Chapter 2: All Beginnings Are Another's End
Lexa woke to sunshine.
She lay unmoving for several long moments, eyes slit against the bright glow of the sun as it rose over Polis, invading her bedroom through the open curtains of her largest window. It lit the disheveled furs on the large and ornate bed on which she slept, and set dust motes glittering as they floated past. She turned slightly, feeling the warm limbs encircling her tighten their grasp, hearing the low moan Clarke's mouth made against her neck as she snuggled deeper under the covers beside her, hiding her face from the bright light that now illuminated them.
Lexa smiled, letting her hands brush along Clarke's arms. She allowed herself to take a few minutes to enjoy how the other woman was wrapped around her, her hair streaming like a wild, golden mane on Lexa's pillow, her grip as fierce and possessive as a lioness. Although she was unused to sleeping with another person, she found that she hadn't minded Clarke spooning against her… perhaps because she was so exhausted from the hours they had spent doing things other than sleeping first.
She was not sure what she had expected their lovemaking to be like. In fact, she had hardly dare imagine the possibility at all, as the likelihood of its occurrence had seemed so small, so remote, that to even entertain such notions seemed a needless torture. It was easy to be distracted by her duty, by the needs and expectations of her people, and so Lexa had mostly succeeded in not spending time building pleasant fantasies around one Clarke of the Sky People.
She was actually glad for that now, for there was no possible way any fantasies could have stood up to reality. Lexa felt the smile on her face grow, her heart opening and flooding with the memory of how perfect they had matched up together in almost every way. She was an absolute marvel, Lexa mused, as unique and different from her one previous lover as could almost possibly be imagined.
Lovemaking with Costia had always been slow and sweet. Filled with laughter and passion, yes, but also tempered by the gentleness that was Costia's spirit. She had not been a warrior, nor a fellow Natblida. Instead, she had been the first person to show Lexa that a touch could be tender and soft. That kisses could be light and filled with sweetness. They were both so young – barely fifteen summers – the first time they made love, and their love for each other had remained a thing of purity until the end, lacking pretentions or adult fears to complicate the simple feelings they shared.
Lexa looked down at the form of the woman sleeping beside her, able to see her clearly in her mind's eye despite the swaths of furs now covering her creamy skin. She looked so peaceful there, the languor of sleep making her appear both soft and vulnerable… But Lexa knew better. Clarke could be gentle, yes, and her kisses and touch could be achingly sweet, but underneath it all there raged a needy and demanding passion that could not be satisfied unless answered with the same ferocity.
Clarke was like wildfire, and although she had allowed Lexa to set a slow pace at first, once the other girl's passion caught full flame Lexa quickly found that, Commander or not, she was no longer the one in control.
Deciding that she had spent more than enough time basking in the afterglow, and knowing that she doubtless had countless tasks awaiting her attention, Lexa roused herself from her half-awake state and turned in Clarke's arms, ducking her head slightly to plant a light kiss on the blonde girl's lips. She withdrew when she felt no response, placing her lips to her exposed left ear instead.
"Clarke," she whispered, wanting to wake her gently. She let her right hand trail through her golden tresses, as enamored with its unusual brightness now as she had been when she first set eyes on her in her tent all those months ago.
"Clarke, it is morning. Time to wake," she tried again, noticing the slight smile that creased the other's face at her words. She kissed her again, and this time she felt Clarke respond, their lips moving together in a lazy and familiar rhythm. Clarke's blue eyes opened and sought out her own, and Lexa watched her rise to full awareness of her surroundings, amused by the sudden flash of confusion in her eyes and the slight flush that rose to her cheeks. After everything they had done, and especially after experiencing Clarke's assertiveness and confidence during the previous night, she had not expected her to revert to shyness now.
"Good morning," Clarke croaked out after a beat, her voice raspy with sleep, the self-consciousness she had briefly displayed disappearing after only a moment.
"Were you expecting someone else?" Lexa asked with an arched brow, teasing her.
Clarke punched her shoulder weakly, her features coming alive when she smiled.
"Of course not," she huffed, then quickly kissed the exposed skin of the shoulder she had just lightly struck. The kisses soon strayed, traveling up the arch of her neck and along her jawline, and Lexa let her head tilt back with a sigh, enjoying the affectionate touches. She pulled back the moment Clarke's hands began to wander, however, grabbing her wrists with authority and ignoring the frustrated moan the other girl gave at being denied.
"As pleasant as this is, Clarke, I'm afraid I don't have much time to linger. The hour is already late, and I have responsibilities." The look of regret her words caused made her smile, and so she quickly moved to soothe Clarke's feelings, softening her grip and bringing the hands she held up to her mouth, slowly kissing each of her fingers, holding her gaze with her eyes.
When she finished, she released Clarke's hands and kissed her lightly on the lips again, then whispered to her softly, "I never thought I would have anything like last night or this morning again while I still lived in this world… Thank you for sharing yourself with me."
She had thought her words might prompt a smile or a kiss, or perhaps some answering sentiment of her own, but instead Clarke just stared back at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Not for the first time, Lexa hoped her words and way of speaking had translated correctly in Clarke's language, and wondered if they had sounded unduly strange in some way. Language was more than just simple translation, and she was aware that the Sky People sometimes used quite different phrases and patterns of speech than what she had been taught.
Clarke finally did respond, sliding forward to wrap her arms around her again, pressing her cheek against Lexa's chest in a tight embrace, the crown of her hair tickling Lexa's chin.
"Last night was…" she murmured, trailing off before starting again, "This is… amazing, Lexa. You're amazing."
Lexa felt her heart swell at the words, her own arms coming around her to return her embrace as Clarke continued speaking, her face hidden but voice unusually exposed.
"I never could have imagined having this… with you, in this way. When I first came to Polis…"
"You mean when I had you captured and brought here for the summit?" Lexa prompted when Clarke paused, though she wished she could swallow the words as soon as they left her mouth. But Clarke merely snorted in amusement, apparently no longer as wounded by Lexa's actions as she had been.
"Yes, Lexa, after you kidnapped me, sending a ruthless bounty-hunting Azgeda prince to hunt me down and drag me here against my will… After that, the first week I was here in Polis, I spent each and every day thinking of all the reasons why I could never forgive you for what you did at Mount Weather. I thought I would never get over the pain I was feeling. But that doesn't matter anymore, because I discovered something last night. Something I meant to tell you earlier."
Lexa held very still in her arms, wishing she could see her face as she waited for the rest of her words. In a second she got her wish, as Clarke leaned back, head tilting to peer up at her.
"I forgive you, Lexa. I think… I think I forgave you a while ago. It just took me some time to realize it."
They stayed in bed together for a little while longer, each unwilling to leave the other's arms. When at last Lexa finally released her hold and gathered herself to leave the solace of their shared bed, it was Clarke's fingers which reached up to brush away the tears that had left silent, sparkling trails down the Commander's cheeks.
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The cracking sound of wooden staves coming together filled the clearing, the slim and darting figures of Nightblood children moving to and fro upon the grass as they fought each other in mock combat, their instructors wading among them like large hulking shadows in the gathering gloom. Lexa stood somewhat removed, her focused gaze moving from youth to youth as they practiced, evaluating their progress in the week since she had last observed them fight. She watched as Aden quickly disarmed and struck down his current opponent, reaching down immediately to help the other boy back up with an affable smile. The other boy, Nunin, pushed his helping hands away with a scowl, finding his own feet and stalking over to pick up his lost weapon, his embarrassment at having been so easily defeated by the slighter boy obvious.
She suppressed the urge to smile at their competitiveness, aware of the ring of spectators who lingered in the periphery amongst the trees, just within eyesight. They were not truly here to observe the Nightbloods train, she knew, but were instead almost certainly hoping to find an opportunity to corner her in conversation. She had been avoiding the clan ambassadors and her various advisors for much of the day, tired of hearing the same endless demands for vengeance she had been hearing every day for the past week. Tired of their sneering condescension as they spoke of tradition and honor, as though any of them truly cared for anything other than bloodshed for their own ends… And exploiting any weakness she might reveal, of course. As though the massacre of so many Trikru warriors, loyal men and women from the Commander's very own birth clan, was not something that the other clan leaders of the Kongeda were sure to be secretly celebrating.
She turned her sharp eyes away from the circling sycophants, endeavoring to recapture her earlier good mood. It had been difficult to leave Clarke that morning and rejoin the harsh and unforgiving world outside her chambers. Selfishly, she wished the true extent of what they shared between them could remain a secret, safe forever from all of the forces that might seek to keep them apart, but she knew such a thing was not truly possible. She did not doubt that somewhere, somehow, knowledge of the depth of their relationship was already circulating. She knew her personal guards were loyal. They feared her, as well they should, and would not purposefully betray her secrets. However, this was the capitol, and no secret stayed so for long in Polis.
Lexa spent several fretful moments wondering what Clarke would make of their relationship being public knowledge, then shook herself free of her pointless musings. Speculating over things which could not possibly be known was simply a waste of energy. When she saw her next, they would discuss how they would handle things going forward, together.
A familiar presence moved beside her, coming to rest a respectful distance at her elbow, the formal cowl and robes of his station swirling around him. She did not acknowledge his presence, knowing that he would speak when he was ready, just as he knew that she would listen. Despite their recent disagreements, Titus was her oldest and most trusted advisor, as well as her Fleimkepa. A relationship built over a lifetime was not so easily thrown aside.
"Aden continues to impress, Heda," he said in Trigedasleng, finally breaking the silence.
She glanced over at him, gauging his expression. Lexa was not naïve. She knew he had chosen to start the conversation with a discussion about Aden because he was well aware that the boy was her favorite. He wished to draw her out and make her comfortable before raising the topic he truly wished to discuss. She never had enjoyed these types of games, but it was Titus himself who had helped to instruct her in them, and she had always been an excellent student.
"He does," she agreed shortly, already weary of this conversation, wishing he would just get straight to the real reason he had sought her out and then leave her to her own thoughts.
Or perhaps, she chided herself internally, you are merely annoyed by anyone today who distracts you from your thoughts of Clarke, as though you are no better than a stupid, lovesick youth in need of a good smack to the head, as well as a reminder that the real world cares nothing for your happiness.
"His fighting abilities continue to far exceed the others," Titus informed her, switching languages as well, as to do otherwise would have implied disrespect. "Even Godan has noticed this. He recommends that we allow Aden to begin training with the Natgonas and their seconds, or he warns he will never truly reach his full potential."
The Natgonas were her personal guard, their warriors drawn from among the most trustworthy of the clans of the Kongeda and chosen for their personal loyalty to the Commander. There had been Natgonas since the time of the first Commander of the Blood, however, Lexa had found need to greatly expand their ranks during the building of the Coalition. They were now a small army unto themselves, with Godan kom Sankru acting as their current chief, having replaced Gustus after the man's execution at her hands months before. Godan was a formidable fighter and an intelligent man, and he and his warriors often assisted with the training of her novitiates in addition to their usual duties, as well as giving herself skilled opponents to spar and train with from time to time.
"If they will have him, then by all means, let the boy train. However, you and I both know, Titus, that the biggest threat he may someday face will not be in physical battle. Let him train with the Natgonas, but increase his training with you as well. Both will be needed if he is to survive Conclave."
Lexa felt a chill pass over her even as she spoke the words, and her right hand tightened its grip unconsciously on the hilt of her sword. This was why she should not permit herself to feel the undue affection, the useless attachment that she felt for Aden. He was no longer just a small blond child squatting at her feet, eagerly listening to her words along with the other Nightbloods. He was quickly growing into a man before her eyes, and someday in the future he would not only need to try to take her place, but would now also be required to best Ontari in the process. She did not know much of the young Azgeda woman, had not even known of her existence until Queen Nia revealed her to them after the summit, but she was most certainly quite lethal, and her mere existence added an element of unpredictability that set Lexa's teeth on edge. However, lacking the knowledge and specialized training a Natblida usually received, it was certainly not impossible for Aden to best her, younger though he was. At least, Lexa could only pray that was the case. Ontari surely felt no loyalty to her personally, or her legacy, and the damage she could do if she came into Lexa's power and position was sobering to contemplate.
"It is true, the threats are real and many," Titus agreed. "We must do the best we can to prepare him."
Another silence descended upon them, and Lexa cast a glance sideways, knowing he was gathering himself for whatever it was he truly wanted to discuss.
"What is it, Titus? Come, speak," she finally commanded, her voice revealing her impatience. The man stepped closer beside her, his usually stoic face giving way to an almost anxious, pained expression, his hands clasped respectfully before him and voice low to avoid being overheard.
"You speak of threats, Heda, but I do not think you realize just how close we come to disaster. This peace with the Skaikru, despite their attacks, despite the danger their technology poses, is extremely unwise. They cannot be contained as the Mountain Men were. To make matters worse, there is also your insistence on allowing Wanheda's freedom in the capitol, allowing her to continue to speak in council when her people have proven themselves enemies. It is folly, Heda!"
"Careful, Titus," she hissed, eyes flashing at his mention of Clarke, "You are on dangerous ground."
Titus glanced down sharply, avoiding her glare, his own temper clearly rising as he first swallowed his words, then gathered himself to continue once more in a more conciliatory tone.
"Continued peace with the Sky People is not possible, and it does not help us achieve our goal. Surely you see that Wanheda is manipulating you for the benefit of her people? Why do you continue to ignore the dangers that threaten everything we have worked…?"
"I ignore nothing! Nor do you in your shortsightedness even begin to understand my true goal here," she interrupted him, her voice a snarl and teeth slightly bared, the activity around them pausing as the people nearby registered the Commander's sudden anger. Lexa forced herself to take a calming breath and settle her hands behind her back, the move forcing her to release her grip on her sword's hilt. This, of all days, was not the day for anyone to threaten Clarke in her presence. The protectiveness she felt was irrational and mostly unnecessary. Clarke could more than take care of herself, and Titus would not dare move against her openly.
He waited for her to calm, his stubbornness equal to her own. He respected and cared for her, but he did not fear her as many of the others did. It meant that she could not bully him into seeing things her way unless he truly did agree. This was a quality about him she normally appreciated, and was why she had always so greatly valued his council, but her patience with his never ending call for war was running thin.
"The threat is greater than you know. I have come across new information which changes everything," Titus informed her in an even tone, once the eyes of the onlookers had turned away and training resumed around them.
She turned to him, her anger giving way to concern at his words.
"What are you talking about, Titus?" she asked, stepping closer to him, her eyes focused and alert at the mention of new dangers.
"You know of what I speak, Heda," he insisted, and she felt a shiver travel down her spine at his words. "We both know it was only a matter of time before it came for the technology Skaikru possesses… But we must not speak here. There are too many eyes that watch and ears that listen. I have a man in the tower that you must meet. He will prove the truth of what I say even if you do not believe my words."
She stepped back at the conclusion of his speech and looked away, her gaze flying out over what could be seen of the expanse of the city before her. Thousands of people called Polis home, and thousands more lived within close proximity of the capitol in scattered villages along its edge. All of them looked to her for their protection, for justice, for a better future. Lexa felt the weight of all those souls upon her young shoulders suddenly, the iron in her spine not allowing her to bend or break, even in moments when she especially felt the burden as she did now. In the distance, a storm rolled towards Polis, traces of lightning already seen in its blackness, the towering clouds bringing an early sunset to her city.
She turned back to Titus.
"Take me to this man."
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Aden unclipped the armored vest he wore and sighed as the cool evening air hit his overheated skin. The other Nightbloods scurried around him where he sat, stacking weapons and gathering themselves to leave for the day. The sun was only an hour from setting and a storm was on its way, which meant their day's training was complete. Soon they would return to the tower and gather in the great hall for the evening's meal, and Aden hoped he would have time beforehand to wash the sweat from his skin and hair, his body pleasantly sore from the martial exercises of the past hours.
Pulling himself upright, he went to help one of the others load the small cart they would soon use to pull their training supplies back with them, noticing as he did that the Commander was already gathering her two guards and moving to depart. She turned his way briefly as he watched, their eyes meeting for a moment as she noticed him watching her. She held his gaze for several long seconds, face empty of expression, before turning and nodding once to her guards, the three figures quickly disappearing beneath the trees.
Aden sighed, turning back to his task, then startled when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Aden," Titus intoned, and the boy turned quickly to give the Fleimkepa the appropriate respectful bow, hands clasped before him as he bent his head slightly.
"Sha, Fleimkepa?"
"Heda is pleased with your performance today," the older man informed him, and Aden felt his face flush at the praise from her, even delivered secondhand as it was. "Godan has requested that you begin training with the Natgonas, and she has given her approval. You will start with them immediately. Beginning tomorrow, you will no longer spar with the other Natblidas, but will instead report directly to Godan at their training grounds in the city."
Aden bowed in acknowledgement of the command, excitement and pride filling him at the prospect. The Natgonas were superior warriors, and only the most promising young men and women were chosen to join their ranks and train as seconds. Aden knew this was both an honor and an opportunity for him to further excel, and he vowed not to disappoint Heda Leksa while amongst her best warriors.
"Also, we will be increasing your training with me from now on as well, starting this very evening. Go directly to the Chamber when you return and wait for me there. One missed meal will not greatly harm you, I believe. I have several things to take care of first, but then I shall meet you there and we will begin."
"Sha, Fleimkepa," Aden agreed, though his stomach rumbled painfully at the knowledge that he would be skipping a meal. It seemed as though he was always hungry now, his growing body constantly in search of food, and the prospect of not eating until the morning was not a pleasant one for the boy. But pride in the knowledge that he was being singled out for further training quickly silenced any true regret he might feel.
Titus left him then, his robed form hurrying off in the direction the Commander had taken, and Aden turned back to the others, setting his hands to one of the cart's handles and helping to push it into motion. He was exhausted, tired and dirty, but the boy smiled in anticipation of the training to come.
He was the best of the Nightbloods, and he would not fail.
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The elevator creaked and groaned around them as it came to a shuddering stop, the lift's attendants stepping forward immediately to unhinge the large metal doors and slide them open before her. Titus was waiting for them in the gloomy corridor beyond, his figure revealed by the lit torches on either wall, their unsteady light causing his shadows to jump and dance around him. He had rejoined her briefly on her way back to the tower, but they had parted upon their return. She had needed to refresh herself after the days training and attend to several minor matters, and he had needed time to prepare his "guest" for her presence. The floor they currently stood on was one of the less used levels in the tower, and was mostly spare and unremarkable, filled with forgotten dust and rotting walls. Its few intact rooms were unadorned and used mostly for storage, however, the smallest and sturdiest of them had been fitted with bars and restraints, and provided an adequate place to hold a single prisoner. Especially one who possessed dangerous secrets, and whom it was therefore best to keep separate from others.
Lexa stepped forward to join her advisor, her two guards falling in behind and to either side of her. She did not normally require her guards to accompany her wherever she went in her own home, detesting the idea that her people might think she feared attack in her own stronghold, but their earlier talk of unseen threats now had her on edge. She would not be capable of relaxing until she knew exactly who it was Titus was holding, and what information he had to share.
Titus glanced at her guards, perhaps surprised by their presence, then bowed to her perfunctorily before turning and beckoning her to follow.
"This way, Heda."
As they approached the small prison room, Lexa beckoned for her guards to stay behind, wary of them overhearing the conversation about to take place. They remained within eyesight, however, and could easily be called to her side if needed, though she doubted the imprisoned man could pose a threat to her physically.
Titus unlatched the door and thrust his torch into the room, the light revealing a half-naked man chained to a single chair in its center, his chest and face bloody and scabbed, watery eyes blinking against the sudden brightness. Lexa stood in the entrance, taking in the scene dispassionately, her penetrating eyes traveling over the prisoner and assessing what she saw before her.
After a long moment, she turned to Titus, her voice dangerous and unforgiving.
"He is Skaikru?" she asked coldly, though it was more accusation than question. He was bloody and scarred, and covered in a week's worth of filth, but it was obvious that he lacked the clan affiliation tattoos that a person his age should wear. It was also clear that he was not mutated or deformed, so he was almost certainly not an Outcast, driven from his clan before he came of age for markings. That left only one clear option that would explain Titus' interest in him.
"He is. However, he has not been with them for some time, it seems. He was caught thieving and attacking travelers in the Great Wood. It appears he was in the company of an Outcast scavenger, a woman with a clawed hand, though she was not caught with him. She is known to us, that one. She and her brother, another Outcast, are thieves, killers, and are known to target technology. Doubtless the siblings are both agents of the entity."
"So he is a thief," she stated, "Explain to me what he is doing here."
"He is here, Heda, because when he was captured he was found with this," Titus answered her, holding up something small before her in the dim light. Lexa squinted then stepped closer, struggling to make out what it was he was showing her.
"The symbol!" she breathed, unable to conceal her surprise at the sight. She glanced to Titus' face, seeing his nod, then turned her regard back to the item he held.
"Where did he come by it?"
"Yes, that is the very question I asked first as well, but the boy is stubborn, and surprisingly strong willed. He did not want to answer my questions. I was forced to be less than gentle with him, but earlier today he finally spoke truth instead of only half-truths and lies. I have already confirmed some of his story from other witnesses, though I don't doubt he holds back much even now."
Lexa watched the eyes of the man before her, seeing the hatred and fear in them as they focused on her advisor. Titus had likely done much to deserve that hate. She did not have any illusions about the lengths her advisor would go to get the answers he needed, and she did not usually judge him harshly for it. It was their way, and she had used these very methods herself more than once during the many years of conflict. But she did not enjoy this type of bloodshed, needless of how necessary it may be, and as ever, the tortured sight before her was unpleasant to contemplate.
The damage was done, however. Now she must try to make some use of it.
Lexa stepped forward to the pitiful figure, blocking Titus from his sight and drawing his eyes to meet her own.
"Tell me," she commanded, and he did.
His story was disjointed, delivered in halting fragments, though she wasn't sure if this was done intentionally to confuse her, or if the man had simply begun to crack from exhaustion and fear. He had left Arkadia months before with many others. They had traveled across the northern wastes, searching for the City of Light. Many died. In the end, only he and one other remained, discovering a mysterious island, where he had become trapped for many weeks. Upon gaining his freedom, he had sought to return to his people. He didn't know what the symbol meant, but he felt his companion did. The other man, named Jaha, had been the leader of his people before they came to the ground. They had become separated. He didn't know where Jaha was now.
She regarded him silently for several moments once he finished speaking, his eyes bright with something that was almost madness. It was strange, though, because she suddenly felt as though this broken man before her was more sane than anyone she had ever met. He probably wished for madness. Longed for the sweet release that it would bring. But even she could see that his destiny was a long and twisting thing, filled with dark paths and mysterious roads, and he would not escape it so easily. She felt pity for him then, though she knew he would likely spit on the sentiment.
"Is there anything else he did not share?" she asked, directing her question at Titus. Her advisor shook his head, eyes gleaming in the near darkness.
Good, she thought, then I can end this now.
She called for her guards and their forms appeared in the doorway moments later. Ignoring Titus' confused glance, she issued her next orders to them in a voice that was not to be disobeyed.
"You," she said to the first, "Go and fetch a healer and some servants and bring them here. This man is to be cleaned up and his wounds cared for, then moved to a secure guest room on another level. He is to be guarded at all times, but treated with respect. Do not let him out of your sight." She turned to the other guard. "You, go directly to Wanheda and inform her that a member of her clan is being held here, and that she may see him once he has been properly tended to."
Both men quickly bowed and left to carry out her commands, the heavy sounds of their footsteps quickly disappearing down the hall.
"Heda!" Titus exclaimed, "This is incredibly unwise! Now is not the time to concern ourselves with placating the Skaikru ambassador. The secrets this man holds, whether he understands them or not, are extremely dangerous. We cannot afford to allow him to come in contact with anyone that can't be trusted!"
"And you cannot afford to continue to defy me, Titus!" Lexa roared in response, not missing the smirk of satisfaction her words created on the face of the prisoner. Ignoring him, she stepped out into the hallway, her cloak flowing behind her as she moved swiftly down the corridor, knowing Titus was following in her wake. When they reached a sufficient distance to no longer be overheard, she turned to face him, her expression thunderous.
"You have kept a man prisoner within my halls without my knowledge. You have spent days beating and torturing a member of Skaikru for information about the sacred symbol he carries, when you should have brought the matter to me immediately. Did it not occur to you that the boy might have told us everything we needed to know days ago, had you not simply asked Clarke to speak with him first?!... Explain yourself, Titus!"
The man blanched in the face of her rage, though his own anger soon overcame his caution.
"Clarke," he snarled, his disdain for her suddenly apparent, twisting his features into an ugly mask, "cannot possibly be trusted with the secrets of the Blood. She may be playing with your emotions, Heda, but I will not so easily forget my true duty as you have done!"
"I am more than capable of separating my feelings from my duty!" Lexa shouted, the explosion of emotion she felt at his accusations tearing the response out of her, the words echoing mockingly off the cement walls around them. They glared at each other, each seething with anger, the following silence heavy and claustrophobic. His angry face soon melted into a weary expression, the disappointment he felt in her taking over his features, aging him before her very eyes. Lexa felt a sort of wary dread at this, at the sense of resignation she felt in him then, for reasons she couldn't clearly define. Titus seemed to gather himself, as though preparing for one last battle, his expression grave and pale in the dim light.
"Setting my methods aside, we both know what his story means. The entity is circling, Heda. Its agents are already on the move. It is likely that this man, Jaha, has already reached Arkadia. Soon, if not already, he will have full access to the technology they possess."
He stepped closer, his eyes beseeching on hers, his tone as close to begging as she had ever heard.
"We cannot afford to wait any longer. Arkadia, and all of the people within its walls, must be destroyed. If not, then we will surely all be doomed."
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Clarke blew softly over the piece of parchment she held in her hands, clearing away the graphite dust still clinging to the finished drawing, regarding it critically for a moment before setting it aside with the others. There were several drawings scattered around her where she sat on the floor, all the product of the last several hours work, and each sketching a different scene of everyday life in Polis. She was amazed at how relaxing it had been to lose herself in the simple activity once more. Clarke had returned to her own rooms early that afternoon upon discovering that Lexa was still busy elsewhere, and after eating a simple and solitary meal, had finally made proper use of the papers and pencils that the other woman had gifted to her a week earlier.
She leaned backwards into a lazy stretch, feeling her spine crack and her knees pop as she straightened her hunched limbs. She hadn't seen Lexa since that morning, and a sense of warm anticipation was beginning to build all throughout her body at the thought of being reunited with her soon. Surely Lexa would not be busy for much longer? The storm had finally reached Polis, and most of the city's residents were now hunkered down in their rooms and homes, focused more on staying warm and dry than on making politics and war. Clarke eyed the thick drapes which covered her single window, not confident they were up to the task of keeping out the driving rain. It was incredibly inconvenient that the Grounders had not yet relearned how to make glass and proper windows. No doubt her room would be sporting the unpleasant addition of a very large puddle before the night was through.
The loud knocking on her door startled her, and was swiftly followed by an even louder rumble of thunder from the breaking storm outside. She rose quickly and hurried the few steps required to reach the door, her pulse racing at the hope that it might be Lexa on the other side.
No such luck. The broad and ruddy face of a guard met her, his looming presence and expressionless face quickly shattering the pleasant atmosphere she had just been enjoying.
"Wanheda," he greeted her, promptly relaying the message the Commander had instructed him to give without embellishment or emotion. Clarke felt her body and mind come fully awake as he spoke, as though the last few relaxing hours – which she had spent simply drawing and thinking about Lexa, not worrying about the future of her people, but instead reliving every kiss and touch, every sigh and gasp of pleasure they had shared – had been nothing but a waking dream. She knew this was the way it was always going to be. They both had responsibilities to their people, and their time would never truly be only their own. However, that knowledge hadn't stopped her from selfishly hoping that for just one day, at least, she could indulge herself in doing nothing more complicated than reveling in these new feelings she shared with Lexa.
"A Sky Person is here, right now? Why? Who is he?" she asked, confused by the sparseness of the message. "And what do you mean, I can't see him until he has been tended to? What's wrong with him?"
"I do not know why the man is here, Wanheda, nor do I know his name. I was only told to deliver this message," the man rumbled in reply, clearly not thrilled to be answering her questions. "He was injured. A healer has been sent for him."
She stiffened at the news, her imagination already providing her with various explanations for the presence of someone from Arkadia, none of them good. She needed to see him for herself, to find out what this meant and why he was here, as well as who he was. Turning, she quickly gathered up some supplies and slipped into her boots, fastening them hastily. The guard watched her in growing alarm, no doubt anticipating her next words.
"Take me to him," she ordered, coming to stand before him, a leather satchel filled with medical supplies slung over her right shoulder.
"As I said, he is being seen by a healer and will soon be moved to a different room. You will be taken to him then, as Heda has ordered," the guard replied.
"No, you will take me to him now. I am a healer, and he is one of my people. I will see to him myself," she insisted. If he was from the Ark, it was more than possible the injured man was someone she knew, or could even be a close friend. As angry as many of the Grounders were over the massacre and other attacks, she didn't trust anyone but herself to take care of him. Lexa might order him to be healed and properly cared for, but that didn't actually mean a reluctant healer would truly put forth their best efforts. She watched the guard war with himself, measuring the risk of defying her against the possibility of perhaps displeasing his Commander, seeing the resignation in his eyes when he decided not to argue.
"Sha, Wanheda. Follow me. If you must see him now, then we must go a great ways down," he said, heading in the direction of the large, man-powered elevator that served as the principal and fastest form of transportation up and down the tower. There were various stairs, ropes and ladders that could be used as well, but they formed a slow and winding route, and were not best when needing to descend or rise many floors.
Clarke released the breath she had been holding as soon as his back was turned, then hurried to follow after him. Although she was pleased she wasn't going to have to attempt climbing with her medical bag swinging awkwardly at her hip, she also disliked trusting her life to the ancient lift, and had yet to feel fully comfortable using it. The Grounders might hail the dangerous monstrosity as a major engineering achievement, but quite frankly, Clarke was always just happy to get out of the damn thing before plummeting to an early grave. It was worth it if it got her there faster, however, as she was anxious to learn what was truly going on.
Lexa better have a damn good explanation for this.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Enough of this Titus," Lexa demanded, prowling past her advisor, her chin held high in regal defiance, "I have given you my answer, and the answer is no. We will not attack Arkadia. We will find a way to deal with this threat without committing genocide. I have listened to your reasons, and there are now no more arguments left for you to make. It is done."
They had been arguing for the past few minutes, and Lexa had begun pacing up and down the hallway in agitation as she sharply countered each of his arguments and reasons, her ire rising with each passing moment. Each time Titus demanded that she cleanse the earth of Sky People, and each time she denied him. At last, her most recent answer seemed to cast the man into a sullen, stony silence, his face as rigid and cold as ice, eyes distant and unfocused. Finally, he seemed to come back to himself, face softening, eyes regarding her with sadness instead of the earlier anger. The disappointment she saw there was difficult to bear, she admitted, but it was made easier by the fact that she was certain of the rightness of what she was doing. Certain of her vision for a better, more peaceful world. She wished he could find it within himself to have faith in her goal, and to support her in it as Clarke did.
She crossed over to him, placing a hand on his robe covered arm, her own tone softening as some of the anger left her.
"Please, old friend, let's not continue to argue. It grows late, and the guard should be returning soon with the healers. I will have the prisoner kept isolated and with guards at all times so nothing he knows is learned by the wrong people. In the morning, we will work on finding a way to protect our people from this new threat, together."
He met her eyes at her words, nodding his head once before giving a slow, deep bow.
"As you command, Heda."
She smiled slightly at his gesture and removed her hand. Turning, she headed back down the hall to the room where the prisoner was still sitting in chains, coming to stand in the doorway so that she could look in on him, Titus' torch still burning on the wall sconce where he had placed it earlier. Now that their argument was over, and it appeared Titus had finally accepted that she would not agree to war, she could focus on trying to figure out how she was possibly going to explain to Clarke what was going on with…
She heard a sound behind her, a strange, dry clicking noise. The prisoner flinched upright in his chair at the sound, his eyes widening and staring behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise, and frowning, hand reaching by instinct to grasp the hilt of the knife strapped to her thigh, Lexa began to turn.
"I am sorry, Leksa," she heard Titus say from somewhere behind her, then all thoughts of him disappeared as a roaring sound like thunder filled her ears, a flash of light accompanying it that was so bright in the surrounding gloom that is stunned her, blinding her eyes. She felt something punch her between the shoulders. Felt her breath leave her in a forced exhalation. Lexa shook her head, dazed by the light and the noise. What was this? Why couldn't she catch her breath? She reached for her chest with one hand and was instantly stunned by the pain which suddenly blossomed through her at the movement, consuming her from the center of her chest and spreading outwards like an ugly flower.
Lexa stumbled, right shoulder hitting the side of the doorframe, feeling herself slide down it and to her knees on the floor, her initial confusion now turning to horror as the reality of the pain rushed through her. The prisoner in his chair was straining against his bonds in confusion and alarm, his eyes wide and panicked, body contorting like a trapped animal.
"Holy shit, you just fucking shot her, man!" he was shouting, "What's wrong with you?!"
Lexa tried to focus, tried to breathe through the pain, but her breathes came up short, and a horrible weight was beginning to settle over her chest. Gasping, she struggled to lift herself up from her huddled position against the doorframe, some animal instinct in her driving her to rise, to get to her feet, to turn and face whatever had attacked her. Halfway through the intended movement, however, the strength abruptly left her legs and Lexa collapsed again, her crumpled form now mostly blocking the doorway of the cell. The shock of hitting the ground caused another explosion of fire throughout her chest and back, and the strangled gasps which now escaped her lips were growing wet with dark blood.
Gathering herself, straining to think clearly and not panic despite the crushing fear and pain she was feeling, Lexa pulled on some hidden reserve of strength deep within her body and managed to roll herself partway onto her left side, her surprisingly clear eyes seeking out the hidden threat which had somehow managed to wound her so gravely.
Titus stood before her, his arm still outstretched, pale fingers clenched around a dark silhouette that gleamed maliciously in the fluttering torchlight. His cold eyes met hers, fathomless and unknowable, face as implacable as an old and pitiless god whose task it was to judge the living. The terrible knowledge crashed through her then, the true face of the man who had stood close by her side for all these years revealed at last, and Lexa's soul raged in the sudden and desperate realization that she… had failed.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
John Murphy was no stranger to death. He had seen plenty of it, had caused some of it, and had lived in terror of it for as long as he could remember. On the Ark, when his father would begin beating him over and over, the strikes of his fists hammering a steady, terrifyingly precise and unchanging rhythm against his flesh, Murphy learned the lesson of his own mortality. It was painted in red on his skin, mapped in purple bruises and sculpted in scars, a violent portrait of death that he knew he would never be able to escape.
Everyone dies. Some die sooner than others. If you're lucky, you get to have a bit of a good time before it's your turn to go.
Murphy watched as the bald son-of-a-bitch who had kept him captive for the last who-knew-how-many days, Titus, lowered his pistol and stepped towards the woman he had just fatally shot in the back. Pausing for a moment to stare down at her, he then knelt at her side, placing a hand on her heaving chest and saying something to her in low tones in the Grounder language. Not for the first time, Murphy wished he could understand their words, though he doubted whatever cruel final insult the sick bastard was saying to her was worth listening to. Whatever it was he said, it managed to get a response out of the dying warrior, as her right hand abruptly shot up with surprising speed to clutch at the folds of his robes, her fingers reaching for his throat, no doubt wishing to strangle him and take him with her to the underworld. It was a useless gesture, however. She was too weak to put any real force into the move, and Titus simply reached up and unwrapped her clenching fingers, cradling her hand for a moment in what was a surprisingly tender gesture before standing up and out of her reach.
That was a surprise. He had expected Titus to finish the job. To strangle her, or bash her head in until she stopped breathing completely. Why leave her there to slowly die of a painful gunshot wound when he obviously wanted her dead? It seemed needlessly cruel, but then, after everything Titus had done to him over the past few days, he should expect cruelty from him.
Titus stepped over her sprawled form and strode quickly into the cell, and sudden fear for his own life drove all other thoughts from Murphy's mind. The pistol came up again, this time pointed at Murphy's head, and his whole body clenched and trembled with the force of his absolute terror.
This was it. He was going to die. That was the Commander of the Grounders lying on the floor, and this man had just killed her… or close enough. Someone was going to want to find the person responsible, and Murphy had watched him do it. Titus was surely going to kill him, ensuring his silence forever.
"If you want to live past the next five minutes, then do exactly as I say," Titus told him quickly, his voice ringing with impatience.
"Wait, what?" Murphy croaked, mind reeling with the sudden hope that he might live for at least a bit longer, "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"
"Shut up, and do what I tell you, and you might just survive to see daylight. Do anything else, and I will kill you," he repeated, waiting for Murphy to nod in agreement before lowering the gun, then bending quickly to release his bonds.
"Get up," he ordered, and Murphy stumbled to his feet, nearly falling at the wave of dizziness that overcame him. He didn't know how long he had been a captive, but it had felt like many days, and on top of the torture and questioning, he had also been mostly starved and denied all but small amounts of water. He was exhausted to the point of confusion, and his normally sharp mind struggled to keep up with what was happening around him.
"Go. That way, quickly!" Titus prompted, gesturing towards the door with the gun he still held, keeping it pointed towards Murphy in an obvious threat. Not needing any further incentive, he crossed to leave the cell, forced in doing so to step over the body of the dying woman. As he did, he couldn't help but look down at her, and the sight made him freeze. She was staring up at him, her eyes alarmingly alert and penetrating despite her wounds, no hint of delirium in them as he would have expected. She was beautiful, he realized, and younger than he had previously thought, pity for her rising in him despite himself. The bullet had clearly damaged her lungs judging from her rattling breaths, and a large blood stain was becoming visible even against the darkness of her impressive outfit. A thick, black substance trailed from the corner of her lips, more of it bubbling forth with every labored breath she took.
"What the hell? What is that?" he couldn't help but exclaim, startled by the unusual sight of the black blood.
"Move, now!" Titus growled behind him, and Murphy pulled his eyes away, taking several quick steps into the hallway.
"To the left, down the hall. Quickly!" the Commander's murderer said, and Murphy jumped to obey. They traveled down several twisting halls, ducking through side rooms and passages, Titus snarling at him the whole way to go faster, hurry, this way boy, now! Do you want to live or not? Within only a minute or two they came to a large room half filled with sacks and crates, various supplies stacked in a disorganized fashion against the farthest wall. It was clearly a storage room of some kind, and judging by the thick layer of dust coating everything, one not often used. Murphy staggered into the center of the room and turned to look at the older man, certain they had taken a wrong turn.
But Titus was moving, crossing the room in impatient strides, shoving aside a crate to reach the wall behind it. Wedging his lit torch upright between some debris, the older man used his free hand to yank at a square metal panel about four feet in diameter, pulling the thin hunk of metal free from the wall. Behind it, dangling still and straight in the blackness of an abandoned shaft, hung a thick, corded rope.
Titus stepped back, lifted his gun to Murphy's head, and pointed with his free hand.
"Climb."
Murphy gaped at him, his chest heaving from the exertion of racing through the halls moments before, his limbs already tingling with exhaustion from his prolonged captivity. What was this? Was this a way out, an escape? With the condition he was in, there was no way he would be able to climb up the rope for very far.
"I don't understand," he said, his tired mind struggling to make sense of everything that was happening, "Climb to where? Where does it go?"
"Down, it goes down. Four levels, then a ladder to the basement. Now, get on the rope. Move!"
Murphy did as he said, his thoughts racing and confused. Crawling awkwardly into the hole in the wall, he first wrapped his legs around the rope before leaning forward to clutch it with both arms. Hanging suspended in space over a well of blackness, his limbs almost immediately began to shake with fatigue.
"What's in the basement?" he asked, stupidly, disgusted with the fearful waver of his voice.
"Tunnels. If you are very lucky, they will take you out of the city. If not, you will get lost and die of starvation before you find a way out… Now, down."
The man's voice was ice, and hanging for dear life, the mouth of the pistol staring back at him and a dark abyss below, Murphy felt his helplessness as never before. This was insane. Too much was happening too quickly, and he was so, so tired. None of this made any sense. He knew there had to be a reason why Titus was helping him escape, but his stressed mind wasn't providing the answers. Timidly at first, then with increased speed as he gained confidence, Murphy began sliding and shuffling down the rope, descending into near perfect darkness. He had made it perhaps ten feet when something hard and dense smacked against his shoulder, bouncing off and tumbling down the shaft, clattering as it hit things on the way. He cursed in surprise, wondering what Titus had thrown in after him as he glared up towards the opening where some light from the torch still glowed. However, he did so only just in time to see the light wink out as Titus slammed shut the metal covering, encasing him in pitch blackness. Confused, arms and legs trembling, knowing he was not capable of climbing back up even if he had wanted to, Murphy continued his sliding descent down the shaft.
Four floors, ladder, basement, tunnels, he thought to himself, his mind repeating the escape plan like a mantra as he climbed.
When Murphy's feet finally touched the refuse littered concrete at the bottom of the shaft, he immediately crouched, and with blind hands sought out and found the object which had come to rest there. He stood, holding it in his hand, breath freezing in his lungs at his realization of the naked, inevitable truth. After a moment spent appreciating the irony, the pure cosmic improbability of it all, he finally released the incredulous laughter that could no longer be contained within him, the sound echoing back around him like a chorus of heckling demons.
There, in his hands, John Murphy's fingers curled around the familiar and mocking shape of an automatic pistol. He was, once again, soon to take the blame for a murder he didn't commit.
Well… fuck. I really, really should have known…
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The lift, its ancient cables straining and clattering, came to a lumbering stop with a loud metallic groan that Clarke felt all the way through her bones. She grimaced, impatient for the attendants to open its large doors and set her free from this metal death trap. Moments later her wish came true, as the doors slid open to reveal a surprisingly dark corridor beyond. Clarke made to step forward but then paused, frowning.
"Are you sure this is the right floor?" she asked the guard next to her, trying not to reveal her impatience. She must not have succeeded, as the two lift attendants shared an anxious glance, perhaps worried that the Commander of Death might find reason to blame them for a perceived mistake.
"This is the fourth floor, Wanheda," one of them hurried to reassure her. The guard beside her nodded in agreement, but his eyes continued to search the unusually dark hallway beyond with confusion equal to hers.
"Well, then… Did we miss them, do you think? Have they already moved him to a different floor?" she asked. She was looking at the guard as she did so, but it was the talkative attendant who again answered her first.
"We have not been back to this level since bringing him up to you, Wanheda," he informed her, referring to the guard.
"Perhaps they didn't take the lift," the guard suggested cautiously, but Clarke could hear the hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Do you smell that?" she asked suddenly, recognizing the scent which had tickled her nose when the doors first opened. The smell made her anxious, though she couldn't decide why, as it was hardly unusual in a culture that eschewed technology.
"Smoke," he agreed, taking a long sniff.
Clarke felt her anxiety building despite herself, her mind refusing to let this detail go. Smoke, why would there be smoke? Most of the tower's more populated areas used candles for light, though torches were also frequently used. However, the torches made for use in the tower were coated in a special resin which burned surprisingly bright and clean, and they almost never produced much noticeable smoke while lit, though they did smolder for a bit right after being put out…
After being put out. Of course!
"The torches!" she said, turning to the guard, the quiet look of alarm building on his face telling her that he had also reached the same realization she had.
"Someone has put them all out, recently," he agreed, his voice low and intense, hands tightening around his spear.
"Something isn't right," she told him, bending to pick up one of the candle lanterns used to light the inside of the lift.
"Which way is it?" she asked, wasting no time in exiting the lift, the guard quickly brushing past her to lead the way, leaving the two attendants behind to stare at each other in consternation. She felt their rising, shared urgency as they hurried down the dark hallways together, her lantern casting a perfect circle of light around them. They passed several torches as they went, and each looked as though it had been hastily pulled down and snuffed out. Clarke tried to tell herself that the fear she was feeling was irrational. That a few extinguished torches didn't really mean anything, but she couldn't keep the worry at bay. When the guard had left a short time ago, Lexa had been here, on this level, and Clarke's instincts were screaming at her that something was seriously wrong.
At last, after what felt like ages but was almost certainly only a minute or two, they turned a final corner and the guard breathed out in relief.
"There, the open doorway ahead. The prisoner was there."
Clarke could just see the edges of the open door further down the hall, the light just touching it as they approached with the lantern. It wasn't until they were only a few feet away that she saw it, a dark shape sprawled awkwardly between the doorframe, and a strangled gasp escaped her as recognized Lexa's pale, bloodied face.
"Oh my god, Lexa!"
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
For what felt like a very long time, Lexa just focused on breathing.
In, out… In… out…
Ugghhh, this hurts. This hurts. My chest… Can't breathe… Why is this…? What's happening? Did I pass out? Is that why it's so dark?... No, don't think about that, just breathe… In, out… In… out…
She felt the blood slowly pooling around her, felt the drag of air through her tortured, broken lungs. Like it wasn't air at all but a wood saw, tearing as it came and went. There was blood in her throat and mouth, she knew. It was slowly choking her. She had managed to pull herself further onto her side, after Titus and the prisoner had left her in darkness, and it was likely the only reason she was still alive, but the pressure around her lungs was still growing, each breath a greater struggle than the last.
Half alive, at least… Dying… I am dying.
Lexa knew what dying felt like. She had felt the deaths of previous Commanders, had felt the same cold certainty entering her as her life's last strength was drained away. She'd also seen warriors fallen in battle drown to death in their own blood. Now she was experiencing the agony of that end for herself.
Clarke is going to be so angry with me for dying.
No, best not to think about Clarke. She needed to focus. Breathe. She needed to keep breathing. In, out… In… out…
"Oh my god, Lexa!" she heard suddenly, Clarke's panicked voice right beside her, and her eyes flew open at the words, though she'd been unaware they had even been closed. The warm, comforting glow of a candle lantern wrapped around her, dazzling her eyes for only a moment, then she could see Clarke kneeling over her, the hulking shadow of one of her guards standing just behind her shoulder.
"Oh no… oh, no, no…. Lexa, what happened? No! Don't try to talk, just stay still, okay? Lie still, don't move."
Clarke was hunched above her, the fear in her voice obvious as her hands moved over Lexa's tortured form, unfastening her coat with racing fingers, then sliding underneath her back, finding the blood pooled there from the entrance wound between her shoulders. Lexa focused on her face, straining against the black edges of unconsciousness that she could see creeping into the corners of her vision.
"Oh god, where is all this blood coming from?! Help me get this coat off of her, I need to be able to see the wounds. It's too thick to cut, we'll just have to pull it off. Quick, hurry! Okay, yes, like that, good. Alright, now help me roll her back on her side… Yes, okay, now pull. Careful!..."
Lexa felt them moving her, not able to help the strangled moan that escaped her lips when they rolled her further on her side and worked to pull her one arm free of her coat. They sat her carefully back down onto her back and Clarke slid her coat off of her other arm, her face blanching in Lexa's vision as she took in the true extent of her injuries for the first time.
"Oh my god, Lexa, you've been shot!" She almost sobbed the words, tears now beginning to fall freely from her eyes. Lexa wanted to say something, to reassure her somehow, but she was really having trouble breathing now, the pressure in her lungs building to excruciating levels, making it difficult to even think.
Clarke rubbed the tears away from her eyes angrily, her expression fierce and desperate as she reached for the bandages she had brought with her.
"It's okay, Lexa, it's going to be okay," she was saying, her hands racing to press bandages to the wound on her right side from where the bullet had exited her body. "I can fix this… Oh god, I have to be able to fix this!"
As happens sometimes with gunshot wounds, the bullet hadn't traveled in a straight line after entering her body, but had instead ricocheted after tearing through bones and tissue, puncturing her right lung cavity in the process. Clarke was trying to apply bandages to the exit wound, but there was already so much black blood caked and flowing there that they quickly became soaked and useless.
Clarke was such a fighter, she mused, her thoughts starting to go fuzzy and indistinct, sensation beginning to flee her body's extremities.
She never gave up on anything, or anyone. Never quit trying and planning and striving, even when things seemed impossible, unsolvable.
"Don't worry, Clarke. Death is not the end," she had told her, standing by her side in the cage as the Pauna raged outside, needing to at least try to give the other girl some small comfort in the face of death for reasons she was afraid to recognize in herself.
"We are not dying!" Clarke had shouted defiantly, her bravery and sheer stubbornness a marvelous thing to behold.
Is that when she had fallen for her, she wondered? Or had she already loved her even then, her fears of weakness and loss already stripped away in the face of all that was Clarke? Would she get to take this with her, her love for her, wherever she was going?
"I need your spirit to stay where it is."
"Lexa… Lexa! No, no no no, come on, stay with me, wake up! Lexa..."
Clarke was crying, she realized, one hand still holding the wet bandages pressed to Lexa's side as the other felt for her pulse at her neck. Lexa struggled to find and hold Clarke's eyes, feeling as though she was looking down a long, dark tunnel. Her blue eyes were wide, shining with tears, and so beautiful. Miraculously, she felt the pain receding, felt her body relaxing as it was pushed away by a more powerful force.
… I need you….
"No, Lexa… No. You can't do this to me… You can't die!" Clarke told her sternly, desperately, but Lexa could hear the knowledge in her voice. Could feel the way her healer's hands had stilled against her, no longer pressing against her wounds, but instead holding, gripping her tightly, as though Clarke felt she could keep Lexa's soul in her body by sheer force of will alone. Clarke brought her face to Lexa's, kissing her cheeks, a few racking sobs escaping her as her tears splashed down across Lexa's upturned face.
…But you can't fix this…
"'S'okay… Clarke…" Lexa managed, using all the remaining strength and the last breath she possessed to whisper the words, feeling Clarke's arms clench around her in response. Darkness loomed, full and heavy, and with her final thoughts on the woman she loved in her arms, Lexa let it pick her up and carry her away to a distant place.
I'm sorry…
… May we meet again.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Lexa woke to darkness.