Chapter 36/40


Lexa sat in her tent, her mother before her, a table between them. The gentle glow of candles flickered and danced their light throughout the tent and the wind could only just be heard through the rustling of the furs and fabrics. A map lay on the table, its corners held down by weighted models of landmarks.

Lexa reached out for the beaker of drink near her hand, she let its warm liquid soothe the cramp she felt in her hand from whatever tenseness she had been holding within her and then she took a sip. It was a subtle one, only enough to whet the lips.

"We will leave for Polis soon," Lexa said eventually, she looked up and she saw the flickerings of something in her mother's eyes.

It was subtle, gentle, so barely there it could be mistaken for the dancing of a shadow.

"Nessa will be happy," Alexandria said, and it was so simple that Lexa found herself not quite sure how to read what her mother thought.

It wasn't the first time the thought came to her, it certainly wouldn't be the last, but as Lexa found herself taking measure of the woman who sat in front of her, she felt something between jealously and hurt, anger and acceptance within her heart. Those emotions weren't even conscious, not something that ever bothered her, they were something deeper, something so long ago accepted that perhaps naming them was not even true. For she didn't feel jealous, not anymore. She thought that beaten out of her so long ago.

"Will you be happy?" Lexa asked.

Alexandria's head tilted to the side, perhaps in thought, perhaps in challenge or surprise or something she couldn't quite place. Lexa kept quiet as she let her mother think. It wasn't that she didn't know her mother's opinion on being hidden away. Lexa was even sure her mother had seen why she had done what she had. She knew her mother even agreed with it. At least to a point. But perhaps she didn't blame her mother for holding it against her, just a little. If only because it had been years of isolation, years of solitude, years of not being able to travel, visit old friends and familiar places.

But her mother had never really complained. Not so openly at least.

"It has been so long," Alexandria said eventually. "Nessa does not remember a life where we have not lived alone in the forests," there was a pause as Alexandria seemed to consider her words and relive her memories. "It has been so long that I sometimes forget what being around other people is like."

Lexa made sure she didn't shy away from the things her mother said, she made sure to look her in the eyes, if in part to convey, in some way, that she understood the sacrifice her mother was forced to undertake, and to convey the very simple fact that she could never regret her decision. It had kept them safe. She believed that so deeply.

"The ambassadors will be pleased to have your return to Polis," Lexa said.

"I do not believe so," Alexandria challenged, but her voice was light, perhaps dancing somewhere between bittersweet humour and a sad acceptance.

"Some ambassadors will be pleased to have your return to Polis," Lexa corrected.

Alexandria smiled at that and Lexa wondered if her mother would take her place amongst Trikru's ambassadorial retinue once more, or if she would simply let herself become part of the city, part of the tower and its inhabitants without drawing too much attention to herself than she wished.

"You will be guarded," Lexa said eventually, and she watched as her mother's lips twitched up at the corners. "You will have personal bodyguards who will accompany you wherever you go," and Lexa didn't try to hide her words behind false promises, hidden truths or open lies.

Her reasoning was simple, too. She could keep her mother and sister hidden away, but she didn't think that possible now that Azgeda had found them. If she was honest with herself, she wouldn't be able to leave them unprotected at all, her fears would weigh her down more than they should. She knew that she would be forced to station so many warriors with her family that it would be far too easy for any to discover their whereabouts sooner rather than later.

And so that really only left her one option. To keep them close, to stake her claim on them so openly that none would dare make a move on them. At least she could keep warriors close and ready at all times. And Lexa knew her mother understood.

"I did not think you would have it any other way, Lexa," Alexandria said, and her mother reached for her own beaker and took a sip, she inhaled the heady scents and she seemed to trap it in her mind for a long, long moment. "Tell me, daughter," Alexandria said then. "Is the small bakery still there?"

Lexa fought the fond smile that threatened to appear at the corner of her lips as a memory so old she had almost forgotten it seemed to take hold.

"Yes," Lexa could be forgiven for just one night. She could pretend that whatever frayed emotions existed between her and her mother didn't exist. She could be forgiven for pretending that their relationship had all but ceased to exist years ago.

"Good," Alexandria said with a gentle nod as she took another sip. "Perhaps I will take Nessa."

There it was again, that same long since accepted flare of jealously that pitted her stomach and made her school her features into forced serenity. She knew her mother didn't say the things to hurt her, she knew her mother didn't mean to antagonise or wound. In fact, Lexa was sure her mother was proud that she had done the things she had done. And she hoped her mother missed her, as much as she was missed in turn.

But she knew neither of them could say those things.

Lexa looked away in an attempt to give herself time to consider what to say. In the last few days and weeks she had spent more time with her mother than she had in years. And yet they had spoken rarely, and the times they had were often full of uncomfortable silences that seemed too frayed, too strained and heavy upon her shoulders. She hated the fact that the only reason she had in fact spent time with her family was because they had been attacked. She even knew that simple fact was not lost on her mother either. Perhaps Lexa was thankful it wasn't brought up.

"I am glad Klark is well," Alexandria said then, and Lexa turned her attention back to her mother to find her looking down at the map upon the table, one hand carefully wrapped around the beaker, the other with fingers slowly tracing the markings of a river that snaked its way through the lands.

"Yes," Lexa said and she nodded, perhaps to herself, perhaps to stop herself from saying more than she should.

But there was a heavy silence that lingered, and this one was weighted not by awkwardness, but a burning intensity behind her mother's gaze as it turned up to look at her. Lexa held it as their eyes met, she wouldn't break their connection first, she couldn't. But the longer they shared that same look, the longer she stared into her mother's piercing green eyes, the longer she found the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to prickle as a primal, prehistoric part of her brain began to shout warning and threat.

"Klark loves you, Lexa," it was so sudden that had Lexa been taking a drink she would have choked on it. It was so quiet that Lexa could almost imagine the words had been merely an exhale of wind that rustled the furs of her tent.

That made Lexa break their stare, it made her look away, it made her try to find some kind of reprieve from her mother, and it made her feel young, it made her feel small, it made her feel so bare that she thought she should feel shame.

"You love her, too, Lexa," her mother continued, and her voice was so quiet, perhaps so it wouldn't disturb the peace, perhaps so it couldn't travel further than the space between them lest unwelcome ears be near.

Lexa blinked back a shadow of hurt and she swallowed, the motion so thick her throat seemed to constrict and tighten without worry for her breaking heart. She startled when she felt her mother's hand close over hers, and as Lexa pulled her gaze from a looming shadow she realised her mother had moved from her side of the table and now sat on its edge beside her with an intensity within her gaze that made her want to recoil and hide away forever.

Lexa swallowed again, and this time she forced her beating heart into as gentle a rhythm as she could before speaking.

"Love is not something I am to have," Lexa didn't know if she said it to shield herself from her mother's gaze, she didn't know if she said it because she was herself a coward, and she didn't know if she said it because she believed it more than she should. "Costia taught me that," as Lexa looked up into her mother's eyes she found herself feeling smaller than she had in years.

"I do not believe that you believe those things," Alexandria said, and her tone seemed so unfamiliar to her.

Lexa shook her head though, in part because her mother's voice seemed to be waking something inside her she thought had been buried so far underground as to have been lost to time and faded memory.

"You love her, Lexa," Alexandria said so quietly that it seemed to wriggle into her heart. "Life is too short to hide away from truths you can not fight."

Lexa shook her head again, and this time it was childish, this time it was so small she could be forgiven for remembering a memory so long ago that she should—

Alexandria's hand reached out and swept away a tear Lexa didn't realise had begun to fall. And as she looked into her mother's eyes she found herself seeing an emotion she hadn't seen in so long, she found herself hoping beyond hope that what she was experiencing wasn't a dream, wasn't a sick twisted nightmare or a heartbroken stupor.

"She loves you, Lexa," Alexandria said again, and this time her hand cradled the side of her face as it had done so long ago when Lexa had been a child herself, when she had been nothing more than chubby cheeks and gap-toothed smile full of brash and untempered might.

"I—" Lexa choked on her words as her throat constricted and as her heart began to break. "Do not give me hope, nomon," and she shook her head and this time she felt the tears beginning to fall.

Lexa didn't mean to lean into her mother's touch, she didn't mean to reach for her, she didn't mean to find herself clinging to her as much as she did. But her shoulders began to shake, her eyes blurred and she buried herself in her mothers embrace as memories as old as time began to take hold that she had suppressed, that she had never allowed herself to relive, that she had locked away, sealed behind a wall of isolation and duty for so long that now, in that very moment, she didn't think she knew how to deal with them at all.

"Life is too short to run from your heart, Lexa," Alexandria whispered and Lexa found herself breaking more and more as she felt her mother's arms wrap around her. "Klark loves you, and you love her," and Lexa felt her mother press a kiss to the top of her head, and it felt nice, it felt full of an emotion Lexa had hardly had a chance to live that for the briefest of moments she couldn't quite put her finger on it through the pain in her heart and the turmoil of her thoughts. But Lexa felt the embrace slowly melt into warm nothingness as her mother began to pull away slowly, each motion she made full of regret and sorrow.

Lexa found herself looking back into her mother's eyes, into her mother's face, and she wondered if that was what she could have looked like had her life taken a didn't path. She wondered if she could have wrinkles upon her face that told a story of laughter and love. She wondered if she could have had a life long enough that her hair would grey and that she would grow wise with age and not from death.

"Nomon," she whispered, and she found her voice broken, quiet and full of something she didn't know how to describe. She didn't even know what to say after that. But she didn't think she needed to, not when her mother smiled sadly, fully. Completely.

"You will always be my daughter, Lexa," Alexandria said to her as she leant forward a pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Never forget that," she pulled away and squeezed her hand tightly. "Do not let the fears of your past be the guide to your future, Lexa."


Clarke leant against the airlock doors for so long that the cold of the night seemed to bind itself to her body. Her bones settled into place and her beating heart stilled for so long that time faded into nothingness within her mind.

Her hand remained closed around the lever, her fingers vice-like and trapped in place. She didn't think the guards had noticed what she had done, for she was sure they would have rushed forward and pulled her away. And she was thankful. She thought she needed the time to come to terms with what she had questioned and what she had hoped.

Clarke lowered herself to the ground until the cold metal of the plating beneath her was the only thing she could feel. She sat crosslegged, her forehead ever resting against the glass of the airlock's window. Her breath fogged the glass with each gentle exhale, her eyes followed what she thought was the swooping of a bird in the dark of the night and her thoughts danced with the stars that shone and sparkled somewhere lightyears away.

She didn't think of much in that moment. She didn't really think at all. Perhaps she simply let herself fall into the quiet, fall into the emptiness and fall into the solitude of her mind. Clarke thought she needed it. After so long, after her thoughts had danced their devilish taunts, after her regrets had consumed her, after people had tried to use her, had tried to steal her away for nothing but their own gain.

She didn't think she'd get another moment of the calm for a long time, not with what she assumed would happen once she left for Polis. But as she thought of what could happen, as she considered how her life might play out, she found herself not minding. If only because she had promised herself that she would be the one to dictate how things happened, she would be the one to play the game without worry for others and how they interacted with the world around her.

And yet she could be forgiven for the umpteenth time for embracing solitude for a moment longer. If only because it was nice.

A fascinating thought, a daunting thought, something cerebral, something jaunting, complex and simple, magnificent and maleficent seemed to come to mind.

She had one believed her life would end in an airlock. She had once imagined the terror and the panic. She had once imagined nothing and everything, too much and not enough.

And yet now, as she sat in an airlock, she found herself already accepting a new life, already accepting the end of who she had become since arriving on the ground.

She had never imagined her life would play out the way it did. She had never imagined how much it would change, how much it would reveal. Her dreams had been so small on the Ark. Her life had been so minuscule as she had orbited earth day after day after day.

But Earth had revealed more to her than she could ever imagine. It had forced her to change, to adapt, to overcome and to break. Maybe she was still broken. Maybe she was still in pieces. Maybe she still had more breaking to do before she could even begin to put herself back together. But she thought she could do it now. She thought she could understand that her life had more to give, that her life had more to live, if she only embraced it.

Clarke took in a deep breath, she held it for so long that she wondered if she had forgotten how to breathe. She held it for so long that her mind began to cry out, she held it for so long that she imagined her body withering, decaying, dying and breaking over and over again. And not until she thought herself broken, not until she thought herself a ruinous soul did she exhale, did she take in another breath, did she let herself breathe.

Clarke's breath fogged the window again, but as it faded, as it slowly disappeared from view, she found herself looking at the reflection that met her gaze.

Gone were her guards who had stood behind her, and in their place was a lone figure, whose hands were held behind their back, whose shoulders seemed so stiff that Clarke would be forgiven for thinking them more statue than breathing being.

"I didn't hear you," Clarke said, and she didn't need to turn to face Lexa, she didn't need to do anything more to acknowledge her presence.

"I did not wish to disturb you, Klark," Lexa said quietly and for a moment Clarke wondered if Lexa would approach on her own. But she didn't.

"It's ok," she shrugged, perhaps because she didn't think she needed to do anything else, perhaps because she didn't think she wanted to do anything else. "You wouldn't be disturbing me."

Lexa seemed to nod without even moving her head. It surprised Clarke that she could read her so well, it surprised her that she seemed to be able to tell what Lexa was thinking in the way she stood, in the way she held herself. But maybe it didn't. They had only known each other for so little time, yet Clarke couldn't deny the connection they seemed to share. Perhaps that had scared her once.

"May I approach, Klark?" Lexa asked, her voice so soft it seemed so very foreign to Clarke's ears.

She shrugged an answer, she let the silence linger for longer than she intended before she reached out and let her hand rest against the airlock's ground for a moment. Lexa seemed to understand for she began to move forward so quietly Clarke almost couldn't hear it over the beating of her heart. But Lexa came to stand by her, she paused for a moment and Clarke wondered if Lexa would stand forever, if she would refuse to sit, if she would refuse to bridge the closeness between them. But she sat. It was elegant, gentle, careful and something so calming that Clarke thought it ethereal, ghostlike and full of restrained want.

And so Clarke found Lexa sitting beside her, her gaze ever focused out the window of the airlock and down at the lands so far below. Trees and forests, flowing river and cascading lands stretched out as far as she could see. Clouds in the night sky danced their ghosted wisps and hid the moon at times, and calmed the sparkling of the stars. Silence lingered between both women, and for some reason it wasn't frayed and full of raging emotions as it had once been. This time it seemed different, somehow, someway. Clarke couldn't quite put her finger on it. Perhaps she didn't want to. Not yet anyway. If only because she thought the calm so welcome, if only because she thought the quiet so very needed for them both.

Lexa seemed just as content to sit in silence, and that didn't surprise Clarke. Everything Lexa did never seemed to surprise her anymore. Perhaps she knew why.

"When I was up there," Clarke said, her voice so quiet. "On the Ark," and she felt Lexa's gaze turn to hers, she felt it drill into the side of her head. "This was where I was going to die," and she wondered for a moment if Lexa could understand, if she could even comprehend what it must have been like living in space. "I was sentenced to death for trying to warn my people," and Clarke pulled her gaze from the lands and she forced herself not to waver as she met Lexa's gaze. "This would have been the last place I would feel anything solid beneath my feet."

Lexa swallowed, the motion so full of something that Clarke tried not to recognise just for a moment. If only because she needed— no, she wanted to get through.

"Space," and she let her hand reach out the touch the cold of the airlock's window. "It's so lonely," Clarke said. "Sometimes I wondered what my last thoughts would have been," and she did. "I wondered if it would hurt. I wondered if I'd feel cold. If my body would freeze, if my heart would stop beating without me even realising," Clarke didn't try to hide the tears that fell from her eyes as she continued to speak. "But now," and she gestured down to the lands below them, she gestured to the forests, to the trees, to the rivers. And to the Mountain. "Now I wonder what it would feel like to burn," Clarke said. She was thankful her voice didn't waver. "I wonder what it would feel like to have my skin melt, I wonder what it would feel like to cough, to splutter on my own lungs, on my own blood," and Clarke tried not to let her memories take hold too firmly in her mind. "In space it was always a thought," this time Clarke sniffled just once. "Always a nightmare. Something I never saw with my own eyes," she tried not to break before she could free her thoughts. "But on the ground?" she shrugged. "It's not a dream. It's not a nightmare or a thought," she knew Lexa understood. "It's a memory I have to live with forever," Clarke swallowed the bile that threatened to rise, she swallowed the pain that threatened to break free. She swallowed the hurt, the pain, the regret and the demons. "You did that to me, Lexa."

"I know," Lexa's voice was strong, gentle, kind, understanding and so very simple that Clarke could forget, just for a moment, what they talked about. "I—" Lexa swallowed her own pains and she blinked away a wetness Clarke could spy in her eyes. "I am sorry, Klark."

It was so simple, it was so quiet. It had no right to convey as much sorrow, as much pain, as much regret as it did. But those words that Lexa said seemed to wriggle into her heart, they seemed to bind themselves to her soul, they seemed to etch themselves into the fibres of her body and sear themselves into her mind.

And above all those things? Above all those thoughts? Above all those emotions Clarke had spent far too long analysing?

She knew Lexa was sorry.

And perhaps that was all that mattered.

"I know," Clarke whispered.