it so easy to betray Skaikru.
She doesn't need to hear his points because she already knows them all: the Coalition between the 12 clans is young and the one thing that really brought them all together is the common enemy they found in the Mountain. Even the Ice Nation and the Sand People, as unconcerned as they like to appear, were troubled by the presence of such an alien threat at their borders, an alien threat consistently widening its reach. Lexa had stressed to the other clan leaders the benefits their people would reap from a long-lasting alliance, among which the sharing of precious essential resources and peace. But she fears they haven't had the time yet to fully understand and recognise the coalition as the reason for the absence of famine or destruction.
'I'm aware of the potential fallout', she replies, trying to placate him. But Titus apparently doesn't see it this way: 'Heda, the coalition will be your legacy. It must be protected at all cost. I fear Ice Nation is already plotting their next moves were the Mountain to fall. It may be advisable to give it more time' he forges on.
'I share your concerns, Titus but refuse to consider the Mountain standing as the lesser of two evils. The Mountain Men's time has come, I can feel it. We need to strike now as long as they remain distracted with Skaikru. We owe it to all those the Mountain has preyed on. I owe it to my people.' Her tone leaves no room for discussion and the older man has no other option than to take his leave, bowing on his way out. (We need to strike now, she adds in the quiet of her mind, while the captured Skaikru may still live and most Mountain Men are still confined to their dwellings).
Finally alone, Lexa lets out a heavy sigh and places her hands on the table, hunching over. Her legacy. This has become a recurrent theme as of late and she knows it's Titus' way of showing pride in her achievements. Lexa also knows that worrying about one's legacy is something one does at the end of one's reign and she can't help but wonder if her former teacher is sensing something he's chosen not to share. Yet the question remains: can one ever truly claim to know how they will be remembered?
Walking towards the balcony, she takes the time to admire the view of the November sun setting on Polis. The traders are taking their colourful wares on display back inside and closing up shop for the day. The seconds, sweat glistening off their backs, are walking back home from hard hours of training with their mentors. The farmers are fighting the kinks a day spent bent over ploughing their lands has left in their bones while balancing expertly their tools on their shoulders. She can see children running back to their parents after chasing the last rays of sunshine from alley to alley. It brings a small smile to her face, not wide enough to erase the frown that's settled on her forehead.
If the commanders before her left their people nothing but years of blood and suffering, is it foolish of her to claim to leave them with something as fragile as peace, she wonders.
She's never known Costia for being very patient and tonight is no exception. She's barely made it through the door of her room, after the harrowing day she just spent holed up with Titus, when a warm body pins her against the wall and soft lips seal hers with a searing kiss. It's passionate. It's aggressive. It's Costia.
'What took you so long?' Costia whispers against her lips after a couple of minutes of tongue and teeth, meeting her eyes for the first time. 'One more week and I would have had to replace you with somebody else.' She pretends to think it over: 'Saskia perhaps' and punctuates the statement with a bite and a lick of Lexa's lower lip, making her shudder.
'Remind me to have Saskia sent to the front next time we're at war, then' Lexa retorts with a wide smile – the one that's only for Costia's eyes - leaning in for more.
The kiss grows more heated, Costia's tongue duelling with hers and their hands roaming each other's bodies with anxious familiarity. Lexa's swaying on her feet, getting lost in the feeling of Costia's eager mouth. 'I was worried' Costia replies after a while, pulling away slightly, pushing her head to rest against her shoulder and breathing against her neck. The hands digging even harder into her back are the sole indication there may be a bit more truth in the statement than either of them would be ready to admit out loud.
'Have you no faith in your Heda, Kostia kom Trikru?' Lexa counters, with mock seriousness, trying to lighten the mood - for worrying is inevitable in their world but remains a weakness the Commander can not indulge in nor admit to. She knows what she means to Costia and Costia knows what she means to her. Anything else is best kept buried beneath heavy kisses and heated sighs.
'How about you let me show you how much faith I have in my Heda'. Costia's hands have left her hips, made quick work of her sash and found a path inside her vest past the many buttons that keep the various pieces of cloth of her attire together. The first touch of Costia's hand on her skin sends little jolts down Lexa's body and she can feel a familiar restless heat pool in her stomach. That heat too, is only for Costia's touch and no one else. And just like that first night, eons ago in that very same bedroom, Lexa surrenders to the beautiful girl with impatient hands and brown excited eyes, undressing her.
By the time her vest lies discarded on the floor and her shirt hangs half open revealing her naked torso, Costia's body is the only thing holding her up. They usually make it to the bed by now, but her lover seems to have something else in mind tonight. Her right hand is inside Lexa's pants, pushing her legs wider apart, touching her over her small shorts and Lexa knows she can feel the wetness there. She's playing her like a master does his favourite instrument in the privacy of his house (how she missed this, her touch, her scent, her mouth). Costia's fingers ghost over her clit through the fabric just right, before teasingly dipping to the side and slipping under.
Her lover's mouth is biting kisses into her neck and licking a path down her exposed chest without stopping the movement of her fingers: she's parting her lips now on her way back up to her clit. Once, twice, Lexa loses count. They've just begun but she's already close, so close. Lexa's hips have started moving of their own accord, meeting with increasing frenzy the pace of Costia's hand. It's not how she imagined her return to go but it's been too long and Costia is touching her there, right there, while her left hand is rubbing one of her nipples. There'll be time for slow and teasing later, for now all Lexa can do is dig her hands into Costia's shoulders – sure her nails will leave a mark - and let the moment consume her.
The girl is whispering sweet nothings in Trigedasleng in her ear - always the poet – coaxing breathy moans from Lexa's throat (that she couldn't keep in even if she tried – and she did try in the beginning, for a long time, before giving up on it entirely). She's increasing her pace to an impossible rhythm. Her head thrown back, eyes closed, her hips an uncoordinated mess, Lexa finally lets all thoughts of the Mountain – and blue eyes - go. When she comes, she comes hard, burying a grunt into Costia's shoulder and holding on to her tightly. Her lover brings her slowly back from the edge, her hands drawing shallow patters into the scarred skin of her lower back. Lexa doesn't know when or how they get to the bed, the softness of the covers and the warm breathing in her ear the last thing she registers that day.
She's come home.
A sudden hush comes over the room when she makes her entrance, the happy glint in her eyes the only indication of how pleased she is to see them again.
'Heda' they chorus, dipping low with their eyes downcast. She sees Silas stumble a bit in his haste but Iro catches him by the hem of his shirt to help keep him upright. After a small nod of her head, Titus leaves them the room.
Ruben is the first (Ruben is always the first) to break the rigid atmosphere, taking one, then two tentative steps towards her and when she beckons to him, he finally crashes into her side, little hands bunching into the fabric of her pants and head pressed against her. One by one they all come closer, reaching out and Lexa makes sure to pat each on the head – even Aden who's grown considerably over the past months - before taking a step back and sitting down among them.
Titus would scowl at such displays – however small – but she's long learnt to distance herself from some of his teachings. Not that Titus was a bad teacher. Not at all: he made her into the leader she is today. But she is no longer the quiet ten year old who didn't really understand why she had to leave her family behind without a proper goodbye, in order to come live in an unfamiliar city. She is no longer the fifteen year old who stumbled through her first weeks as Heda and needed him by her side at all times. In the course of the past years, Titus has slowly slipped into an advisors' role just like Gustus and Anya had gone from being mentors to becoming companions. The one who brought the Coalition of the 12 clans together has no need for a teacher anymore and she's lost her companions along the way. No more teacher. No more companions. Life and Death are her only guides now.
The Natblidas stare at her in silence, still a little bit intimidated, Silas shuffling to sit next to her on her left, so close that their arms are touching. She knows he finds comfort in the proximity. When the stunted child had been brought to her palace and her healers had confirmed that Silas would unfortunately never recover from the neglect and malnourishment of his early years at home, Titus had first suggested sending him back to his village. But Lexa had been adamant that all Natbildas found amongst her people were to be treated equally and given the same opportunities. So they had taken Silas in and trained him as hard as all the others. They had doubled his rations in the beginning, trying to reverse as much as possible the damage to his body's development. And now, five years later, Silas may still be the smallest and weakest in fights but he's become the quickest in climbing up trees and is the quietest on his feet.
Aden finally breaks the silence, serious face back on but the eagerness of earlier still showing: 'Welcome back Heda'. 'Thank you Aden,' she chooses to reply in English to see how far along their lessons have come. 'I see you're all well. What has Titus been teaching you in my absence?'
'The guerrilla war, Heda' Aden replies with a concentrated frown, crimson creeping into his cheeks. She nods. 'A useful tactic, don't you think, Iro?' The lanky red haired girl she called out to looks down with careful hesitation. 'I don't know' she starts carefully, switching to English when Ruben - not so discreetly - nudges her with his elbow. 'I do not like the idea of hiding in the forest much, Heda', she admits quietly. 'How can there be honour in striking an enemy down from the shadows?'
Iro is clever and honest to a fault and Lexa can not wait to see if her skills with a bow have further improved. 'I understand. I'm sure Titus has explained to you how useful such a tactic can be when facing a much bigger army on familiar terrain, though,' she replies.
'Have you ever had to use it yourself, Heda?' Naqib interrupts, with curious eyes, ignoring the scowl Iro sends his way.
'I have' she admits with a slight inclination of her head, making a mental note to organize a tactical role play session with them soon. 'A good leader needs to be aware of his army's strengths and weaknesses at all times and design strategies accordingly.'
'But doesn't Trikru have the biggest army?' Naqib forges on, shaking his jet black hair out of his eyes. It's grown too long, Lexa notes, she'll have to ask one of her aides to cut it.
'Trikru does indeed have one of the biggest armies among the various clans of the coalition, but there will be times when mobilizing all your men is not an option and other times when the situation calls for using smaller units'.
'Why?' Ruben asks perplexed. It's hesitant and Lexa realises with a start it's the first time she's heard him speak English. It brings a slight smile to her lips.
'Tell me this Ruben', she starts gently, making sure he understands every word 'would you ask the only able bodied man in a household to come fight for you and leave his wife and newborn to face the winter on their own? Would you ask the woman who has fought for you for three seasons and can barely stand on her own two feet anymore to stay on for a fourth? Will you ask the 14 year old orphan to leave behind her little brother in order to join you in your fight?' she pauses, letting her words sink in. 'As Heda, you must always be aware of what you are asking of your people and whenever possible, lighten their burden.'
Ruben is frowning in concentration, struggling no doubt with some of the terms she used, while the rest seem to ponder her words. Silas and Flora, the youngest ones in the group, will most likely ask the others to explain her statement later tonight. 'Compassion' Iro whispers, understanding dawning in her eyes. Lexa nods sideways, adding: 'And wisdom'.
'Is a guerrilla war how we will defeat the Maunon?' Aden asks carefully. They must have discussed what happened at the Mountain with Titus or at least been following her campaign's progress these past weeks. 'What makes you think it could?' Lexa replies, curious to hear him explain his thoughts.
The room suddenly erupts in a loud cacophony, each little one trying to have his own thoughts heard over his neighbour's. She spots Silas who is in the middle of pushing a small table to the centre of the room, shouting that it's supposed to represent the Mountain and positions a reclining seat in lieu of Ton DC. They all converge around Silas' construction, gesturing wildly to the space surrounding it, engrossed in their own strategies. Lexa's eyes smile at the scene, at how passionate they all are and how much thought they've apparently put into devising a way to rid their people of this evil. It reminds her a bit of the ambassadors, all with their own ideas, eager to speak over each other, not once pausing to come up with solutions together and she has to suppress a smile from forming on her lips. They still have a lot to learn, but there's time yet.
Titus comes back to usher them to their next class, scowling deeply at the ruckus but Lexa refuses to feel guilty. It's with a twinge of reluctance and the promise that she'll hear their strategies on her next visit, that she watches on as they all take their leave and file out, Silas casting a lingering glance over his shoulder at the table and chair left stranded in the middle of the room.
Titus did not exaggerate: her ambassadors are tense and focused on Skaikru.
'They walk like the Mountain. They talk like the Mountain. They fight with guns and fire, like the Mountain. You should have conferred with us before entering into an alliance with them, Heda. Intan's words seem to resonate with the other ambassadors, as they all nod in agreement.
She's right of course. She should have. (And yet it's also unchartered territory for the coalition. For not so long ago, any of them would have recoiled at the suggestion that they couldn't sign an alliance without prior approval from the coalition's other clans.) But how can she explain the fire in Clarke's eyes or the overwhelming thrill in thinking for the first time that they – that she - can defeat the Mountain after all?
Titus is livid: 'How dare you question your Heda' he growls at the thin woman with dark skin and a high forehead.
'Enough, Titus', Lexa interrupts softly. 'That is why we are all gathered here' she says in a calm impassive tone, making sure to look all of them in the eyes before settling on Intan. 'To discuss and agree, together, on a course of action considering recent developments. I have come to understand that Skaikru's provocations…'
'So we're calling burning more than 300 men alive a simple provocation now?' Djaim interrupts with a deep rumbling voice, black kohl-rimmed eyes blazing. Djaim has always been the only one of her ambassadors who would dare interrupt her. Even Lotrien, of the Ice Nation, knows better. But the people of the Horse clan are known for their incivility and the final battle that led to them accepting to enter the coalition has left wounds that Lexa suspects will take many generations to heal.
'I have come to understand' she starts over, more forcefully 'that our first interactions resulted from misunderstandings due to our different customs and tongues. I now believe Skaikru can adjust to our ways in time and bring incredible advancements to us all with their knowledge and technology.'
'And yet the Mountain still stands' Lotrien sneers, his big frame rigid, long white hair pulled back and Ice Nation scar burning bright on the side of his face.
'What help can they bring?' Tala joins in, bringing the conversation back on track. The Boat People have always been her closest allies and Lexa is once again reminded of how much she owes the tall woman with red painted tattoos on her face and arms, for her support.
'Weapons to rid ourselves once and for all of the animals terrorizing our people; machines to drain lands and make them hospitable; advanced healing techniques and new medicine. I have seen their chief healer bring a reaper back to his old self. These are but examples of what we could learn from them and I am sure there'll be much more if we offer Skaikru peace.'
She knows she's won Rafa of the Swamp people, Joao and maybe Laksha over. But Lotrien is still sneering at her: 'If Skaikru lives' and Djaim adds in: 'And if Skaikru doesn't join in an alliance with the Mountain, now that we've betrayed them', scoffing.
Lexa nods, ignoring the light queasiness in her stomach that their comments have brought up: 'Yes, if Skaikru lives. As to a possible alliance with the Mountain,' she adds, turning to the horse clan representative, 'I have left Indra in charge of my army to take all necessary measures were it to happen, but I do not think it will.'
She rises from her seat: 'As it is, none of us can afford fighting a second front with an enemy who is using weapons as deadly as the Maunon. The Mountain has been bleeding our people for years. Its fall should remain our first priority. And if Skaikru survives, I believe we should extend an olive branch to them and rediscuss an alliance. This time, with the coalition, not just Trikru.'
'Would they consider it, Heda, after what happened?' Laksha of the River people enquires thoughtfully.
'Their leader has shown he can be reasoned with' she replies, thinking of Marcus Kane slitting his wrist in his cell and pushing all thoughts of Clarke - Clarke's pleading eyes - out of her mind. 'Now, I would like to ask each of you to clarify what their clan would contribute to this fight. Trikru can no longer be the sole contributor to an offensive against the Mountain' she adds, to remind all of them that she knows they sent only small units with inexperienced generals to support her campaign. 'We shall reconvene in a few days. Time is of the essence, here' she finishes, striding out of the room.
The real Battle for the Mountain has just begun and Lexa can feel the prickle of excitement mixed in with extreme wariness trickle down her spine at the prospect. For battle comes with using the skills she spent years to hone under Anya's watchful eyes. But battle also means death and the blood on her hands has become an unwashable stain.
The library is bathed in the warmth of the afternoon sun when she slips into it. She seeks the peace and quiet the tall shelves of deep brown wood, stacked with books from bottom to ceiling, always provide. But instead, she finds Aden sitting at the bottom of a bookshelf, hunched over a voluminous book. He's so engrossed in it that he doesn't hear her approach and when she extends her hand to touch him on the shoulder, he jolts, the book falling from his lap.
'Heda', he says immediately, scrambling up. 'I was reading' he adds, hanging his head to hide his blush at having been caught off guard and by none other than the Commander herself. Lexa notes with quiet satisfaction though that he's automatically switched to English in her presence.
'It's alright Aden. What has you so captivated?' she peers over to the book that is now lying open on the floor, but can't make out the title. 'The Iliad' he replies, still contrite, hesitant to meet her gaze. Lexa hums before sitting down on the ground, next to where she found him. She wanted some time alone, but this will have to do. She gestures to the spot next to her in invitation and asks: 'What is it about?'
Aden's eyes have grown comically wide and it's obvious he is struggling, first with the fact that she just chose to sit down with him, uncharacteristically ignoring the table and chairs standing next to the large bay windows and second, with the idea that she may not know the book. She does of course, Titus considers it a classic any nightblood should know and even forced them to learn some parts of it by heart when she was in training. But the truth is Lexa hasn't been able to open a book of fiction in years. She used to devour them, stumbling over the long and complicated words but always forging on. They would occupy every free moment she could find in between sword practice and Titus' lessons (until Costia came along, that is). And they would fill her dreams with golden haired gods and foolish heroes falling in love with impertinent nymphs.
But all she's been able to read lately are treaties and history books… It's not so much that the escape fiction promises has lost its appeal. And more that she can not find it in her to care for the characters anymore. All empathy she has left she keeps for her people. All sympathy she has left she keeps for her enemies. And all imagination she has left she needs for the politics of it all.
Aden seems to come back from his initial surprise and settles down next to her, with a shy smile. His first words are carefully chosen and tentative but soon enough he's explaining the book's plot, gesturing wildly with his hands, his eyes shining with excitement. The sight is so unlike his usual reserved and serious self that Lexa can't help but smile. And so with Aden's voice weaving a tale of impossible loves and mighty battles, she pushes all thoughts of her heated discussion with the ambassadors away, if only for a moment.
Costia's lying naked on her front, auburn hair a tangled mess spilling from the pillow all around her. Lexa would like to bury her hands in it, but for now she is otherwise occupied. She's straddling her hips, trailing kisses down her spine and breathing in the slight tremors coursing through the toned body lying beneath her.
As much as she is loath to leave Costia in Polis time and again, she must admit that the catching up part is pure bliss. Costia's been insatiable all week, backing her in any available dark corner at inopportune moments and Lexa is sure she didn't imagine her smug little smile whenever Titus has to clear his throat before entering the rooms they're in, lest he walk in on them. It's a silly game or war of nerves Costia has been playing with him ever since she started sharing her bed and Lexa doesn't have the heart to ask her to stop torturing her former teacher. Only a year or two ago, she would have refused such displays that – if they're not quite public – confirm to the people of the Tower (and by extension all of Polis and beyond) Costia as her lover. But times have changed and Lexa's come to the conclusion that secrecy is no guarantee of safety for the people she cares for.
1, 2, 3. She's now reverted to one of her favourite pastimes: counting the freckles on Costia's upper back with her nose and pausing at each to taste the skin. 3, 4, 5. Costia hums contentedly below her, shoulders relaxed, taking deep and even breaths. 6, 7, 8.
If only Titus had known that all it took for her to learn to play around with numbers was Costia, a beautiful girl full of life keeping her up at night. It would have spared them some of Lexa's most gruelling sessions with him when she was younger. She had taken to reading and writing quite willingly but numbers had been a whole different ordeal. Lexa didn't understand at the time why she had to learn to count men in such big numbers, why water could not be counted in kilos if food was, why distance units did not match her size. Titus' patience had been truly tested and Lexa is immensely grateful for his perseverance.
9, 10, 11. 'What will you do about Gustus and Anya's positions?' Costia asks softly out of the blue, turning her face away from the pillow and twisting her body up, slightly, to look at her.
Lexa stills, grimacing, mood utterly ruined now. But she knows Costia means well. It's not common for them to discuss her dealings as Heda. Theirs is a careful equilibrium they've established over the years: Costia's extremely careful never to initiate a conversation on state business and always lets Lexa come to her, except about specific issues she feels strongly about. It's one of Costia's many strengths, how she intuits Lexa's needs and respects her secrets.
'I'll have to appoint new people to replace them eventually' she sighs, lying down on her back next to her. Costia knows her. Knows Gustus' betrayal has left a gaping wound inside of her that still burns. Knows Anya's force of life was unmatched. Knows the list of names has grown so long now it keeps Lexa awake until dawn on the nights she can't keep the chanting at bay.
'Indra has proven herself to be a strong general' she finally adds, 'She could take over Anya's units'. Costia nods, her hand gently tracing butterflies on her stomach. 'I'll have to talk to Titus about it'. Her brown-eyed girl bends her head down to kiss a small spot right above her navel and Lexa lets her hands weave through her hair absentmindedly.
Day light has started to filter through the windows, painting Costia's hair on fire and the sight is magnificent. There's her duty as Heda and then there's moments like these, in the privacy of her bedroom, where Lexa is just a girl, in love with another girl. Had she listened to Titus all these years ago, these moments of reprieve would not exist. But she had taken the risk, openly defied him and Lexa can not imagine anymore her life without Costia by her side.
'Wulan has distinguished himself in the fighting pits over the past month, you may want to consider him for Gustus' old position' Costia offers quietly. Wulan is a fighter. A well-trained one, a member of her guard in Polis along with Costia. And if Costia trusts him with her life, then that is good enough for her. She nods. But they both know that Gustus wasn't around just for her protection and that his is a mantle nobody can now assume.
'Can we talk about something else?' she whispers, pushing them until her naked body is resting on top of Costia's, her thigh slipping in between her legs. Skin on skin. The grin that spreads on her partner's face is contagious and Lexa bends down to taste her lips, dipping her tongue and sliding her right hand down over Costia's thigh and further. The gasp that leaves her lover's mouth at the first touch is intoxicating and she's come to understand she's unlikely to ever tire of it.
She stills her hand's movements and instead trails a wet path with her tongue down Costia's chest, paying particular attention to her breasts, relishing the feel of her hardening nipples between her teeth. Costia's breasts are glorious and Lexa's sure that this very body, arching underneath her, is what ancient poets were trying so desperately to capture with words. Her mouth continues on its path down, nipping at her hip bone before Costia's strong hands grip her hair and guide her head towards the patch of soft hair between her legs. As patient as she is in love, Costia's always been impatient in bed. But Lexa feels like teasing this morning and Costia'll just have to adapt.
Later, when Lexa's catalogued every single visible freckle on Costia's face, chest and arms (committing each to memory): it's 189 today, less than yesterday but more than the day before; and when the time has come for them to rise, she breaks the comfortable silence softly: 'Have Wulan come to me this afternoon'. Costia is already putting the final touches to her Guard uniform and smiles at the request, before nodding. She leans in for one last kiss, tasting herself on Lexa's lips and slips quietly out of the room.
Where Gustus would force her enemies to cower with his towering presence and stern glare, Costia has always preferred to work from the shadows. And as in tune as Lexa is to her, there are still times when her lover is able to sneak up on her or slip from shadow to shadow unnoticed. But even when she can't see her, Lexa knows: in Polis, wherever she goes, Costia goes. She's always there, hidden away, reading the face and body of the people she's conversing with and watching out for the glint of an assassin's dagger.
She deserves the leadership of the Guard. They both know it. But the suggestion is one Titus still categorically refuses to discuss and Costia is too respectful to demand. Lexa will have to bring the issue up again with him once the trouble with the Mountain and Skaikru is over. She will fight to give Costia what she is due, if only because she can't give her what she truly deserves in love. For despite Costia's regular admonishments to the contrary, Lexa will always feel that the girl deserves more than what she can give her. She's always been undeserving when it comes to Costia - maybe now a little bit more so than ever.
So she won't be known as the Commander who fell the Mountain after all.
Lexa would expect to feel a twinge of disappointment, but the relief after hearing that Clarke is alive hits her with such force it leaves her struggling to keep her impassive mask on. She knows the blow wouldn't be so strong, had she not so purposefully avoided to think about the blonde over the past week. Thankfully, none of the ambassadors seem to have noticed. The news her scouts just shared meets with stunned silence and disbelieving frowns in the throne room. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa sees the shift in Costia's stance and Titus snapping his jaw shut, a frozen scowl on his features.
But Lexa knows. She knows that somehow, against all odds, Clarke – Wanheda, they called her - is alive. Wanheda, who was seen exiting the Mountain with a small group of injured Skaikru from the front entrance. Wanheda who marched in front, standing tall and gun in hand, all the way back to Camp Jaha. Wanheda who never returned to her people and instead walked away, disappearing into the woods.
Her scouts wanted to come straight to her after witnessing the group's shaky exit but thankfully, Indra ordered them to stay on their assignment until they were sure of what had happened. Certainty came in the form of a group of Skaikru returning a few days later to dig more than 300 holes in the red earth and transporting covered human-shaped bundles from inside the Mountain, one by one, before lowering each into the ground. The scouts can't make sense of what they saw, but Lexa remembers a conversation she had with Marcus a while ago about an old Earth custom his people hoped to reintroduce. It's quite symbolic that a people born in the sky dreaming of returning to the ground would extend these last honours to a people born inside a mountain dreaming of the same.
`Ridiculous lies' Kieran scoffs. 'How could the skylings possibly have accomplished such a feat?' His outburst seems to end the silence that had come over the room and the ambassadors break into small whispered conversations all around her.
'You heard their report, Kieran', Lexa needs to raise her voice to make sure her voice carries over the murmur. '300 graves for 300 Mountain Men (men, women and children a broken voice whispers in her ear). I am as surprised about this news as you all are but I would never doubt my scouts. I would advise working from the assumption that they speak true and that the Mountain has indeed fallen, however unbelievable it may sound'.
'If this is true, then Skaikru represents a bigger threat than you painted them to be, Heda' Otis interrupts, his voice low. 'Accomplishing such a feat, on their own…' As neighbours to the lands Skaikru have been occupying, the Rock People, like Ice Nation, have been particularly tense ever since their arrival.
'I agree with Otis, this changes everything' Intan joins in, her body rigid.
Just a moment ago, they were discussing extending trade between the clans to new commodities and now, Lexa can already see the cracks forming in her hard-fought coalition. See the calculating eyes Lotrien rests on her. See the blood thirst in Djaim's. Her gaze turns to her left, where Gustus would stand and she stares for a moment at the emptiness there. 'Do you see?' she wants to ask him, 'My legacy? Do you see it crumbling before me?'
She comes back to the moment, wishing to defuse the tension: 'It does' she says, her tone regal. 'I propose to adjourn this meeting and take the remainder of the day to reflect on what the news means for each of us and for us as a coalition. It goes without saying that all plans for the military campaign are immediately to be put on hold. Tomorrow, we shall celebrate the downfall of the Mountain, for Skaikru has unexpectedly gifted us with the destruction of a mighty enemy and our people deserve to rejoice. Titus will let you know when we can meet again to settle on a new course of action.'
The change in programme seems to satisfy all and they start filing out of the room, still whispering amongst themselves. Titus lingers behind, clearly waiting for the room to empty out before he can share his thoughts with her in confidence. And Lexa already knows the topic of conversation will be her legacy, yet again. She breathes in slowly before letting out a long and deep sigh (there have been too many of those this week) and inclines her head, signalling for him to approach.
Night can't come too soon.
It's been three months. Three months of convincing her ambassadors, over and over that Skaikru is not the enemy and should be left in peace, despite news of ever more frequent trips from their base to the Mountain. Convincing Titus that Wanheda roaming her lands is not a threat to her title. Convincing herself that she doesn't need to examine her attraction – for that is what it was, wasn't it? - to the young woman even with Clarke alive. Three months of warm nights lying sated and content in Costia's soft embrace. Three months of dreaming of a blonde haired goddess, bent on vengeance and screaming for her head. Lexa sighs a little in relief as she slips into the library, as has become a secret habit of hers lately.
Well, not so secret: Aden is sitting in his usual spot, squinting at the book in his lap, trying to block the sun out of his eyes. She settles down next to him, shifting once to make herself comfortable against the bookshelf, takes out the apple she grabbed from the kitchens on her way over and tucks her small knife out of the inside of her boot. He's stopped reading now and sets about explaining the various scenes she's missed since their last session without needing any encouragement. Achilles is being Achilles, the Gods are as divided as ever and Troy hasn't understood it's about to fall yet. Lexa starts to cut the apple into small slices that she shares with Aden every so often.
She had been fascinated with the tale when younger, pitying a city which no matter how hard it tried, could apparently not escape its fate and finding beauty in the warriors' defence of these elusive concepts of honour and valour. Now, she's not so sure anymore. Though Lexa knows the scorching pain of losing something that belongs to her and the temptation to shed blood to recover it, the excuse of Helen's kidnapping to pillage an entire city doesn't really hold anymore. She can tell by the way his hands become more agitated that Aden's developed a particular fondness for Diomedes, the youngest leader of the Achaeans, and she suspects that Athena's favour has something to do with it.
He stops after a particularly long description of yet another battle and hesitantly asks: 'Why did the Greeks have Gods, Heda?' His brows are scrunched up and it's obvious the question has been on his mind for a while. 'Only the Greeks can know what comfort the existence of Gods must have brought them' she replies after giving it some thought. 'I suppose that as beings deciding over the life and death of mortals and over their life's trajectories, the Gods and the concept of fate offer some measure of comfort or reassurance.'
Aden's troubled though: 'But they are so…' he hesitates. 'Flawed?' she fills in for him, remembering her own struggles when reading about yet another lover's quarrel between Hera and Zeus and Titus' long and judgemental lesson on it. 'Yes, flawed' he replies. 'Why entrust one's fate to a being whose actions and decisions seem so unpredictable?' Lexa doesn't really have an answer to that and she looks out over to the windows: 'They appear to have made their Gods in their image, subject to human passions, instead of envisioning otherworldly beings above it all like civilizations that came after them.' She turns back towards him: 'The difference is telling'.
'May I ask which one is your favourite, Heda?' he then asks timidly, gesturing to the book and not daring to look her in the eyes. 'Ancient God you mean?' Lexa pauses, remembering the young girl who could never tire of reading about Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, commander of the untamed. The girl who had found in Costia, so wild on a horse and skilled with a bow the Goddess personified. 'Janus' she finally replies.
'I do not think I know this one' Aden mutters with a frown. 'Janus is a Roman God, not a Greek one' she explains. 'He represents the passing of time, transitions and new beginnings. He looks both to the past and to the future.' Aden seems to mull it over and she knows he'll be researching the God later in the quiet of the library. 'The transition from war to peace, like with the coalition?' he asks and she inclines her head: 'That too'. 'What about you?' she returns. (Titus warning her of not developing close relationships with any of the Natblida be damned. She makes a mental note to start individual sessions with each of them in the weeks to come.) Aden confirms her suspicions of earlier by immediately blurting out 'Athena', the top of his ears reddening to scarlet.
Maybe the question is less why the Ancient Greeks felt the need to invent their Gods and more why the world Lexa and Aden are living in doesn't allow for it, she muses to herself.
She's been distracted and can feel Titus' watchful eyes on her. The whole afternoon in fact has been one compact blur, ever since Aden landed that kick earlier today. She had joined the Natblida's sparring session, admired Iro's impeccable aim with her bow, followed Naqib's progress with his two Sai daggers and sparred with Aden. It was initially meant to be light but Lexa had been surprised by his improved skills and quicker reflexes and had started to push him harder and harder. The boy had blocked and parried every single one of her attacks, until the blow in her face, that had completely thrown her off. It's with a twinge of reluctance that she had had to admit that Aden is – where fighting is concerned – clearly ready. Either that or Lexa herself has lost the agility Anya was so adamant was her secret weapon, a thought she refuses to entertain.
The fury that slams into her when she hears of the bounty on Clarke's head is all the more blinding and Lexa knows that this time she hasn't been as successful in keeping it from showing on her face. Thankfully, she's only in the presence of a few trusted generals, Wulan standing tall to her left. The scout Indra sent is still kneeling in front of her and Lexa has to ask, careful to suppress any tremor in her voice: 'Are you sure?' 'Sha Heda, I verified the information in four different villages and trading posts'. She's only ever felt this crippling rage once in her life before and it leaves her feeling lightheaded.
Lexa gestures and turns her back on the room, dismissing him. So Lotrien's threats earlier on weren't just posturing. ('If this is your weakness again, Azgeda will happily step in' he had sneered at her.) On second thought, she should have anticipated that one of the clans would try and appropriate the glory now associated to Clarke's name but they had made so much progress in discussing the possibility of a truce with Skaikru that she had dismissed the idea of the blonde leader being targeted. She'll have to confront Lotrien in private. Not tonight though, tomorrow. For now, the image of Clarke's head, wide unseeing eyes, held high by a jubilant Ice Queen for all her warriors to see, has etched itself in her mind and she knows she won't be able to think clearly until she manages to shake it.
She can not afford to be distracted these days. Not when she has to prepare for the summit with Skaikru to discuss a treaty: Marcus Kane and Clarke's nomon - Chancellor Griffin - are due to arrive in Polis soon. Not when her spy is sending troubling reports of scheming in Ice lands and the choices she has yet again to make weigh heavy on her mind. Not when her scouts haven't been able to find any trace of the Sky girl they've been sent to protect in the 3 months she's been missing. And she can especially not afford to spare the young leader any thought when she suspects she hasn't been as strong as she hoped in hiding her preoccupation from Costia.
She's always kept secrets from her lover. It's inevitable, comes with her position. But never of this kind.
She knows exactly why she's shied away from coming here since her return but the news she just received makes the visit a necessity, if only to calm her ire. She could try the library but remembers that Aden's schedule would have him sitting in on one of Titus' sessions and the solitude of books is not what she seeks right now.
'Heda' the small chubby man greets her with a wide smile once she's entered the greenhouse. 'Kostas' she replies, nodding her head. 'It's a great joy to have you visit us again, Heda' he smiles at her and Lexa doesn't need to look at him to know that he speaks true.
The building is ablaze in the afternoon sun, despite the cracks in the glass panes here and there and the sections where the glass windows had to be replaced by transparent bits and pieces to counter the wear and tear of time. But the gigantic structure itself – even though it is a small wonder such a fragile edifice survived the apocalypse - is not what makes this place so special to her. No, it's the countless treasures it holds. Three things hit the visitor simultaneously upon passing the threshold: the humidity, the colour green - green in all its different shades and vibrances, as far as the eye can see – and the noise, a constant comforting hum coming from the buzzing bees and the tinkling water.
This is where Lexa retreats to, whenever the stifling atmosphere within the tower's walls becomes too much - or at least, where she used to retreat to. The previous Commander had been the one to show it to her. At the time, the greenhouses displayed colourful and fragrant flowers from floor to ceiling and the ambiance never failed to seem to soothe the Commander's nerves. But Lexa changed all that when she ascended to the throne. For she comes from a farming family and her father's words on the honour of providing the food for one's people are etched deep into her mind.
The new Heda had the flowers and plants transported into neighbouring buildings or replanted in the garden outside. She made sure of course they would all be cared for in the proper way, so that they'd all survive the move. And in their place, she sent tradesmen to all four corners of the earth to gather and bring her back vegetable, fruit and root species (with detailed descriptions on how to grow them) to plant in the enormous glasshouse.
Kostas is a late addition but an essential one. He had showed up one morning, coming from far-away lands and wishing to speak to the 'Commander who was growing life' he had called her. How he had heard about the place is unclear but he had come bearing gifts: a small round purple vegetable Lexa had never seen before with an acquired bitter taste, together with its plant and most important of all an unrivalled green thumb. After a short trial period, Lexa had been quick to add him to the permanent staff and has never had to regret that decision since. Kostas is hard working, attentive to detail and creative too, taking the time not only to care for the plants but also to imagine new crossovers and mixes.
It was meant as a small private endeavour, both to collect – and protect - the diversity that exists on her territory while preserving this small haven her predecessor had poured so much energy into creating. But it slowly grew in size, grew in production as well, and went from providing the food for the tower, to producing a surplus they are now delivering every evening to the two orphanages and soup kitchens of Polis (Costia's idea, when Lexa had shared the issue with her one night).
Lexa heads straight to the far left corner, where Kostas gestures with a pleased grin to a small patch of young looking plants. 'They're growing well, Heda' he says, smiling. 'Will you be staying for a while?' he adds gently and Lexa just nods, her eyes never leaving the seedlings. 'You know where the tools are' he replies and disappears, leaving her to trail delicate fingers along the plants' spines. They're a new variety of tomatoes – green ones – gifted to her by Joao of the People of the Valley last year. They're the newest addition to the vegetable garden and Lexa's very curious about the first harvest to come in the summer. She putters around for a while, correcting the slope of the soil here, adding a stake there. All things Kostas could have easily done himself, but Lexa relishes the feeling of the earth (not blood for once) sticking to her palms and can almost hear her father's whisper in her ear: 'What are we doing Alexandria?' - 'Providing for our family' she had replied, giving it some thought, wanting to impress him - 'We're growing life, yongon. Life'.
'You care for her'. Costia's tone is clipped, matter-of-fact. Cold. And Costia is never cold, not with her, not in the privacy of her – their - bedroom. But there she is, standing stock still with her back to Lexa, stating, not asking.
She knows better - because this is Costia; Costia who has been sharing her life for years now; Costia who knows her better than anybody; Costia who was there for her when Leïla's head was delivered to her by a mad Queen - but she can't help play coy, keeping her face and voice impassive: 'With Clarke alive, peace will be much easier to achieve with Skaikru. I care about her wellbeing'.
'Don't. Don't you dare.' Costia's frame is shaking now and there is no coldness in her voice anymore. No, she's seething, a tone not unfamiliar to Lexa. But as ill-equipped as she has repeatedly found herself to be in matters of the heart, she senses nonetheless that this has nothing to do with their previous fights. That this, in fact, is probably more dangerous than anything they've ever faced together before.
She owes Costia an honest answer, she knows. The problem is: she can't have this conversation, not now, not when she hasn't taken the time to sort herself out. She's always been very good at compartmentalizing and with her return to Polis, Lexa had very carefully – and knowingly - put the question of Clarke aside. She settles for the truth, but not the one Costia is seeking: 'I care about you, niron' she replies with more force than strictly necessary.
But Costia's not impressed: 'Answer me', she orders in a strangled voice. She finally turns to face her, her tear streaked cheeks pale, in sharp contrast with her blood red lips – she must have been biting them Lexa notes with detachment. Even the freckles Lexa loves so much seem to have lost some of their colour. 'I saw you, Lex. How you reacted to the scouts' report. Answer me.'
Lexa can't help but stare into Costia's eyes, rooted to the spot, for the first time since she can remember ready to acknowledge that she's truly and completely terrified and not quite comprehending how this conversation came to be. There's something there, something she's never seen in these big brown eyes before: naked betrayal, stripped of all pretence, so raw it hurts to maintain eye contact. The despair and betrayal so clearly on display hit Lexa like a knife. She caused this. The silence, marked by Costia's ragged breathing, stretches on and the feeling that something rare, something treasured is irrevocably broken settles deep into her bones. 'I can not' is all she is able to give her ('and you do not wish me to' echoes in a secret part of her mind). It's too little of course, for the person who's been by her side through the good and the bad, for the person who's seen her broken and helped her stand back up again. Much too little.
When they fight, Costia always makes sure to leave with a bang – that itself has been the topic of some heated arguments between them over the years, Lexa trying to avoid giving her attendants too much gossip fodder. This time though, the deafening silence around Lexa is the only indication that Costia's exited the room and she's left with the question of how - in the course of only three months - she's apparently managed to see the exact same look in the eyes of a dangerously attractive sky leader and those of the love of her life.