A/N: It appears I'm the latest casualty to the Clexa fandom. Sorry not sorry.

"You wanted to see me?"

Lexa turned away from the window, tearing herself from her thoughts. Her coat swirled around her ankles gently. "Yes. Come in, Clarke. Close the door."

Clarke stepped inside, lightening her footsteps, closing the door silently. The room was eerily calm and still.

Lexa turned back to the window, holding her hands behind her back. Her voice was as stoic as her face. "There is great unrest among my people."

Lexa's silhouette in the window made her look grey and solid as stone.

Clarke tread cautiously toward her, waiting to see if Lexa would say more. When Lexa remained quiet, Clarke offered the solace she could. "Give them time. Once they see the benefits of a new way-"

"No," Lexa said, soft yet resolved. "Our way of survival is too embedded in our understanding of ourselves."

Clarke swallowed, not sure what to say. It was hard to speak to Lexa's back, hard to know what to say without seeing her face.

Lexa took a breath. "My people want blood. If I won't give it to them, they will take it."

Finally Lexa turned around, her eyes flaring with fear for a moment before going soft. Her voice was cool and steady.

"My dreams have given me clarity."

Clarke paled.

"My days in Polis are numbered, Clarke. Even Titus has expressed doubt in my judgment."

"But–"

Lexa lifted her hand and Clarke's words died on her tongue.

"My people will not be appeased until they see the power of what I have promised them. My words alone are not enough."

Lexa went quiet again, though there was a sadness about her that hung so heavy Clarke could hardly bare it. She stood several feet before Lexa.

"What does that mean?"

Lexa softened, a sagging of her chest that indicated heartbreak. "I must leave Polis before Ontari comes"

"Ontari?" Clarke said, brow furrowing as her eyes darted between Lexa's. "You said she wouldn't return until after-"

Lexa quieted her with a foreboding look.

Clarke felt breath sucked into her body, shaking her.

"Like I said, my dreams were clear," Lexa said, so soft it sounded like an apology. "I leave tomorrow at sunrise."

Clarke trembled, giving a fearful nod. Her heart raced, searching Lexa for hope. She was relieved Lexa planned to evade her assassination, but the sudden absence of Clarke's only ally in Polis was daunting.

"Where will you go?" Clarke asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Lexa looked away. "I can't tell you." Her eyes flew back up to Clarke. "Not yet. But I will be safe."

"Nowhere is safe."

"As safe as I can be."

"Will you be back?"

Clarke heard the yearning in her voice. She wanted a shred of hope.

"Yes. When peace has the greatest chance of prevailing."

Clarke shivered, shaky from the weight of what Lexa was telling her. Lexa softened and stepped forward, reaching for Clarke's hands, holding them securely.

"This is the only way to bring about the change we want," Lexa hushed.

Clarke looked away, nodding as tears crept up despite her best efforts. She chastised herself for reacting with emotion. She knew Lexa would never make such a decision without taking each piece apart, examining it for flaws. She knew why Lexa was leaving, but that didn't make it easier to digest.

Lexa tightened her grip on Clarke's hands. "If we are ever to live for anything more than survival…"

Something caught in Clarke's chest, pulling her eyes back up to Lexa, alarmed with hope.

But Lexa didn't finish her thought. Instead, she lowered her voice again, so hushed Clarke could barely hear her. "I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

Lexa's sorrowful eyes bore into her with a pillowed fierceness, a longing that Clarke felt echo through her. Her heart pounded and she feared she would start to wail, a sorrowful battle cry for what Lexa was warning her would come. Her impulse was to offer to come with Lexa, but she knew Lexa would forbid it. If they both disappeared, the fragile alliance between their people would shatter and all they'd worked for would be lost.

Clarke felt a weary wave of resentment rise in her for the misfortune of their birthrights. Born into lives not their own, service to their people would always override their own desires. But the resentment faded with a practiced resignation, and Clarke stood frozen, constricted with fear and uncertainty.

Lexa held her hands fast, the only warmth Clarke could feel. "Goodbye, Clarke Kom Skaikru," she murmured.

Clarke swallowed, trying to free her tongue to speak, but found she couldn't. Her gaze grew frantic, dancing across Lexa's face, committing its resigned serenity to memory, alarmed with the understanding of how finite their time together was. A flood of desperation filled her, rising until she felt herself reaching forward, hand on Lexa's cheek, a quiver running through her as she pressed their lips together.

Lexa's lips were welcoming. Supple and parted, Clarke wondered if she'd been expected it. But when Clarke drew back from their soft, shimmering kiss to gauge Lexa's reaction, Lexa's eyes were wide and earnest. They sought a confirmation that pained Clarke to have to give. Clarke gave a gentle, trembling nod, and leaned forward, just far enough that Lexa had to tilt her chin forward to receive a second kiss.

This time the kiss seemed to rumble through the tower, accelerating time, quickening every heart in its wake. Clarke felt her invisible bindings drop, her tongue freed from its paralysis. She leaned closer to Lexa, pressing her faith and loyalty bodily forward.

This time Lexa shook, a reverberating catch of breath that fastened Clarke's resolve. If they were to risk their lives for the possibility of peace – if there was any possibility they might not see each other again – Clarke needed Lexa to know how how adored she was. Her strength, her fierceness, her compassion, her hope for better ways.

Clarke leaning farther into Lexa, who seemed to buckle, reaching forward to press Clarke into her. Her lips became searching, and Clarke felt hope flicker through her. Sparks jumped to the quick of her, slinging between her legs. The soft touch of Lexa's hands on her waist made her quake.

"Lexa," she breathed, barely moving far enough from Lexa's mouth to speak. She didn't know what she wanted to say next, only that she wanted Lexa's name to be on her lips. Pressed together, they were unrecognizable from Heda and Wanheda. The world that threatened to tear them apart day after day, battle after battle, faded from their minds, the brilliance of now their only reality.

Lexa drew Clarke back to her, a gentle urging to not waste a moment or a breath on anything that wasn't the pressing of lips to lips and body to body. Clarke threaded her hand behind Lexa's head, feeling the soft bulk of her trellis braids catch between her fingers. She tilted her head to press deeper, a plea for forgiveness for her hard-headed caution and distance that had put months between kisses.

Lexa was the first to lick into Clarke's mouth. Clarke felt the twinge of a smile in Lexa's cheeks as she opened to it, bunching Lexa's hair gently, lifting her forward so she could drink her in more deeply.

Clarke slid her hands out of Lexa's hair and peeled her own jacket off, never lifting her mouth from Lexa's. When she discarded the jacket, Lexa drew back long enough to glance down at it, a hint of disbelief passing over her face.

With that one look, Clarke understood why it had taken so long. Lexa had forbidden herself to hope that they might ever come back to what they had started before the battle of the mountain. Lexa was so accustomed to doubt and loss, she had denied herself permission to see the moments Clarke's eyes lingered on her, the way Clarke noticed how the light shone on her cheek, studied how her solemness shifted to sadness so smoothly it often went unnoticed.

Lexa hadn't given herself permission. Now it was Clarke's responsibility to see that she did.

Carefully, giving her ample opportunity to object, Clarke slid her hands forward toward the intricate clasp that held Lexa's coat fastened around her waist. She touched her hand to the top buckle.

Clarke heard – barely audible – a shaky, disbelieving breath sucked into Lexa's mouth. That waver of delight and fear gave her the confidence to look to Lexa for permission to continue. Lexa's eyes were wide and skittish like a deer, yet hungry like an animal of prey. She gave a timid nod and Clarke's hands grew bold, unfastening the stays.

Clarke thought about the coat she was removing; how much land the hem had swept over, how many times it had covered Lexa on her throne, how many times her shoulder guard and cape had been placed on top as Heda prepared for summits and quests, removed as she prepared for battle. Lexa was accustomed to being helped in and out of clothing.

But no one had removed Lexa's coat with tenderness and want. Her coat had been put on and taken off out of decorum and necessity, never out of care. Clarke slid it off her shoulders gently, running her hands over Lexa's arms as she did.

Lexa pulled back, a few gentle breaths shimmering through her. As Clarke draped her coat over a chair, Lexa inhaled, steadying herself, then leaned to the side, reaching down to her thigh. She loosened her knife holster, hair curtaining her face for a moment as she worked the buckles, tugging the straps through. Once it was freed, she stood up, hesitant for a moment before holding the knife and holster out to Clarke.

Clarke felt a swell of adoration at the pleading look on Lexa's face. Clarke took the knife and holster, holding it to her chest for a moment before stepping aside to place it on a table with all the care and reverence of putting an offering on an altar. Lexa removed her second holster and set it next to the first.

Weaponless, Lexa seemed to rise from where she'd been rooted, pressing into Clarke such that Clarke had to brace herself with her foot so she didn't topple backwards. Lexa would swell forward, fastening her mouth to patches of Clarke's skin, then retreat for a moment, eyes always asking for permission to continue, checking that Clarke was as real to behold as she was to hold. Clarke met her gaze every time.

When Clarke dared to slip her hands around Lexa's waist, Lexa finally seemed convinced. She helped Clarke unfasten her belt, dropping it to the floor, then reached for Clarke's hand, drawing her toward the bed.

A hungry relief swept through Clarke as Lexa grew more assured. Lexa began to peel Clarke's clothing from her skin, pressing kisses to her shoulders and neck. Her lips gave silent, soothing commands: Lie back. It's okay. I'll hold you.

Clarke sank deep into the blankets and furs, letting Lexa undress her, letting herself be enveloped in the curtain of Lexa's hair, in the softness of her kisses. When Clarke felt her need for satisfaction accelerate, urgency creeping up in her, the steady gentleness of Lexa pressed to her eased her back down into bliss.

Their clothing came off slowly, yet not without a trace of fear. Clarke was allowing someone into the only part of herself she'd managed to keep locked since the new world had taught her the dangers of caring for anything but her cause. And yet there was no tearing herself away, no extraction from the entanglement they'd begun. To pull away now would be to lie to her own heart.

Lexa knew Clarke's heart. She knew Clarke's heart and mind were at war with each other as often as her own. War seemed to swarm their entire existence, the rigidity of combat suffocating, parching every bit of tenderness in sight. Their kisses were the least hawkish thing they had done since meeting. The gentleness felt like a confession: I, too, have a soft heart under my armor. I, too, would suffer the pain of loss before I would deny you.

Loss echoed around them. Fallen warriors, fallen friends, fallen family, fallen lovers. Yet the wholeness between them was cloaking. So long as they held each other, they were protected.

Clarke delighted in the softness of Lexa's body. Always clad in armor and rough cloth, the pale pinkness of her skin seemed a sacred secret. The scars that peppered Lexa's skin appeared as delicate and lovely as flower petals, soft tokens of bravery, secret medals of honor. Even with the boldness of the tattoos on her arms, there was nothing war-like about her body. Lexa held herself with such grace Clarke felt clumsy in comparison.

When at last Lexa slipped her hand between them, creeping toward Clarke's center, it was that same gentleness that overwhelmed Clarke, rushing through her with force more powerful than she expected. She gasped. Lexa sucked the gasp from her mouth, only to draw out another, and another, until Clarke was dizzy and panting and lost to the world beyond Lexa. As Lexa drew her up and up, Clarke clutched at her, trembling, desperate, joyous. Lexa's embrace was sympathetic, and only stiffened with satisfaction when at last Clarke let go, releasing a strangled cry as she tipped her head back in release.

When Clarke opened her eyes, orienting herself to the bed once again, all she saw was Lexa hovering over her, mouth spread in a peaceful, satisfied smile. Clarke had never seen her so content, so unfettered by worry and doubt. She wanted to capture that smile forever, to press it to her chest in times when hope eluded her. She tilted her chin, inviting Lexa's smile to join her own as she wrapped her arms around Lexa, kissing her softly before rolling her onto the pillow beside her.

Lexa curled around Clarke as Clarke threaded her hand between her legs. Her breath warmed Clarke's ear as she panted, letting out tiny gasps of pleasure. The noise was so tender, so feminine, Clarke felt herself growing ever gentler. Clarke held her close as she trembled and tensed, pressing her lips to the curve of Lexa's neck. It felt like only a minute before Lexa let out a jagged, joyous whine and contracted against Clarke, frozen for a moment before her gasping returned twofold and she pulled back. Clark lifted her head to see Lexa smiling as wide as she'd ever smiled, a hazy peace enveloping them both.

Clarke kissed her, floating back into the sheets, until she wanted Lexa closer to her heart than their mouths would allow. She pressed Lexa into the crook of her neck, ear over her heart. Lexa shifted onto her, breath steadying to the rhythm in Clarke's chest.

Hands drifted soothingly over hips and shoulders, tucking hair behind ears and cradling cheeks. As the light faded and the flicker of candles danced silently around the room, Clarke saw Lexa as she never had before; a girl without the weight of a kingdom, without a trace of worry on her young, beautiful face. She wondered how anyone could see her as anything but a harbinger of hope.

When morning came and Lexa slipped out of bed, disappearing to an unknown land, Clarke only let herself feel a twinge of sadness. Lexa would return, even if she didn't know when. She curled into the spot where Lexa had been, determined to make do with her sacred piece of peace.