Chapter 31/31

It's warm, charmingly so. Birdsong calls in the distance, wind rustles the trees and perhaps Clarke can hear the breeze as it breathes through the air. Warm furs cover her, their scent ingrained into her mind, their softness so familiar to her that they seem more flesh and blood than second skin.

Clarke doesn't want to open her eyes, she doesn't want to wake anymore than she has. It's too easy to slip back into sleep, it's too easy to shy away from the waking world when there's others who can do what must be done for a little while longer.

There's a rustle of movement behind her, and it's subtle, barely noticed, barely felt, but it seems to wend its way through her body, it seems to settle against the core of her being and she can't help but to lean into it, she can't help but to feel it become a part of her as much as she is a part of it.

Clarke smiles when she feels the press of lips against the back of her neck. It's become a common occurrence now, this carefree openness that wriggles its way into her very core. She finds she likes it.

"Hey," Clarke's voice seems groggy to her, and she doesn't want to turn around, not when she feels a warm arm wrap itself around her waist and pull her back into a sleep leaden embrace.

Lexa murmurs something between greeting and groggy hum as she seems to chance after whatever warmth the furs give them. Clarke doesn't and can never blame Lexa for not wanting to wake, not wanting to rise with the early morning sun. Why would she? But something in Clarke makes her turn, makes her roll over and face the slumbering commander.

"Hey," Clarke says, and she feels her lips pulling up into a smile as her gaze falls upon Lexa.

Still with eyes closed, Lexa faces her, the wild curl of hair that sits ever unruly atop her head at times like this, fans out across the pillow beneath her head. The soft glow of what little sunlight that dares to enter their tent shines upon the side of her face and engulfs her in a glow of whimsy and charm.

It's a sight Clarke can never get enough of, sometimes she thinks it not real, sometimes she thinks it not fair. It's always too hard to pull herself away from the picture painted in front of her eyes.

"Hey," Clarke repeats quietly as she reaches out under the covers, the furs and the rich blankets and she smiles as her fingers tips brush against Lexa's bare waist, she smiles as Lexa's nose scrunches and she smiles as Lexa tries to wriggle out of her touch in the hopes of not being woken too soon.

"Clarke," her name is said as warning, as threat, as plea and as prayer.

"Yes, love?" Clarke likes the way Lexa says her name. There's something about that subtle clicking that always makes her listen.

"Stop, I command it."

"You command it?" Clarke says and she moves closer under the furs, she lets her legs dance between Lexa's and she likes the way there's a barely controlled gasp that escapes past Lexa's lips.

"Yes, Clarke," and Lexa frowns as she tries to bury her face into the pillow. "I command i—"

Clarke silences her with a kiss, with a hand delving somewhere between them and she doesn't have a care in the world. Lexa reacts as she always does. Her body seemingly unfurls as she pulls Clarke atop her, her eyes open once their kiss is broken and Clarke could fall so very deep into the riches of green that looks back up at her with such intensity it leaves no question in her mind about what exists between them.

Clarke finds herself straddling Lexa's waist, the furs still draped over both of them as she presses another kiss to her lips. She doesn't want to get up, not yet, not when it's still just a little too early in the morning. She thinks things can wait for a moment longer. She knowsthings will wait.

And so Clarke smiles as she sits, as she lets the furs fall from her and pool around her waist. Lexa's eyes seem to darken in the early morning glow, and as the heat of the candles dotted around the tent dance against her flesh, Clarke lets herself enjoy the moment they have. There's not much more she'd wish for.

The morning air isn't so cold by the time Clarke ducks out of Lexa's tent. She smiles and nods at Gustus who stands by the entrance, his body covered in a thick fur to help fight the chill of the morning. Her own Azgeda furs adorn her body, their colour pristine and white in the glow of the sun. Her braids, neatly tucked and pulled and tied back out of her eyes seem to harden her, seem to bring forth a confidence, an aura and a strength to her that she feels flowing through her body.

The sun sits low in the morning sky, the dark of the night slowly being chased away by its warming glow. Camp fires and torches and burning lamps dot the camp. People move about, some weary, some eager for the day, others in quiet conversation or muffled laughter.

Azgeda roam about, each one to notice Clarke quick to nod their heads in greeting, Trikru and the occasional Skaikru do the same, too. It's a pattern, a rhythm, a dance they have played for months and Clarke finds it soothing that these people, her people have integrated, have shared in laughter, loss and love and company. It's something she knows Lexa cherishes so very deeply. And it's something she feels proud of.

"Clarke," she turns to the call and she finds Jenma walking towards her, the redheaded warrior's face sweat streaked and flushed. "We have hunted enough during the night," and she gestures behind her to the campfires already being surrounded by warriors many of them Lexa's handmaidens led by Jass and Shana. "We should not need to stop to hunt for any more now."

"Good job," Clarke says as she smiles.

Jenma nods her head in parting before she turns and begins making her way through the camp, and Clarke notices a Skaikru man begin walking with her, smile on his face, hands quick to gesture this way and that in whatever conversation he brings. She even spies Leeton and Bronat in the distance as they seem to bicker over something surely soon to be forgotten.

It doesn't take long until she makes it to the training grounds. Perhaps not quite a training ground though, for it is simply an area of the clearing set aside, left bare so that any who wish to train may do so. Warriors who rise in the earliest of the hour already move about, some in heated battle with others, some calm in meditation and stretches. Young seconds train amongst the warriors, too, their actions not quite as precise as wanted, their bodies never strong enough for their first's. It doesn't surprise Clarke to see one or two of the most unruly of seconds be clapped over the back of the head, tripped in step or simply tossed over a shoulder for not listening carefully enough. Perhaps it's barbaric, perhaps she would have thought it barbaric had she never become Azgeda, but she knows it part of life, and she knows life always challenging on the ground. It's better the youth learn these lessons amongst friend and not foe.

But her gaze falls upon Ontari who swings her sword quickly, it's blade a dazzling blur of colour and glinting metal. Ontari ducks a swing of a spear, she ducks the thrust of an attack and she leaps, she soars, she wends through the air and she strikes. But her attack is deflected, it's dodged, parried and countered with precision and deftness that seems so very magical. Entani swivels and spins and dances out of reach of Ontari's sword, her spear snapping out, her spear stabbing forward, backwards, up and around as she forces Ontari away, as she forces space between them so that she can bring her spear to play.

"You are late," Clarke startles at the voice that sounds out behind her, and she turns to find Torvun looking down at her, his beard slowly becoming longer with each passing day.

"I was busy," Clarke says, and she tries to ignore the knowing sparkle in Torvun's eyes, and she fights to keep her cheeks from flushing.

"I see," he says as she begins to move forward, his large sword already grasped in his hands as he steps out onto the training ground.

It's not the first time Clarke's had the thought, and it won't be the last, but as she smiles and pulls her knife out from where she keeps it tucked close to her body, she is sure, she is certain that Torvun has made himself even taller than he was before. She won't say anything, he'd deny it anyway. But she can't blame him. Wouldn't she like being taller, too? It'd help in her arguments with Lexa, that's for sure.

There's a flash of movement behind Torvun's shoulder and Clarke finds herself looking at Raven stumbling backwards and trying to find her footing as Anya stalks forward, her sword menacingly dancing in front of her as she closes in on the hapless woman. She even sees Costia's worried gaze turn from Raven and then to Ontari who moves a short distance away, and Clarke tries not to laugh too loudly as she sees Costia's expression turn from concern to distinct lust in barely a second before it seems to be forced back under control.

Clarke doesn't get much more time to revel in the scenes before her for Torvun begins moving forward, his sword already preparing to strike. And so Clarke schools her thoughts, readies her body and begins to assess each little step Torvun makes, each little movement he takes, and through it all, as her friends remain locked in battle all around her, Clarke knows she wouldn't wish life to be different in any other way.

Rolling hills spread out as far as the eye can see. A mountain range in the distance becomes a beautiful backdrop to the blue of the mid day sky. Even birds seem happier as they fly over heard, the birdsong that carries on the wind carefree and rich.

The sun's light shines down upon Clarke and she finds herself turning her face up into its warmth. She finds that she's come to enjoy the warmth. At least in Trikru lands. Or perhaps she simply likes it more than the searing heat that she found so very intolerable when she rode through Desert Clan's lands. But the heat will never compare to the pristine chill of Azgeda and its sweeping snow plains. She looks forward to returning one day soon.

A procession of warriors stretches out behind her. Carts drawn by horse wend their way through the masses and the neighing and call of beast fills the air with quiet contentedness as all seem to sense the end of their long journey.

Clarke looks over her shoulder, perhaps in part to double check, to make sure, to be certain that everyone has returned unharmed, that none have need or want for anything before it too late. She finds Ontari and Costia talking quietly together as they ride side by side, both women quick to laugh and giggle freely. She can't hide the smile upon her face as she watches Entani ever so surreptitiously checking on Torvun and how he somehow manages to keep his new legs inside the stirrups. She's happy Torvun has learnt, adapted, and not let his injuries hold him back. Clarke even sees Anya cautiously eyeing an uncertain Raven atop her own horse, she watches as Jenma, Leeton and Bronat all seem lost in conversation. And Clarke watches as Trikru, Azgeda and Skaikru alike share in conversation, company and laughter.

Clarke faces forward, and she finds herself looking out into the greatest of distances before them. So very far away, in the haze of the distance, she can see the Mountain that stretches up and up into the sky. Somewhere closer than that, she can see the shimmering haze of Polis and its tower as that reaches up into the sky, too. She can see the flickering, dancing, roaring of the burning flame that is kept always alight at its peak, whose presence is a guiding beacon to weary traveller and a welcoming light for those returning from journey near and far.

Clarke smiles, perhaps it's unconscious, perhaps its purposeful, she doesn't care. All she knows is that it's carefree and so very real.

She feels someone's gaze upon her then, and Clarke looks to her left to find Lexa looking at her, the woman's eyes bright in the sunlight.

"What?" Clarke asks, and she tries to keep her face from smiling too much.

Lexa returns her smile just as freely as she guides her horse a little closer as they continue to ride forward lazily.

"It is nothing, Clarke," Lexa says with a shrug, her lips turning up at the corners.

"Oh, really?" Clarke challenges as she nudges Lexa's foot with her own.

Lexa looks away, perhaps in thought, perhaps to figure out how to say whatever it is she wishes to say.

And then, "I enjoy when you smile, Clarke," it's so simple, so quiet Clarke almost misses it, but as she looks Lexa in the eyes she can see the truth so very clearly on display.

Clarke ducks her head, if only because she feels bashful in that moment. But as Lexa's words wriggle their way into her very core she finds herself straightening, she finds herself letting go of anything that may have been holding her back.

"I love you, you know that, Lexa?" Clarke knows Lexa knows. She doesn't need to remind her, but she wants to tell her every chance she gets. Life's too short, it's too sudden to change without warning. But in this moment, Clarke feels a peace and a calm.

Lexa smiles her own smile as she lifts her chin and preens, just a little.

"The mighty Wanheda, tamed at last," Lexa says.

Clarke rolls her eyes and tries not to giggle too loudly. She has an image to portray, after all.

But they come to a crossroads then. It's a fork in the path before them. To the left it splits off and begins to delve deeper and deeper into Trikru lands, into the depths of forest and away from the rolling hills. But to the right, just barely a shift in direction, it begins to wend, wind and dance its way closer and closer to Polis that sits so very proudly in the distance, whose glowing flame calls to all on their journey's final stretch.

The procession of warriors, horses, carts and people comes to a gentle halt, and there's a murmuring that ripples out, there's an eagerness, a desire and a want that settles upon each and every living being.

"So," Lexa begins quietly, her face turned to face Clarke and an emotion so very visible within her gaze that it makes Clarke's heart beat with that very same feeling, "whereto, next, Clarke?"

Clarke looks out at Polis in the distance, she looks out to the Mountain in the greatest of distances and she smiles as she turns back to Lexa.

And she's happy to be back.

It's been too long.

"Home," Clarke says. "Let's go home, Lexa."