Clarke woke with a start. There was a sharp chill seeping in through the gap in the window, her furs falling to her waist. The warmth from the surrounding torches had all but burnt out, a shiver passing over her skin as she pulled the covers up.

She rolled over with a sigh. Part of her expected to wake to the cave walls, covered in charcoal and memories. To feel that ache of cold earth beneath her, and wake to the distinct feeling of being alone. She still felt alone. But the sunlight that broke through wooden slats of the window told her that she wasn't in the safety of Lincoln's burrow. And the distant sounds of a city alive told her she wasn't in fact alone anymore.

Clarke shut her eyes against it all, her mind going back over the previous night, over the feast, over Dontania and Polis.

Over Lexa.

Clarke knew she should have said something, and not just let her walk away. She could feel all the unspoken words weighing on her chest, suffocating her. All the guilt of what she'd done had somewhat faded, Clarke coming to terms with what she had done in a world with no option. But this, this feeling, didn't move or waver. It sat stagnate, just below the surface.

Taking a breath Clarke sat up, slipping her boots on and grabbing the thick coat that hung by the door. Outside in the halls the air was fresh, a breeze stirring the loose leaves and dirt at her feet. Her guard, Kol, was nowhere to be seen. He'd usually be waiting just to the left, leaning against the wall. But the young warrior wasn't at his post, the hallway completely deserted.

Dismissing it, Clarke cautiously followed the narrow passageway until she hit the throne room. It looked much different in the morning light. Gone were the shadows, replaced by cool sunlight and the sounds of birds in the trees. It was bright, the morning streaming in through a break in the ceiling, the sky a solid blue.

Guards were stationed at the exit and near the empty throne, but they didn't touch her or move from their post. They stayed by the walls, their eyes straight. She didn't expect to see Dontania, but the emptiness of the room seemed out of place, like Clarke shouldn't be there, alone and without her shadow. She made tentative eye contact with the guards, walking through the front doors and out into blinding sunlight of the courtyard.

Lexa was waiting outside, sitting on the ledge of the fountain, her ankles crossed and her sword resting on her hip. Her shoulder guard was back on, but the rest of her was only a long coat and pants. The youthfulness of her still caught Clarke by surprise, her features not contorted or hardened by war. She was just a girl.

Lexa's fingertips were playing with a leaf, the gesture innocent and absent in its movement. But she dropped it and stood when she noticed she had company. "Clarke," she greeted, polite. "Sleep well?"

"Fine. Thanks," Clarke responded, somewhat distracted. "Have you been out here long?"

Lexa hesitated on the question, her mouth opening a little. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting away, giving Clarke her answer. "And where's Kol?" she added, indicating toward her room. "He wasn't there when I woke up."

Lexa still couldn't make eye contact with Clarke. "He's services were no longer required." She stated it simply. Like it wasn't a big deal to permanently dismiss her guard. Clarke let a small smile touch her lips despite everything, following after Lexa.

Polis was a 30-mile trek to the east of TonDC, toward the ocean. Clarke could smell it in the air, the damp earth replaced by a salted breeze. They passed through the high arch at the end of the path, opening out onto a busy street lined with markets. The smells of food and herbs scented the air, the sounds of bartering and loud conversation pulling her through each stall. Grounders crowded the paths between them. It was a sea of black and green, smoke and steam drifting up from every other tent that stood by the roadside.

Clarke's eyes roamed over clothes and cooked meats and trinkets, each offering something different than the next. The normal whispers followed her, Clarke suddenly thankful she didn't understand the hushed words. But it wasn't out of her notice how almost everyone would turn and incline their head toward Lexa. She would nod in return, a soft pride on her lips. Clarke watched her in slight awe at the respect and love her people had for her. It was something she hadn't quite witnessed until now. She'd seen it in TonDC and in the war camps. But those were warriors. They were made to obey. But these were just people, her people.

They loved her. Unequivocally.

Lexa looked back at Clarke every few moments, almost as if to check she was still there. Still real. That reverence was still on her features. Clarke swallowed roughly, looking away from those eyes. It was too much. The unspoken words still hung between them. Heavy and thick. And Clarke didn't know if Lexa felt them too, or whether the weight was her own. If the burden had latched itself onto Lexa's shoulders and heart and tongue. Whether it suffocated her, to the point of not being able to breathe.

Like Clarke.

Lexa paused by a stall selling sweet breads and hot tea. She spoke softly to the elderly woman behind the counter, taking two small rolls from the basket in front of her. The woman bowed her head, her eyes crinkling and her smile evident. Lexa turned to Clarke once she'd thanked her, offering her one.

Clarke took it wordlessly. It was still warm, the bread heating her insides and treating her tongue. She could see the hint of a smile on Lexa's lips, her eyes not quite meeting hers as Clarke followed her out of the markets and further toward the direction she remembered coming from the previous afternoon.

Guards saluted Lexa on their way to the gates, placing their right hands over their hearts and inclining their heads in respect. Lexa kept her eyes forward, acknowledging them in subtle ways. In a nod or a small movement of her hand. Clarke kept stride at her side, Lexa turning down a wide street just before they reached the gates.

It was lined with homes and woodwork shops and tailors and boot makers. The sounds of carving and hammering echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings and into the morning air. Clarke tried to take it all in. It was everything she'd ever dreamed. She'd sketched these scenes in her cell on the Ark and on the walls of Lincoln's burrow a hundred times over.

Life.

"Is it true about the alliance between the clans?" Clarke asked. Lexa turned her head gently to show she was listening. "Dontania told me that what I did ended the coalition."

"Dontania is nothing if not dramatic."

"That doesn't answer my question, Lexa." She stopped reluctantly to look at Clarke, people passing them in the street. "Will the other clans attack you now that Mount Weather isn't a threat?"

Lexa simply looked at her, giving Clarke all the answer she needed. It was written in the colour of her eyes and the subtle way she set her lips. The uncertainty. She could see the Commander in those eyes. The hardness. Years of war and a heartache that Clarke could only pretend to know.

And all too soon it was gone, a whisper of a smile softening her features. Like that hardness had been imagined. "Come, I want to show you something."

Lexa guided her to a building just a few blocks north. It was falling apart like all the other buildings in Polis but there was something solid about it, its frame imposing against the morning sun.

They took the steps up to the front doors, Poli S visible on a sign overhead. Clarke followed Lexa inside, pushing past the wooden doors. There were benches and tables and chairs, along with the trees and vegetation that she'd come to know. It was deserted, a chill coming off the cement walls. But Lexa bypassed the tables for a staircase that led down under the building. It was dark, it getting colder the further they went.

Clarke could see a flat barrel at the bottom with a fire pit, Lexa lighting a torch with it and motioning for her to follow. As she passes through an archway of floor to ceiling metal bars, Clarke started to see thousands of books lining the walls on wooden shelves. They are separated by what looked like old holding cells.

A police station.

The doors of the cells were long gone, creating alcoves and nooks that she felt she could get lost in for hours.

"It's a library," Clarke breathed. She ran her fingers over the closest shelf, her footfalls echoing off the basement walls. The covers were faded and peeling, and rough beneath her fingertips. "This is incredible. Where did you get them all?"

"Well, being on the ground for 100 years, you find things."

Clarke glanced back at Lexa. The girl was smiling in her own way, her eyes distant against the flames of her torch. Clarke found herself missing those lips and that smile. Each time she had seen the subtle quirk it sent her heart racing, wanting to say or do anything to make it appear again.

But then she thought of the last time she'd seen those lips smile at her. And then what followed – the hesitant invitation, only for her to be left breathless and without. It had Clarke looking away, her eyes flicking over the extensive collection. "We had books on the Ark, but never this many." She walked down the aisles, reading each title, moving away from Lexa. "We had to keep them in airtight cases so they didn't degrade. Only taking them out for a few hours at a time."

Lexa shrugged lightly, her hand resting on her sword hilt. "I find there's a beauty in something not lasting forever. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again…"

It was said absently. Thoughtful and quiet, the familiar words making Clarke pause. "The Iliad." She looked at the girl in a slight awe, not having heard those words in years. Not since Wells and the Ark. "Homer?"

Lexa nodded. "You're welcome to come and read whenever you like. You shouldn't be bothered. My warriors are really the only ones who can read your language, and a few of our elders."

"Seems such a waste," Clarke said, soft, as if her words might disturb the moment.

"Even if my people can't read them, their stories are still told by those who can." Clarke smiled at that, having images of grounder children crowding around a campfire, listening to tales of warriors and healers and great cities they could only have dreamed of existing.

And love stories that defied all odds and prejudice.

That defied reason.

"We should keep going." It was said after a silent minute; Clarke nodding and following Lexa up the stairs. She left the burning torch in the barrel, the pair heading back into the morning sunlight.

The sun was sitting higher in the sky by the time they'd settled near a small beach; it's sand white and welcoming. Clarke leant her elbows against the wooden paling overlooking the water. Lexa stood at her side, her hands resting gently on the railing.

The beach looked out on a bridge leading to farmland beyond the city limits. It was a long footbridge that stretched over an inlet of water, Clarke seeing crops in the distance. Grounders were tending to them, with an outpost and beyond that a high wall.

It was beautiful.

Children were playing a game with a long branch and a hard ball. They threw it between each other, one hitting it far up the stretch of sand. There was laughter and elated screams, and kids swimming in the water. It made Clarke realise just how much life had kept going while her people were still on the Ark. How wrong and naive they had been to not consider an alternative.

"I used to watch games like this with my family back on the Ark. Recordings from the ground. From before. We mostly knew how they ended, but it wasn't the point." She hesitated a moment, "Those were my favourite days. Just me and Wells, and our dads. Teasing each other and making bets. It made us forget, even for a moment, about our lives and the Ark. We were grounders in those moments. And the bombs never happened." Clarke bit her lip, looking out over the water. "But those days are clearly long gone now. My dad. Wells."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" Clarke edged, defeated at the memory. "The dead are gone, right?"

Lexa pursed her lips at Clarke's words, at her words. "You shouldn't look at your past memories as if they're something to regret."

Clarke bristled. "And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" she said dryly, turning to look at her. Her stare was blank, Lexa's words touching a nerve. "But then again, you don't regret what you did to me and my people. Do you?"

"Clarke."

It was said like a prayer. A hopeless prayer. Lexa knew the pain had come to the surface, her betrayal written all over her face.

"And I hate that I get it."

It was said with an empty defeat. A pain. Clarke hated how her voice cracked on her words. She shook her head, pushing off from the railing, leaving the beach, and the children and the laughter. Leaving the innocence behind.

She took a deep breath, Clarke composing herself again as Lexa walked silently by her side. She wanted so much to say something, but every time she found the words, the ones to scold or absolve, they just fell flat before she could voice them. Because once they were out Clarke couldn't take them back. All the hateful and guilt-ridden words she wished she could say, she couldn't.

So she was left with snide and unaffected comments, and mere suggestion of how much Lexa had hurt her.

She was left feeling weak.

Walking past a small shop front, Clarke saw elders braiding the hair of a young girl around her age. It was intricate, all of it held together by metal rings and dark bands. The girl had a tattoo that snaked up her neck and framed her ear, it stark against her fair skin. Warrior braids.

Lexa stepped inside, greeting the women, all of them inclining their heads in respect. One made her way over to Clarke with a smile, her fingers reaching for her hair, speaking softly in Trigedasleng.

"What is she saying?"

Clarke didn't pull away from the woman or her gentle touch, as much as it startled her. She had kind eyes, and a warmth about her, reminding Clarke of her grandmother. Or the little she remembered of her.

Lexa kept her eyes on the woman, "She says she would be honoured if you would let her braid your hair before the marking ceremony."

"Oh," Clarke breathed, taken aback. She smiled at the woman, not knowing how to respond.

"It's customary." Lexa continued. "She also says you have beautiful hair, like Nori." Lexa smiled at that. "She was one of our most fearsome warriors, and the Commander before I ascended. She honours you with the comparison."

Clarke couldn't really find her words, fingers still combing gently through her hair. It was calming. "Tell her I'd be honoured, and thank you."

Lexa spoke to her, the woman smiling and letting her hands fall to her sides. Her wide smile touched and wrinkled her eyes. She nodded once, before turning and going back to braiding the young girl's hair.

"Heda! Heda!"

Clarke and Lexa both turned to see three girls not over the age of five come running up the steps. They were all carrying small yellow flowers, their little faces beaming up at Lexa.

They giggled, Lexa kneeling down and speaking to them softly. Clarke watched as she took the offered flowers, bringing the back of her fingers up to brush a cheek with a smile that just made Clarke ache. When she stood, the girls took off, disappearing into the crowded street.

Lexa handed her the small collection of flowers, Clarke taking them with a sad smile. "Looks like you're not completely heartless after all, Commander."

Lexa stiffened, but didn't respond, the girls making their way down the shop steps. Clarke glanced at her. Lexa's eyes were staring forward, her lips set in a hard line as they walked further past a harbour and toward the fishing docks.

"I still can't believe you're not their leader. They seem to love you. Look up to you." She played absently with the petals, contemplative. "Almost as if Dontania has no control at all."

Lexa nodded, taking a breath, "Dontania is their Queen. A politician. She's more or less untouchable to them, unless she's proceeding over a ceremony, or taking an audience. I guess you could say I'm the People's Queen. Someone they can touch. Pour their hopes and dreams into." Lexa took one of the flowers, her hands coming too close to Clarke's, looking at her with that awe again.

Clarke swallowed harshly, looking away. Those eyes still burnt her skin, her tongue heavy with words that refused to pass her lips.

Words of pain and regret, of understanding.

Of love.

And as much as the betrayal of her almost love pained her, now more than ever Clarke understood. These were her people. And just like Clarke, Lexa would do anything to keep them safe. Even destroy herself and her own happiness.

They walked silently past what looked to be the barracks and the warriors' quarters. Clarke could hear the sound of metal grinding against metal, and see the adjacent harbour laden with boats. Grounders were sitting around tables in conversation, and practicing archery and hand-to-hand, sparring with each other in the clearing between the buildings.

Clarke moved to the railing where boats were docked against a jetty, picking at the soft petals and letting them fall into the water. "So where do you live?"

She saw Lexa bite her lip, "You see that building?"

She pointed to a two-story building inside the gates of the barracks. It had a balcony that wrapped around the entire front of the second level, overlooking the harbour and out to sea. The metal railing was wrapped in vines. It was stark against the water; it's foundations as large as a dropship.

Lexa was quiet.

"What, that whole building?" Clarke looked her, her eyes wide. Lexa merely nodded. "Wow. Okay, Commander." Clarke mock saluted her, bringing her hand down from her forehead.

And Lexa laughed.

It was like a breath, a release of air, and it hits her eyes. And Clarke was mesmerised. She'd never heard her laugh before. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. Lexa looked out over the harbour, her hands clasped in front of her. And Clarke had to force herself to look away.

They both stayed quiet, Clarke smiling to herself and doing her best to hide it from Lexa. But Lexa straightened up next to her, her eyes on the barracks on the far side near the docks. "I'm sorry, but I'm needed at the church."

"Church?" Clarke looked up to see a guard facing in their direction from the other bank. He had a hard look, his shoulders taut as he moved off.

"It's where we go to settle disputes," Lexa informed her gently. "Come, I'll walk you back."

Clarke dropped the flowers into the bay and followed Lexa down a nearby alleyway. "So tell me, how does a thousand warriors get marked in one day?"

Lexa smiled again, that perfect small smile that made Clarke's chest ache for all the wrong reasons. "All my warriors are marked before the festival and are revealed during the ceremony. Only I will be marked during the proceedings. As their Commander my mark will be done publicly, marking the end of war and a moment of peace for my people."

"Is this the only way you're marked?" Clarke asked. "I mean besides when you ascended."

"No." Lexa shook her head gently, turning them onto a main street. "Each of us is marked when we are recognised by our people as a warrior, once we stop being a second, and are allowed to take on our own. I, however, never received that mark."

"Why not?"

"I was Anya's second when Nori was killed," Lexa explained. "As Commander, you don't get to take on a second. I was recognised as their leader, not as a fellow warrior, and I was marked as such." She brought a hand up to her right bicep, "Here."

They walked further down the street in silence, the sun beginning to set. Clarke could see the markets in the distance, still alive with music and exotic smells. "The Trigeda wear their marks with pride. It symbolises the wars they've survived."

"You mustn't have won many wars then," Clarke said dryly, teasing.

"Why do say that?" Lexa glanced at her. "Because my marks are not visible, like Indra or Lincoln?" Clarke just raised her eyebrows in response. A challenge. "I can assure you, Clarke. I have won many wars." She kept walking, the pair reaching the high arch of the Queen's chambers. "Maybe one day you might just see how many."

Clarke's face flushed, her stomach pinching at Lexa's words. It hurt, as if a trigger had been pulled. The playful banter. Her suggestive words. It was like there was no pain. But there was. She couldn't pretend there wasn't. She couldn't pretend that they were who they used to be before she walked away.

The unspoken words hung heavier between them, suffocating her.

Being near Lexa was all of a sudden too much. She wanted to scream at her, but she knew it wouldn't solve anything. But she couldn't have her telling her things that suggested they were more. To see those eyes looking at her with that mix of awe and sadness.

They walked back down the pathway lined with statues, and around the fountain, stopping outside the doors. And by the time they came to stand still, Clarke's throat was already tight with unsaid words and unshed tears.

"I'll be back in the morning." Lexa looked nervous and unsure of her words, making tentative eye contact. "There's this inlet just beyond the walls-"

"Please don't."

"Clarke?"

Her abrupt words pulled Lexa up short, confusion tinging her green eyes.

"Please don't come back in the morning." She said it plainly and with as much confidence as she could. "Today was lovely, but I can't keep pretending things are okay between us." Clarke swallowed, feeling numb. "I just can't."

"Okay?"

Lexa's brow knitted together, her eyes hitting the pavers at her feet. Clarke turned on her heel. She reached for the door, gripping it tightly before the next words pulled her up, her hand stilling.

"I tried to find you. After everything." Clarke turned back. Lexa swallowed hard, her eyes not looking at Clarke. "I did." She nodded to herself, before those eyes flicked up. They were full of something Clarke had only seen once before, in a tent with her back pressed tightly against a table and only inches separating them. "And I did, by the river two weeks after I…" she paused, setting her jaw. "Word had passed through the villages of what happened at Mount Weather, and I had to find you. And I did. And that was enough for me. To see your face again. I knew you'd no sooner kill me than want me there. So I left."

"Yeah, you left. You're good at that," Clarke spat, wiping away an angry tear, cursing herself for letting it fall.

"Fuck." She let the word whisper past her lips, like a tired breath. She blinked back, more threatening to fall. "That's great, Lexa. That's great that seeing me was enough for you. That seeing me was enough to rid you of your guilt. But I needed you, and you walked away. Do you have any idea what I-" Clarke shook her head and pursed her lips. "Forget it."

Lexa set her jaw again, her eyes cast down and her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "It was never my intention to hurt you, Clarke."

"It's a little late for that, Lexa." Clarke just shook her head. "I get it. I understand why you did it. But I don't have to like it." Clarke turned her back on her, opening the door.

"What would you have me do?" It was desperate, Lexa's voice betraying her. Clarke had never heard that voice, the girl always so sure and unwavering.

"I don't know." And she didn't. She was at a complete loss. "…I don't know."

She closed the door behind her without looking back, leaving Lexa stone-faced by the fountain, still gripping her sword. She felt empty. Her words were gone, and the weight was lifted. But she didn't feel any lighter. She felt like screaming.

"Clarke."

The calm voice startled her, Dontania lounging on her throne. She was out of her armour, only donning a light jacket, "Dontania."

She wiped at her eyes, attempting to compose herself in front of the Queen.

"Enjoy your outing?"

Clarke nodded, "Your home is very beautiful." She smiled as best she could, moving in the direction of her room, but she was stopped by the Queen's next words.

"I had a son."

Clarke paused. "But I suppose you wouldn't know that." She didn't say it coldly. She was only stating mere fact. "He was a fierce warrior and protector of my people. And just like Anya, he had a second. He swore to protect this girl against any enemy. He swore a blood oath, much like Gustus did to Lexa. And he died protecting her, honouring the oath he swore."

The Queen was regal with her words, almost to a fault. But she hesitated. "Her name was Costia." Clarke froze. "By your expression, I take it you know the name. She wasn't the only one the Ice Queen took from us that day. My son."

Clarke could almost see her waver, before she controlled her tongue. "Now I do believe that if my warriors must die, they should at least die well. And he did. By Costia's side."

"I'm sorry, Dontania," Clarke edged, sincere. "But why are you telling me this?"

"Lexa is like a daughter to me. I watched her grow up, as if she were my own. And the only time I've ever seen her look at someone the way she looks at you, was when my boy was alive. When she was Costia's."

Dontania shifted in her chair, and Clarke couldn't breathe. "There are many ways a parent can lose a child, Clarke. Through war and death. Through heartbreak and loss." She looked at her a moment, those dark eyes doing little to hide her emotions. "Don't have me lose another child. I already lost her once."

Clarke caught herself, "What are you telling me to do, Dontania? Don't break her heart?" Her voice cracked on the word, her own emotions getting the better of her. "Because I think she's done more than enough of that for both us."

Clarke had to steal herself, her tears threatening to fall again.

"I'm not telling you to do anything, Clarke," she said simply. "I'm asking that you be careful. Not as a Queen, but as a mother."

Clarke stayed silent. Because what does one say to that? How does someone respond when they're told something so personal? No apology could heal those wounds. And no empathetic reasoning could either. She felt as if the weight she lifted with Lexa had just been put back on by the Queen.

And it hurt, for a whole different reason.

Clarke didn't remember how she got back to her room. Or how she ended up with her back against her door.

All she remembered was letting her tears finally fall.