Chapter 40/40


Clarke woke in the early morning. The sun had only just begun to rise and the lands were bathed in a steely grey light. It was warm. Not uncomfortably so, but warm enough that she knew the day would be hot, and that the sun would shine down over the lands with its usual intensity.

She didn't mind waking as early as she did. Perhaps it had become a familiar friend. She liked it, she liked the quiet of the morning, she liked the calm before the bustle of the streets. And she liked it, not because she felt isolated, not because it was hard for most to get to her. But rather she liked it for the simple fact that she could look out over the lands if she so wished without being disturbed, she could look down and see the waking of the city and the people that lived their lives without worry and fear.

Perhaps it was a nice reminder of the things that had happened in her life, perhaps it was a way to make sure she never forgot the things she had done. Maybe it was, in some form, a way for her to never take for granted what she now had. Whatever the reason, she embraced it. She cherished it.

Clarke didn't need to reach out behind her to know that Lexa wouldn't be in bed, but still she did. She wasn't sure why she always did that. Sometimes she thought it an unconscious decision, sometimes she thought it her waking mind trying to cling to the sleep or trying to search for the comfort of a familiar embrace. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter.

Clarke's hand found nothing but the cool of an empty bed but she didn't mind. It was familiar. At least during the weekdays. If only because it meant things were normal. She took a moment to settle her thoughts, to pull herself into the present and then she opened her eyes fully.

The room Clarke had called home for a little over a year was large, it was grand, something she didn't quite believe. Small candles cast their warmth and their light as far as they could, they danced their shadows against every surface and bathed the room in a gentle orange glow. A balcony lay open behind wooden latticework of intricate patterns, the open air free to breathe through the room and bring with it a welcome reprieve from the heat at the hottest times of the day.

Clarke sat in her bed and she stretched her arms high above her head as a groan slipped from her lips. The furs pooled around her waist and the silken nightgown she wore barely made a sound as she let her vision adjust to the light.

Though warm, the air prickled her skin as it wrapped around her body, it made her shiver for just a moment and she found herself loathe to slip free from the embrace of her bed.

But maybe Clarke didn't mind the discomfort.

And so she swung her legs over the side of her bed and she stood. Under her feet was a rich fur, so thick that her feet almost sunk into it with no end in sight. By the side of the bed was a large mirror, its frame a deep and rich wood with intricate carvings etched across every surface. She took a moment to take in her appearance, the way her hair hun down past her shoulders with half undone braids and she found herself liking the few that had seemingly appeared over the course of the night, whose presence had been woven into place as she slept or as she drifted off somewhere between the waking and the quiet.

But perhaps the main reason, the only reason, Clarke looked at herself in the mirror was because she thought it necessary. She thought it the only thing she should do. The woman who looked back at her, the woman who held her gaze with a steadiness that spoke of experiences none should ever face, seemed to challenge her with each passing breath.

Barely-there wrinkles graced the corners of Clarke's eyes, perhaps a line or two across her forehead seemed a little more permanent than it had once been. She didn't mind those wrinkles, despite the fact that most her age didn't have them. She thought them a reminder, and a permanence them seemed neither unwanted or unwelcome. Whatever that meant.

And so Clarke shivered as she let the silk nightgown fall down her body and pool at her feet. She stepped out of it with practised ease and she didn't mind the fact that the image of the woman who stared back at her seemed so very different to what she had been only a few years ago. Where once she had seen bone, frailty and something between death and not quite living, now she saw a vibrancy in the slope of a leg, strength in the frame of her core, perhaps all she simply saw now was someone who enjoyed life, who lived it to its fullest, who was as healthy as they could be. Someone who had fought the demons that had once consumed her mind just as much as they had consumed her body.

Clarke dressed quickly, her undergarments settled against her flesh with a familiar ease, the weapons she stashed within her clothes barely a thought. The loose pants she pulled over her legs came next, the tie around her waist ever practical, ever deemed just a little out of place when she did it herself, if only because she thought Lexa always able to knot it just a little prettier. A loose sleeveless shirt was the last piece of clothing she settled across her body, the fabric heavy enough to make her feel safe when needed, open enough that the heat of the day could be chased away with the slightest of breezes.

Clarke took one last moment to check over herself in the mirror before she smiled, nodded to the woman who met her gaze in the reflection and then she turned, her destination already in mind.


The heat of a much welcomed summer beat down upon a forest clearing sat atop a rolling hill. A blue sky, birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaf dancing with the wind settled around the lands. The forest dropped down from the hill and stretched out as far as the eye could see. A river snaked, danced and wended its way through the trees, the water caught the sunlight and glinted with all its brightness in the summer sun.

Polis sat in the near distance, far enough away that the distance made it seem magical, close enough that if one were to listen, if one were to look hard enough, they would hear the distant shouts of joy of friend and family, they would see a flash of a child run from house to house, down street and alleyway and disappear into the cacophony of life that was the city.

At its centre stood a tower so grand. It stretched higher into the open air than the tallest trees, and it shone a brilliant gold in the day's light, and it glowed a magnificent red and deep purple with the rising and the setting of the sun. A single flame, its size so large that the heat could almost be felt by those that walked the city streets so far below braved the winds and was a shining beacon, a guiding light and a helping hand for those weary from travel and a comforting sight for those eager to return home.

Clarke sat on a small wooden foldout chair, its seat warm to the touch, its edges weathered from use. Before her was a canvas and easel, small jars of paint and a number of other brushes that were set up and ready for her to pick from should she choose.

Clarke leant sideways and looked past her canvas and to the lands that stretched out in front of her, she took a moment to eye the snaking river in the distance and then she looked back at her canvas with a frown, a sigh and perhaps just a little annoyance.

It wasn't that what she had painted was poor. It wasn't that it was bad, but there was something to it that didn't quite have the magic of the glinting, flowing water she could see with her eyes.

She looked up into the sky, she squinted and she shielded her eyes as she tried to judge how long she had before it would get too hot for her to stay exposed to the elements. It didn't surprise her when she found herself thinking it already a little too late in the morning, already far too close to the heat of the hottest of days. She had a habit of losing track of time, of getting caught out in the heat. But she didn't mind. At least not for herself. But she felt a little bad, if only for those with her.

"What do you think, Jonda?" she asked the closest man who stood near her.

She looked past her canvas and at the river again as she frowned a little harder as if she could almost will the magic of the lands onto her canvas.

"It is good," Jonda said after a slight pause. But it was long enough that Clarke knew.

"You're just saying that."

Jonda took another longer, more purposeful pause, and she knew him to be trying to find a way to answer without fear of insult.

"It is better than yesterday's."

Clarke laughed, she couldn't help it. Not when Bress had been a little more honest when she had given her opinion the day before.

"That's not saying much, Jonda," Clarke challenged as she began cleaning the brush with the small pot of water she kept with her.

She looked up at Jonda as he shrugged an armoured shoulder before he took a step forward to help her.

"I am no painter," he said as politely as he could.

"There's something about the river I can't quite get yet," Clarke said as she eyed the water she had painted. Perhaps it was the colour she hadn't quite nailed yet. Perhaps it was something else she would need to think on for a day or two. She'd get there, though.

She turned at the approach of a shadow to find Bress standing behind her, the warrior's arms crossed over her chest and her head tilted to the side.

"It is better than yesterday's, Wanheda," Bress said.

Clarke sighed as she stood and stretched out the tension she always forgot built in her when she painted. She groaned at the slight pops she felt throughout her body and she tried not to swing her arms too close to the canvas as she tried shaking out her limbs.

"Thank you," she said as Jonda scooped up the last of the paint jars into the basket.

Clarke made quick work of folding her chair up before she tucked it under her arm and reached for the canvas as Bress began collapsing the easel with practised familiarity. It didn't take them long before all of Clarke's paint supplies had been packed up and they started making the short walk back to Polis.

It'd only take half an hour at most to make it back to the city gates, less if it wasn't already beginning to be uncomfortably hot. Clarke didn't mind the heat though, it was better than the ever constant chill of the Ark's systems. She liked wearing the sleeveless shirts, she liked feeling the wind against her skin, she liked the sun, the forest, the flowers and the breeze.

Those things made her feel alive, they made her feel grateful for the things that had happened in her life. She even didn't mind having her guards with her. Though it had grown tiring for the first few months. But she had grown to know them, to enjoy their company, and she even thought they enjoyed hers, too. Especially Jonda, despite how much Jonda tried to remain stoically guarded.

"You know, Jonda," Clarke said and she watched the main's head tilt to the side from where he walked in front of her. "One day I'm going to get you to sit down with me and do a painting."

She heard someone scoff behind her, perhaps Linta in all her sarcastic glory.

"Jonda would rather fight ten Pauna than try to paint," the remark was all Clarke needed to hear to know Linta had been the one to scoff.

"I would win," Jonda said without missing a beat.

Part of Clarke actually thought he could, if only because she was sure Lexa had selected Jonda purely because he was a beast of a man, so tall in fact that at times she worried for his health, so broad that it wasn't uncommon for him to struggle to fit through some of the tighter aisles as he followed her in her search of paint supplies.

And so the conversation devolved into quietly thrown insult and barb as they moved through the forests. But through it all, Clarke knew each one of her guards more than able to listen to every little sound, and react to every little movement that was noticed, their role as her guards never too far from their thoughts.


The sun had most definitely set itself at the highest point in the sky by the time they broke through the gates of Polis. People milled about, some in lazy conversation at the gates as they prepared to head out on whatever journeys awaited them, some in relieved discussion on arriving, on beating the hottest part of the day. Others, some young seconds, some weary travellers, moved back and forth, wove through the throngs of people and joined the ever vibrant life that was ever present within the gates of Polis.

Warriors who noticed and recognised them nodded their heads in greeting as they began moving people out of their way, most though moved of their own volition with smiles and greetings upon their faces as they registered her appearance.

It had become a very quick and at first uncomfortable feeling being so easily recognisable. But Clarke came to grow accepting of it. She'd be lying if she said she enjoyed the attention, she'd be lying if at times she wished to be able to move through Polis without everyone noticing her almost immediately. But she accepted that her place in the Coalition, and her role in the Mountain's defeat had cemented her in clan lore and culture.

At least it gave her the ability to help as many as she could. So maybe she was thankful that most recognition now was more to do with the good she had done, with the help she had given those and the lives she had bettered rather than the lives she had once taken.

They took a turn down a side street once they passed the majority of those gathered at the main entrance to the city. Not because Clarke wanted to avoid the masses, but rather because her route back to the tower had always taken this little detour for the one singular reason being that the walk back always made her hungry.

Clarke smiled as a troop of teenage seconds ran passed them, their faces hard set with determination as they ran whatever circuit of the city their firsts had dictated they run. A mother with a child in her arms stepped aside and smiled and Clarke nodded her head in greeting and a dog, young enough to get away with the trouble it would get into, old enough to perhaps know what it did was just a little too cheeky, jumped up at Jonda, its tail wagging happily.

Clarke always found it amusing that Jonda, despite his size, seemed to be a soft man at heart for he scooped the dog up without breaking his stride and tickled it for a moment before he dropped it to the ground with a reluctant grunt. Clarke saw Bress roll her eyes as they continued walking.

But they came to their destination before too long.

The smell of baking goods wafted through the side street, she heard the chatter and laughter of people inside the bakery and she watched as those who sat outside at the small tables lounged in the sun and enjoyed whatever moment of respite their day allowed. Members from any and all clans sat amongst each other, some happy to mingle, others more prone to keeping within their own peoples.

Some who noticed began to stand before she, or one of her guards shook their heads for them to sit, others who were regulars simply nodded a greeting as half of Clarke's warriors took up position outside as the other half flanked her as they stepped inside.

The bakery was somewhere between intimately small and practically large. Clarke could never tell. It didn't matter though for she was assaulted by a mouth watering mixture of smells as the doors to the bakery swung shut behind them. Others filled the bakery interior, some moving about the few aisles of shelves, others at the counter and even a child or two clearly up to no good as a parent rushed after them.

Jonda took his usual place at the entrance, his size too large for him move about without pushing people aside. Clarke was under no misconceptions that he wouldn't be able to do his job if needed though. In fact, in their first week of arriving in Polis she had seen him move from one end of a crowded street and to her side in a flash when he had sensed an over eager strange rush up to greet her.

Linta chuckled at Jonda as she moved deeper into the space, her eyes already focused on the back of the bakery where most of the cooking took place. Bress and another man, Taxla stayed by her side as she took her spot in the queue of people waiting to order.

It was a routine she had fallen into accidentally. But it was one she'd stick to. She saw no reason to stop her habit after so long. It didn't long before Clarke found herself at the front of the queue. A youth, bright eyed and with flour dusted face smiled up at her.

"Clarke," she said and she reached down under the counter.

"Hey Emzi," Clarke said as she fumbled for the coin in her pocket. "You're manning the front today?" she smiled as Emzi nodded with a sigh and pulled out a basket full of fresh baked pastries, some sweet, some savoury.

"Yes, father is looking after Olt. He broke his arm again," Emzi said, her voice coloured with a little exasperation as she handed the basket to Taxla before taking the coin and counting it carefully, all to the amused chagrin of Bress who eyed her with raised eyebrows. If only because most wouldn't dare question Wanheda's integrity. "Mother says I must count everything carefully," Emzi said with a shrug.

Clarke laughed, she didn't mind that Emzi counted, no matter her position. Perhaps she enjoyed it more than when people would try to offer her things for free. If anything, it told her Emzi would be in good stead when she came of age to take over the family bakery.

"All there," Emzi said with a smile as she sorted the coin into their buckets under the counter.

"Thanks," Clarke smiled and waved as she turned to leave. "Tell Olt to stop breaking his arm or he'll have to live at Arkadia permanently."

"Do not joke about that," Emzi called after her with mock horror. "I can not look after this place by myself forever."

Clarke laughed again as she waved over her shoulder one last time before stepping out of the bakery, her guards quick to file out around her.

"How many times has that boy broken his arm now?" Linta asked.

"He broke it again?" one of her guards stationed outside asked.

"Yes."

"How many times is that now? Three?"

Clarke let the discussion filter out around her as she turned to Taxla who had already begun sorting through the basket of pastries with clear anticipation. It always made Clarke smile at just how eager to bite into the pastries any one of her warriors were despite just how fearsome they appeared.

It didn't take them long for each one of them to be clutching onto their desired treat as they took a moment to rest and eat. But, no sooner had they begun eating did they finish with forlorn regret.

"Never enough," Bress sighed as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"Could we get away with eating the rest?" Taxla asked.

"Try it," Linta said, genuine curiosity on her face. "Tell me what Heda makes you do as punishment."


"How was the meeting," Clarke asked.

"Good," Lexa said, gaze squarely focused on the basket of pastries Clarke held in her arms.

"Anything important I should know about?" and she fought to keep the mirth out of her voice, if only because she knew exactly what Lexa wanted in that moment.

"No, Klark," Lexa said with a single shake of her head as she took barely half a step closer before stopping.

Lexa's politeness was as much a curse as it was charming. Clarke had found that Lexa would never be so blatant as to assume the pastries were for her, she would struggle to pay attention to whatever Clarke said if the smell wafted her way. It had tickled Clarke quite a bit when she had first discovered Lexa's appreciation for the treats, and she had found it far too hard not to exploit that fact to get what she wanted, or to simply tease if she felt like it.

"Nomon is aiding the new Trikru ambassador learn the intricacies of Polis life," Lexa said eventually as she quite obviously forced her eyes up to meet her gaze. "Abby and her kru are already ensuring all novice clan healers are aware of which medicines are of use for which illnesses, she says she wishes to avoid a repeat of last spring."

"I see," and Clarke took a long moment to peer into the basket and seemingly shift the pastries around. She knew to most it would look like she simply inspected her bounty, but in actuality she shifted them so that Lexa's favourite, a particularly rich strawberry filled puff-pastry, would be easy for her to grab. And really, if Clarke needed to make excuses for herself, the time she teased Lexa was time for the pastries to cool down enough, their fillings far too hot to be wolfed down the way Lexa often did without burning herself in some small measure.

But as Clarke looked up to see Lexa wet her lips ever so subtly, gaze focused on the basket, she found herself feeling a little guilty, if only because she knew just how good the treats tasted.

"So I stopped at the bakery on the way back," Clarke said as she stepped closer, her lips pulling up at the sides.

"Yes, Klark," Lexa said as she nodded her head. "I can smell them."

Clarke was sure she could har Lexa's stomach growl.

"Emzi is looking after it again," she continued as she stopped in front of Lexa. "Olt broke his arm again."

"That is not good, Klark," and Lexa's gaze darted up to meet hers.

"I had a really tasty pastry," she said with a smile. "Apple with icing," and she sighed dramatically. "Jonda had his usual pie, the one with the mushrooms. I don't know how he eats it so quickly."

"He is tall," Lexa said, and this time her voice seemed tight.

"Oh," and Clarke feigned surprise and she ignored the narrowing of Lexa's eyes. "I almost forgot," and she reached down into the basket, if only because she thought she had teased Lexa enough. "I got this fo—"

She almost yelped as Lexa snatched out faster than she could imagine and snared the pastry and took a bite, her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she moaned into the pastry.

"Yeah," and Clarke laughed as she set the basket down on the nearest table, the basket full of pastries for whoever caught wind of their presence first. "I thought you would like it."

"Yes, Kla—" Lexa swallowed her mouthful. "I do."

But Clarke turned as she heard the scampering of feet and the laughter of a familiar voice. Nessa came running into the throne room, her hair sweat streaked from the training session she had clearly been in the middle of with Dhorma and her face not as round as it had once been.

"Klark," Nessa almost squealed as she came to a skittering halt in front of her. "Look what Lexa got us," and Clarke's eyes widened as Nessa held out her arms.

It took her a moment to register the wriggling mess, it took her a second to recognise four legs, a tail that wagged back and forth and a tongue that lolled out far too brazenly for it to mean anything but trouble. In Nessa's arms was a small puppy, its fur a mess of grey and white streaks, and its size already big enough that Clarke could clearly tell it more wild wolf than tamed pet.

A thousand thoughts crashed through her mind, the first was simply if Alexandria had known, the second was who was going to look after it, and the third and perhaps most important was the simple fact that Lexa had seemingly got Nessa a wolf pup.

"Lexa," and Clarke turned to find her already peering into the basket in search of more.

"Klark?" Lexa asked as she looked up, two pastries in her hand.

"You can't just get Nessa a wolf without telling Alexandria or me," she didn't know if she was impressed with whatever nonchalance Lexa seemed to be displaying, or if she should be annoyed by the simple fact that she was sure Lexa had been dropping hints recently that she herself had been considering getting a pup. For war she had insisted.

But Lexa seemed to take offence at that for she seemed to grow indignant as her face twitched. She took the basket from the table and offered it to Nessa who almost dropped the puppy as she reached for the nearest pastry.

"I am the Commander, Klark," Lexa said with such bluntness that Clarke almost laughed. "If Nessa wishes to have a wolf pup then Nessa will get a wolf pup," and she smirked ever so slightly as Nessa came to stand next to her and turn to face Clarke, both their faces taking on that same exasperating expression Clarke had grown to love and hate. "But most importantly," Lexa said as Nessa hugged the puppy close to her. "If I wish for us to have a wolf pup, then I believe we should have a wolf pup."

"You said it would be, and I quote for war," Clarke challenged.

"Yes," and Lexa stuck out a finger close to the pup's mouth. "For war," and she pulled it back just in time to avoid getting bitten as the puppy barked a happy bark, tail already wagging ferociously. "See, Klark?"

Clarke smiled as she stepped closer and reached out and took the pastry in Lexa's hand and bit it, all the while maintaining eye-contact with her.

"You're lucky I like you, Lexa," she said as she swallowed before turning to the pup in Nessa's arms. "Or I'd be angry that you got us such a cute puppy."