so, leave me in the cold/wait until the snow covers me up/so i cannot move/so i'm just embedded in the frost/and leave me in the rain/wait until my clothes cling to my frame/wipe away your tearstains/thought you said you didn't feel pain
'cause this is dangerous/the electricity between both of us/and this is dangerous/'cause i want you so much/but i hate your guts/i hate you
daughter - landfill
It is of no surprise to you that out of all of the places that you could go in Polis, you find yourself in a tavern.
It's one of the smaller establishments, a few streets away from the main square, though the size means nothing to the people that are crowded inside, spilling out onto the small porch and surrounding small tables covered in cups and mugs of all sizes. It's a lively place, with rowdy warriors clustered around the sunlit room and farmers seated around roughly made tables, talking about the next harvest.
It's still a time of peace for these people, you think sadly, peace that that has lasted for almost six years since the mountain was brought down. And now you're back, bringing a war right to their door.
Bringer of death, you think bitterly. It's not so far from the truth now, since the first time you heard it. Death seems to follow you everywhere, ever since you stepped foot on the ground.
You push through the sweaty crowds of people, without a single person taking a second glance at your face, which is exactly what you wanted. You have always found a semblence on anonimisity in taverns, where the people are fuzzy with drink and faces and names mean nothing. You are nobody here, and the only difference between you and the people of Polis is your shining blonde hair, which earns you a few brief appreciative glances but nothing more.
The only person who seems to know you for who you truly are is the female bartender of sorts, who pauses briefly while she's pouring a drink to stare right at you. Her hair is midnight black and her eyes are a soft brown as she lets them flit briefly over your face, before she slides a full mug down the bar to you without more than a tilt of her head. You pick it up with an acknowledging nod of your own and take a sip, letting the warm grounder mead wash down your throat with a welcoming burn.
"Klark kom skaikru," the woman over the bar murmurs, once she's finished pouring drinks and has moved to stand across from you. She rests her forearms against the wooden counter, directly across from you, and leans in close so that she can be heard easily over the noise of the tavern occupants. "It is an honor."
"You recognise me," you say in return, before lifting the mug in your hand. "Mochof."
"Pro," the woman returns with a small smile. "And yes, I recognise you. I will never forget the first face I saw when I stepped outside the Mountain."
Your hand pauses with your drink half way to your mouth before you let the mug drop heavily back onto the table, knowing you will be unable to swallow with the lump in your throat, slowly suffocating you. "You were inside the Mountain?"
"For more than six months," the woman replies, her brown eyes as haunted as your own, you finally notice. "Six months that they had me locked inside a cage like an animal, six months that they bled me almost dry. I owe you much."
"You owe me nothing," you say, shaking your hand and clenching your hands to keep them from shaking. "It was your heda that saved you."
Your heda that saved you, by leaving me to die.
"Yes," the woman agrees easily. "I owe heda my life, but it was not her who tore down the Mountain, it was you. Even after escaping, I was plauged with fear and horrible dreams of the Mountain, so much so that I thought I would lose my mind. When word reached me of what you did, I slept easy for the first time in months. I owe you much, Klark kom skaikru."
"Pro," you finally manage to say, your voice a broken whisper. You're welcome.
You slept easy for the first time in months, while I will never sleep easy again for what I have done.
(i bear it so they don't have to.)
The woman looks as if she wants to say more, but her eyes flick away from your face and over your shoulder and you feel your entire body tighten at the expression that flashes across her face. The bartender bows her head as you feel the heat of a body press up behind you in the cramped quarters of the tavern, before the woman moves away to the other end of the counter.
You finish the rest of your drink in a few large gulps, lump in your throat be damned, and wish desperately that the woman would come back to refill it.
"I have never known you to be one for heavy drinking, Clarke." The Commander says as she moves into the space beside you, letting her elbow rest casually on the counter.
"You don't know me at all," you reply bluntly, so much easier now that you aren't looking at her, instead fixing your eyes firmly on the stained wood beneath your hands.
"No," Lexa murmurs in response and even though you aren't looking at her, you won't, you can feel her eyes on you all the same. "I suppose I do not."
The barely repressed sadness in the other woman's voice is almost, almost, enough to make you look up, but you are saved when another mug slides down the counter, stopping to rest right next to your hand. You look up briefly to receive a sly wink from the dark haired woman behind the counter and you stifle a grin as you pick up the mug and take a sip.
"You are making friends fast," Lexa comments lightly and you shrug your shoulders heavily in response, the alcohol loosening your body and your tongue.
"In a city full of enemies, you need to have some friends," you answer, finally turning your head to fix the other woman with your hard gaze. She looks at place in the middle of the tavern, slouched against the counter top, though she still maintains her air of confidence and regality, dressed as she is in her polished half armor and blood red cape. Her face remains emotionless at your words, though she tilts her head slightly as she considers you.
"Is that what I am to you now, Clarke?" She asks, her voice low and barely audible in the loud tavern, dangerous and inviting, simultaneously. "An enemy?"
"Well, you certainly aren't a friend," you say, the words somewhat bitter on your tongue. You wash the taste of 'not you' and 'not yet' away with another mouthful of mead.
(you were never friends, after all. equals, maybe, something more, but never friends.)
You finish your drink in the silence that follows your words, the strength of the alcohol making your head spin. Mead is not a common drink on the coast, unless Luna brings back a barrel or two from her trips to Polis, whom you know favours it. Your people tend to sway more towards wine, made from the grapes that grow in the vineyards that surround the boat people's city and you never normally drink enough to get you anything more than slightly tipsy, at least not for several years.
"We need to learn to make this," you murmur the words outloud, unknowingly, as you look down into the bottom of your empty cup. "This is the good shit."
"I can arrange for some to be brought with us to the coast," Lexa answers you unexpectedly, causing you to snap suddenly from your thoughts. "I am sure that Luna would appreciate it."
You open your mouth to answer that yes, Luna would definetely appreciate it, when the meaning behind Lexa's words hits you with full force. You look up to find the other woman watching you intently, her eyes searching your face, though her expression still remains impassive. You, on the other hand, feel as if all of the air has suddenly rushed out of your lungs, leaving you breathless.
"So, you're coming, then?" You finally manage to ask, with your heart pounding in your chest.
Lexa tilts her head at your words, pursing her lips before nodding. "Of course."
Of course, you think, feeling your heart thud in relief. Of course, she says, like it hadn't even been a question, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Like she hadn't left you standing in the cold once before, while she turned her back on you and your people when you needed her the most.
Of fucking course.
"Mochof," You manage to choke out, both ridiculously relieved and infinitely bitter. "Mochof, heda."
You're suddenly overwhelmed with the information that the commander is actually bringing her army to help. It hits you with an urgency that over one hundred miles away, your people were still fighting, while you were just sitting here.
You stand up suddenly from your chair, your alcohol induced jelly legs almost dropping you to the floor as you swayed unsteadily for a moment. Lexa reached out as if to steady you, but you hold your hands up almost defensively at the action, causing her to pull back as if burned from your rejection. You ignore the unexpected look of hurt that flashes briefly across her face as you steady yourself on your own.
"Okay," you finally say with a firm nod. "Okay, I need to go."
Your turn on your heel to leave and this time, Lexa does reach out and grab you, her strong fingers wrapping around your forearm and holding you in place. "No."
"No?" You ask indignantly, even as you wrench your arm from the other woman's grip, ignoring the lingering burn left from her fingertips pressed against your skin. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean exactly what I said, Clarke," Lexa answers. "I have informed my people to be ready to leave for the coast at first light and I have sent out messengers to the clans closest to join us in the fight, but you are not leaving this city until my people are ready to join you, tomorrow."
"What?" You hiss, your eyes narrowing in anger. "No! I need to leave now, you don't understand!"
"I do understand, Clarke," Lexa responded, her face impassive but her eyes burning. "I do, but that is my one condition. You are not leaving this city without me."
You don't think that you've ever felt a stronger urge to hit the commander in the face, but you let the anger slowly ebb from your tense muscles as you stare at the other woman's resolute expression. You are fighting a losing battle and as stubborn as you are, you know when you have lost.
"You test my self control," you finally say after several minutes of silence, almost cringing at the double meaning to your words when Lexa settles into an almost smug expression.
"I am sorry, Clarke," Lexa says, not sounding sorry at all. "Now, come, I've had a room prepared for you at my home, where you can rest until it is time for us to leave."
Lexa moves past you and sweeps from the tavern, obviously expecting you to follow her, which you know you will, but not until after you've turned around to face the woman behind the bar.
"Hey," you say, giving her your most winning smile. "Is there any way that I can get some of this sent to the commander's home?"
/
As it turns out, you certainly can have some of the grounder mead brought to the commander's home. An entire barrel of it, in fact.
Apparently your name has more sway in Polis than you'd ever expected.
You follow a few paces behind Lexa through the city streets, chatting casually with one of the tavern workers who carries the barrel of mead in his brawny arms as if it weighs nothing. The sky is slowly beginning to darken and you enjoy the cool breeze as it blows against your overheated skin, answering the young man's questions about the coast as you make your journey to the commander's home.
"I have only seen the ocean one time," the man, Toren, says in stilted English as walks beside you. "It was a far journey from here, across the dead zone, and it was very nice. The sand was black and the sea was grey; is that what it is like where you live?"
"I've seen the beaches you speak of, from across the dead zone," you answer with a small smile, ignoring the curious look that Lexa throws you from over her shoulder. "They are very beautiful, but the beaches that surround the floukru's city are different. The sand is golden and it sparkles in the sunlight and the water is very, very blue."
"Like your eyes?" Toren questions shyly, glancing at you from the corner of his own, dark eyes and you laugh.
"I've had my eyes compared to the ocean there before, yes," you reply with a grin. "A clear, vibrant blue, like the calm ocean, with sunlight sparkling on the surface."
"Your bonded's words?" Toren asks politely with a grin of his own. "He sounds like a... a charming?"
You laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls that surround you as you gently shake your head. "I am not bonded," you answer with a chuckle. "But yes, she is a charmer."
You feel suddenly very sober when you find yourself outside of the commander's home, all pristine white marble. You swallow as you follow Lexa up the steps and onto the porch, hesitating as your blue eyes glance towards the open windows, that let the cool night breeze into the building.
"She is not here," Lexa murmurs quietly, for only you to hear, as she opens the front door and beckons you inside. You fight a wince that the commander was able to read you so easily and slip past her, careful not to touch, into the expanse of her home.
A grand staircase is situated right before you, made of the same white marble as the floor, but covered with animal skins. The walls are white, what you can see of them, as they are covered with artworks from the old world and weapons and masks, enough that you think you could spends days walking through these halls, studying every piece for hours. There is equisite, carefully made wooden furniture and you catch a glimpse of an overflowing bookshelf as Lexa waves Toren away to another room with the mead.
"Come, Clarke," Lexa says, already halfway up the staircase as you continue to look around in wonder. "I will show you to your room."
You follow Lexa up two flights of stairs, onto the third floor, where she leads you down a wide hallway, right to the end. There are two doors, situated across from each other, and Lexa opens the one on the left without a word, gesturing you inside.
The room is grand; nicer than any you've stayed in, with a large comfortable looking bed, two bedside tables and a large, built in wardrobe, overflowing with someone else's clothes. On the left side of the room, there is an open door that leads to a bathroom, and to the right is a row of floor to ceiling windows, half covered with curtains, and a pair of intricatedly carved double doors that lead onto a balcony overlooking the city.
You feel the soft furs that cover the floor beneath your boots as you step further inside. You can feel Lexa watching you, studying your expression, but you give nothing away as you keep your face emotionless, letting your hand run over the furs that cover the bed.
"You didn't have to do this," you finally say, glancing at a shelf filled to the brim with books. "I could have stayed at the tavern."
"It is not simply for your benefit," Lexa says in response. "You have a habit of disappearing when I do not have my eyes on you and you have information that I still need. Also, I will admit that I am curious, Clarke."
You bite down on all the harsh responses that rise to your lips at the thought of Lexa keeping an eye on you and answer her in a measured tone. "Curious about what?"
"You." Lexa answers simply and you have your back turned to her, but you can imagine the thoughtful expression on her face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the lack of explaination.
"What about me?"
"Why you're here, in particular," Lexa says and her tone is emotionless, but you can feel a certain tension building in the air, nonetheless.
"I told you why I'm here," you finally manage to spit out, your hand clenching unconciously around the dagger at your hip.
"Yes, but why you?" Lexa questions and you can hear her take a step towards you at her words, can almost feel the heat of her body against your skin. "Why would Luna, who happens to be a good friend of mine, send you of all people here? I assume that you have told her of our last meeting and Luna is not a cruel person, so it makes me wonder, Clarke. No one has seen or heard from you in years and suddenly, you show up in my city, alone, what should I think?"
You feel anger building up inside you with every word she says, with the skepticism dripping from her every word and your hand clenches tighter around your blade. It hits you quite suddenly, unexpectedly, exactly what it is that Lexa is thinking, and the knowledge is enough for you to finally let go.
You whirl around gracefully, slipping your dagger from it's shealth as Lexa takes a surprised step backwards at your sudden movement. You follow her, reaching up to press the silver of your blade against the tanned skin of her throat as your other hand grips the back of her neck, holding her in place. You are so close, so close, that you can practically feel the air escape from the space in front of you as Lexa drags it into her mouth in a small, surprised gasp. Her green eyes are focused on yours, her pink lips parted as she stares back at you and the air is thick and heavy as you take in the sight of her, with your dagger pressed firmly against her neck.
"You think this is why I'm here?" You finally whisper into the small space between you, feeling the movement against your knife as Lexa swallows. Your hand pulls back instinctively as the movement pushes your blade further into skin, pulling away before blood can bead onto its surface before pushing back once more. "You think that I've waited six fucking years, for this moment?"
Lexa's tongue briefly slips out to lick her parted lips and your eyes follow the movement, before glancing back up into Lexa's intense gaze. "Have you?"
You stare back at her, hard and cold, but you feel none of the anger that you directed at her for so many years. You feel nothing.
You drop the knife.
"Don't get me wrong," you finally say as you take a step backwards, sheathing the blade back at your waist. "I used to dream about my hands wrapped around your throat, all the time, and there were even a few times today that I would have liked to shove my dagger into your black excuse for a heart, but I would never actually do it."
"No?" Lexa asks, still standing in the middle of your room so casually, as if you hadn't just had a knife pressed against her throat. You shake your head.
"Even after everything," you finally sigh, part sad and part anger at yourself as you turn to face the window. "I never wanted you dead, Lexa."
You expect her to say something, something so incredibly Lexa, about how that was weakness, or equally annoying, but she doesn't. Again, not for the first time this day, she surprises you.
"I thought you were," she finally answers, after minutes of silence, and the crack in her voice is enough to make you turn around. She had said this already, earlier, but there had been no emotion behind the words and now, the emotions were written all over her face. Her shoulders were slumped, her arms hanging limply at her sides and her face was all beautiful heartbreak, with glossy green eyes and shadows. "I thought that you were dead, Clarke."
Again, you don't know what to say, especially in the face of all this emotion that you had never expected from Lexa, of all people. So, instead say, stupidly. "I'm right here."
Again, Lexa laughs, and you're starting to store away all these new sounds, because this laugh is different than the last, all heartbreak and pain. It's a broken, beautiful sound and it makes your heart clench unexpectedly.
"Now, perhaps," Lexa says, the words all bitter and hollow. "When I walked away from you at the Mountain, I did it knowing that I was writing you and your people a death sentence, but then you survived, Clarke. You tore down the Mountain and you saved your people and then you were just gone, for six years and no one knew where you were and after months, we all thought you dead. I almost hoped that you would come to Polis to kill me, if only to know that you were alive."
You think, somewhere in the swirling darkness that is your mind, that this is easily the most you think that Lexa has spoken all at once, at least to you. You're taken so off guard, that the next words slip from your lips without a second thought, and the moment that do, you wish that you could suck them right back in, if only to erase the shocked, hurt look on Lexa's face.
"I did," you say blankly. "I did come to Polis."
The heavy silence in the room is threatening to choke you, and the words that have slipped from your lips have left you empty and hollow, but none of that compares to the look on Lexa's face. You spent so many years wanting to hurt her, to hurt her the way that she made you hurt, but that had been an entire lifetime ago. You wouldn't lie to yourself and say that you weren't still angry, because you were, sometimes you would remember standing beneath the looming doors of the mountain alone, and you would be so angry and wrecked, that you couldn't even breathe.
But you weren't that girl anymore, the one consumed by hate and anger, and you didn't want this; Lexa's form seeming to crumple in on itself, right in front of your eyes, her eyes glowing with hurt and betrayal, and swimming with tears you know that won't fall. You never wanted this.
"When?" Lexa finally manages to say, on the whisp of a stuttered breath, the word full of pain.
You think about lying, even if it's only for a second, but you decide against it.
"The night of your bonding," you finally say.
The sound of Lexa's broken, shuttered gasp is too much and you shake your head, turning and fleeing the room as the commander's body crumples behind you, hidden behind the door you close behind yourself.
It's too much that you were never meant to see, making you feel too many things you were never meant to feel.
(as you race down the stairs, you wish that you had never come to polis at all.)
/
Of course, you end up back at the tavern.
The sun has completely set and yet, the city of Polis is bright, lit up with colourful lanterns that light the road and shine different coloured hues on the faces of the people who pass beneath them. Most of the city's residents have returned to their homes and families, but some still wander the streets, talking and laughing with their companions in the city square, others lounging on the soft grass that surrounds a broken fountain.
You slip through alleyways and wander in the shadows, unnoticed by all that you pass, until you round the corner and find bright light shining out of the windows of the tavern, that is even more packed at this hour. It is almost a fight to get inside, since the entrance is so heavily crowded by the men and women that are packed onto the porch, drinking and talking loudly, while some dance on the street outside to music on they can hear. The inside of the tavern is so loud that you can barely hear yourself think, which is perfect, and you let a small smile slip your lips as strangers call to you in greeting, drunk and happy.
"Wanheda!" One man calls as he catches sight of you, causing the group of men and women around him to fall silent, as the title sends a cold chill down your spine. You know that the man is drunk and he says the title with respect, but you've always hated it since the first time you heard it.
Commander of death.
"Clarke."
You turn your cold gaze away from the man to find the same woman minding the bar as before and you let the tension drain from your limbs as you offer her a small smile. She gestures to a seat in front of the counter, quickly offered by the man who had been sitting there before and you nod your thanks.
"Yu don komba raun," the woman says, throwing her black braided her over her shoulder as she pours you a mug of mead. "No heda?"
"Sha," you answer, earning a slight smile at your understanding of the language. "En no, heda ste houm."
The woman hummed in understanding, leaning her elbows against the bar and leaving the other customers to her companion behind the counter. "It is rare for heda to venture here. I admit my surprise upon seeing her earlier, though not much that she came here for you."
"Oh?" You ask, taking several healthy swallows of your drink and feeling the warmth spread through your cold limbs. "Why do you say that?"
"With one so pretty, you would want to keep an eye on her," the woman winked, causing an unexpectedly laugh to rip from your lips, while you simultaneously felt your stomach drop.
"Your heda is bonded," you say, without anger or bitterness, only a small smile, because it is what it is and you raise an eyebrow at the bartender's casual shrug. "There is nothing between her and I."
"Of course," the woman replies easily. "And yet still she sends her personal guard to watch you. Maybe she thinks that I am a danger to you?"
You raise your eyebrow at her words, turning when her eyes flit over your shoulder to find a man seated in the corner of the tavern, watching you intensely. You recognise him after a few moments as Ryder, and you give the warrior a small, sarcastic wave, causing his head to turn away from you in what you suspect is embaressment.
You sigh, turning your face back to the woman's, whose dark eyes are twinkling with laughter and you shake your head with a wry grin. "Well, are you a danger to me...?"
"Jacqulen." The dark haired woman grins slyly, leaning further towards you on the countertop. "And only if that's what you like, Klark kom Skaikru."
You laugh at the huskily spoken words and ignore Ryder's eyes, that you can feel burning into you once more.
/
It is late and most of the patrons in the tavern have left, save for a group of warriors that surround a table in the back corner and one other who sits a few paces down the bar from yourself. You've spent the entire night talking to Jacqulen, proceeding to get more and more drunk after every time she refilled your mug and you're pretty sure that you will regret this in the morning, but right now you couldn't care less.
Ryder had left shortly after midnight, tilting his head towards the door for you to follow, but you had waved him off and that had been at least two hours ago. You watch blearily as Jacqulen wipes down the counter, smiling at the soft look she throws you when you lay your heavy head down to rest on your forearm.
"Where are you staying?" She asks you, once she throws the cloth away and you frown, thinking of your room in the commander's home. You aren't sure if you can go back there, not yet, not without remember the way Lexa had looked, hunched over in the middle of the room as if you had mortally wounded her.
"I don't know," you answer, your words more slurred than you expected, though it shouldn't be surprising since you're pretty sure you drank more tonight than you ever have in your life.
Though, if there's any day that you wish that you could forget in the morning, this would definetely be in the top five.
"Well," Jacqulen says, leaning down to rest her head near yours on the countertop. "I would bring you home with me, but I do not think you would remember it in the morning."
"I am sure," you said slowly, making sure to pronounce each word clearly. "That if I went home with you, it would be unforgettable, Jacqulen."
"I am sure that it would," she replied with a grin, her eyes flickering away from yours for a moment before returning. "Though I do not think that we will have the chance to find out."
She moves away from you then, leaving you with a frown marring your brow, which morphs into a groan at the body that steps up behind you and you just know, even before you hear the voice.
"Clarke." You hear your name, that unfortunately familiar way that she says it, rolling off her tongue, soft and warm, clicking the 'k' harshly. There's no one else who says your name like that.
"Commander." You respond formly, despite your current state, unwilling to move from your position, practically on top of the counter. "How nice of you to drop by."
Lexa sighs, as if you've somehow offended and aggreived her. "You are drunk, Clarke."
"Say my name, one more time," you murmur with a grin.
"Clarke," Lexa says again, sighing at your laughter that follows, before moving to stand within your line of vision. "It is time to leave."
"Yeah, I know," you respond, finally lifting your head up to look for the suddenly scarce bartender. "Jacqulen is going to take me home."
"No, she is not," Lexa replies firmly, reaching out to gently pull you from your chair and help you stand, and you're so drunk that you don't even protest. You lean on her solid form heavily as the room spins momentarily, moving sluggishly out of her grasp once you're sure that you can stand on your own. "You will come home with me. I do not think that Luna would be appreciative of you following a stranger home."
You scoff loudly as Lexa ushers you to the door, glancing around one more time for Jacqulen, only to be disappointed when she's no where in sight. "She isn't a stranger and Luna wouldn't care. She'd probably give me a fist bump or some grounder version of it, 'cause Jacqulen is hot."
Lexa frowns at your words, but you don't notice, too busy trying to manevere the steps that lead up to the tavern. It's not until you're halfway down the street, with Lexa's fingers wrapped firmly around your wrist to keep you upright, that the other woman finally speaks.
"I thought that she was your mate," Lexa finally says, her green eyes searching your face as you stare back at her in confusion. "Luna."
"My mate?" You say the word with disgust, raising an eyebrow at the other woman, who shrugs her shoulders in response. "You make us sound like animals."
"Your lover, then." Lexa prompts, to which you shrug your own shoulders.
"I mean, she is," You say, before frowning. "I mean, sometimes, she is. She's my friend and my lover but I'm not her chosen or anything and there have been other people. We're in an open relationship, I guess?"
Lexa is frowning heavily at your explaination, as if an open relationship is something unheard of to her, which it could be, you guess, though, in the boat people city, it was certainly a common occurance. It had been something you knew that your mother would surely have frowned upon when Luna first explained it to you, but the freedom of it had been something you desired.
"Is that uncommon around here?" You finally ask, after several minutes of silence, somewhat surprised when Lexa shakes her head.
"No," she answers. "It is just not something that I ever thought that you would be comfortable with."
The words sting you unexpectedly, enough for you to shake off Lexa's touch and avert your eyes to the ground. "I told you, you don't know me, Commander."
"Yes," Lexa comments quietly, as she walks along beside you. "That is becoming increasingly clear to me with every moment that passes, Clarke."
The rest of the walk back to the commander's home is silent.
/
In the morning, when you wake just before dawn, you remember nothing after entering the tavern, except Jacqulen's husky teasing, and you're confused when some strange, small part of you is grateful for it.