Chapter Text
Lexa has always had a keen sense of memory. She can recall a plethora of things with near inhuman accuracy—things that may seem trivial at face value but were of great importance in the grand scheme of things. She can still recall the day Nak, a gangly freckled boy from her village, elbowed her on the nose when she was four. He was built like a spider: long limbs with little to no body, always flailing about in one direction or another without a destination in mind.
They had been play fighting by the river, dodging each other's blows until the boy had gotten a little too eager with one of his parries. He turned too swiftly and attacked too aggressively, hurling a spider-like limb onto her face before she could even think of evading. She heard a sickening crack before blood began to gush in thick rivulets down her nose.
The face Nak made when he saw black drip down Lexa’s lips is forever burned into her retinas.
He stood rigid for a long moment, face contorted in an expression reminiscent of a newly gutted fish. Once the shock wore off, he screeched "Natblida!" at the top of his lungs and broke into a full sprint back into the village. His freakishly long legs granted him with such great strides that Lexa couldn’t keep up.
He was too quick, too adamant, and far too eager for his own good.
All Lexa could do was trail behind him, running as fast as her short legs could afford. They weaved in and out of the undergrowth, evading gnarled branches and thick protruding roots with a grace that only a child of the tree clan could manage. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to latch onto his shoulder and drag him to the ground and cut off his tongue.
She didn’t want to be a Natblida.
She just wanted to be free.
In the village, Nak yapped on about what he’d witnessed to anyone who would listen. It didn’t take long before the village chief cornered her at her parents hut. The man cut an imposing figure and she trembled in fear and in pain as he made a small incision on the inside of her palm. Her nomon and nontu could do nothing but watch. They had known Lexa to be a Natblida since she was two, when the girl had stumbled clumsily upon a table’s edge and cut her brow. They did their best to keep her nature a secret. Eamon, their eldest, had died in battle. The other two children who followed him were considered impure and were casted out of the village before they could even crawl.
Lexa was all they had left.
Soon, they would have nothing.
The chief sent a runner to the capital to inform the Fleimkepa of a newly discovered Natblida. Lexa remembers that night clearly, for the following morning she had to say goodbye to her parents as her new mentor Anya ushered her to Polis. That was the first and last time she’d see her nomon cry.
On their way to the capital, Lexa had been a weeping mess. Snot covered her cheeks and the skin around her eyes blared an angry red, rubbed raw from failed attempts to curtail tears. Anya stopped her horse mid-way through their journey. She motioned for the warriors they’d been travelling with to continue on forward. Once the men were out of ear shot, she gripped Lexa’s face with a calloused hand, making the weeping girl turn from where she was seated.
“Hakom yu daun goufa?” Anya asked. The young woman’s eyes held a warmth that looked out of place amongst her sharp features. (Why are you sad child?”)
“Ai gaf ai houm.” Lexa hiccupped. “Ai gaf ai seingeda. ” (I miss my home. I miss my family.)
Anya sighed. Her features softened for a millisecond before they hardened back into impenetrable steel. The grip she had on the Lexa’s face tightened.
“Heda don no seingeda.” She said. Her jaw was tight, her posture rigid. “Seingeda lid hodnes, en hodnes lid kwelnes. Bilaik ste fos gon loda ridiyo.” (The commander has no family. Family brings love, and love brings weakness. This is the first of many truths.)
Anya was barely eighteen then, yet she held the stance of a seasoned warrior. The woman reminded her of the eye of a storm: calm, quiet, and foreboding. She was lethal and tranquil and all the things a trikru warrior aspired to be. Lexa remembers staring up at her sharp features in awe.
I wish to be that strong one day.
In the capital, she trained day and night, her tiny body perpetually bruised and aching. She felt her soul grow heavier with each passing day. A burgeoning sense of dread and responsibility loomed overhead, threatening to collapse upon her form at a moment’s notice. She didn't know it then, but that stifling weight of responsibility would later encase her. It would seep into her bloodstream and make its way throughout her body, destroying any vestige of youth and innocence she had left.
Lexa remembers the moment she met Costia. She was twelve summers young and had wandered underneath a large banyan tree, seeking solace from the sun’s unforgiving heat. Costia had been lounging in the shade, weaving freshly picked wildflowers together to form a makeshift crown. Her mocha colored skin and jet black hair were illuminated by the small slits of light which danced in tandem with the tree’s swaying branches. She looked ethereal, and for a moment, Lexa wasn’t sure what to do.
Costia had smiled softly when their eyes met, and after the initial awkwardness brought by obligatory introductions subsided, they conversed in earnest about everything and nothing. They talked until the sun began its retreat towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pinks and blues as it descended below the mountains. When it became clear that they both needed to head back to their respective homes, Costia placed the crown of flowers atop Lexa's head.
"A crown gon na Heda." She said with a toothy smile, hazel eyes alight with mischief. (A crown for the future commander.)
That was the first time Lexa had ever felt her heart stutter.
They shared their first kiss three years later, under the shade of the very same banyan tree that had offered them solace. The kiss was tentative and soft and everything a first kiss should be. They shared a shy smile when they broke apart, excited yet unsure of what came next. She still remembers the first time they made love. They were sixteen, fumbling and nervous and filled with an eagerness that manifested itself into strangled moans and overeager caresses.
Lexa was called to lead that same year.
She had won her conclave by killing the children she had grown up with, the boys and girls she had called friends, the boys and girls she had loved. Her entire body was coated in black, the evidence of her victory. The crowd cheered and applauded, chanting “Heda!” at the top of their lungs. Yes, Lexa was victorious, but she had never felt more defeated. She was sure that the darkness of her friends’ lifeblood had seeped into her very soul, dragging it down like an anchor.
When Lexa had been awarded with the spirit of the commander and given the commander’s tattoos, she had held her head high even though she felt like her insides were threatening to eat her whole. When she had made her way down the aisle and sat upon the throne of gnarled edges, shoulders heavy with death, she held her head higher still.
Commanders did not show weakness.
Anya had never looked as proud of her as she did in that moment.
Later on in life, in moments of silence, in between wars and tribunals, she would often think of Luna and what her life would have been like if she had ran away as well. She thinks she would have been happier. She would have been a coward, a disgrace, a traitor to the blood, but she would have been a happy coward. One that could laugh freely and love wholeheartedly. Life would have been easier, lighter, and filled with more moments of joy than she would know what to do with.
Lexa made a point never to dwell on those thoughts for too long.
They made her shoulders feel even heavier than they already were.
Her first heat came during the spring of her eighteenth year and Costia had tried her best to calm her down, blasting waves of Beta pheromones into the room Titus had confined her in. They spent three days in that stifling room, making love in a sweaty heap atop her bed, furs and clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor. Costia tried her best to sate her heats and while Lexa was grateful, it always felt insufficient.
She knew that only an Alpha could ever sate the emptiness gnawing at her belly but she loved Costia dearly and unlike most Omegas, Lexa had an astounding amount of self-control. She wouldn't hurt the woman she loved simply because her body demanded her to be knotted and bred. She was better than that, stronger than that, so she had never once strayed from Costia’s embrace. She would never love anyone as much as she did Costia. It was a truth that she’d accepted long ago—a truth that she tries to cling unto now.
She recalls the day her lover went missing, captured by the Azgeda Kwin. She'd been absolutely terrified. She thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest when a runner came into her war camp and delivered the news. She made her way to Polis that very evening. She knew of Queen Nia's brutality. Everyone did. The woman lived in infamy, and the queen reveled in the terror said infamy evoked.
Lexa had feared the worst.
The days that came after were wrought with tension. Under the threat of going into an all-out war with the eleven clans of the coalition, the Azgeda were forced to negotiate. They realized, albeit begrudgingly, that the world they lived in was different. The commander was different and they had no choice but to play by her rules. In the past, it was easy to win a war. There were no solid alliances to speak of, and the Azgeda has always had the largest and most brutal army. Now, they had multiple clans allied against them. All it would take for the Ice Nation to fall was a flick of Lexa’s hand.
Nia couldn’t have hated the girl more if she tried.
Costia was freed within the month.
Relief came to Lexa in the form of a battered girl. A young woman had limped to the capital's gates and immediately asked to see Heda. When the guards realized who the girl was, they quickly slung her arms over their shoulders and hauled her to the nearest healer. Lexa had never been more relieved in her life. Costia was alive. She was beaten and bloody, but she was alive and she was home. Lexa made a promise then, to always protect those she loved, even if that meant setting them free. She knew then that as long as Costia remained hers, she remained in danger.
As she held onto her lover’s battered form, under the dim light of the healer’s hut, Titus’ words rang loudly in her ears.
To be commander is to be alone.
The night she said goodbye to Costia had been one of the most difficult nights she’d ever had to endure, and she'd endured her fair share of difficult nights. The girl’s eyes swirled with so much grief and affection that Lexa struggled to maintain her gaze.
“Ai biyo moba, Kostia.” She whispered, jaw clenching as she did so. (I’m sorry, Costia.)
“Em ait, Leksa.” Costia murmured with trembling smile, tears flowing in heavy droplets down her cheeks. “Ai ge em.” (It’s okay Lexa. I understand.)
“Ai…” Lexa swallowed. Her emotions felt heavy against her throat—angry, bitter, and painful. “Ai hod yu in otaim.” (I love you, eternally.)
“Ai get in.” Costia’s voice cracked as she said it, her smile faltered into an expression of abject pain for a second, before her lips turned upwards once more. She looked lovely and broken. “Ai hod yu in seintai, Leksa.” (I know. I love you too, Lexa.)
“Ai hod yu in. Feva.” Costia whispered beneath her breath before taking Lexa’s lips into her own. (I love you. Forever.)
She tasted of salt and grief and of a love that could have been.
Lexa left Costia’s room in the morning. Their last night together had been bittersweet. Their lips ached with love and misery, swollen with promises they once thought they’d keep. The way they held onto each other felt desperate and bruising. Lexa had to loosen Costia’s arms off her just so she could breathe, but every breath she took still felt shallow and unfulfilling.
That was three years ago…
Lexa has been alone ever since.
Her heats have been torturous and nearly unbearable. Titus has told her on many occasions to simply choose an Alpha to warm her bed. Warm, he had emphasized, not mate. For commanders do not have the luxury of mating. They led, fought, and fucked. A mate would only muddle their purpose.
Kris, the third commander before her, had taken a mate. He ended up losing sight of his people and in turn, his people raided the tower whilst he was away and took his mate and their two children from their beds. The mob burned his family alive in the middle of Polis’ square, amidst a cheering crowd of thousands, and then strung their charred corpses on poles like brutish ornaments. Kris’ reign fell soon after, when his head was lopped off by one of his generals in a public display.
Titus never got tired of telling her that story. He’d told it to her at least a dozen times and Lexa hated every single moment of it. The Flamekeeper talked far too much for her liking, but his advice was sound, so she would always listen. He held much wisdom. He served the three commanders before her and has seen the mistakes that let to their downfall. Lexa will not make those mistakes. Already, she has done more to ensure peace than all of the commanders combined. She will not destroy all that she’s built, even if that meant she had to spend the rest of her life alone.
Her people must come first.
That is a lesson she will never forget.
Lexa has always had a keen sense of memory and she remembers a plethora of things. She remembers her first injury, her first goodbye, her first kill, her first victory, and her first kiss. She remembers everything with such clarity it’s astonishing.
And yet of all the things she remembers, meeting Clarke Griffin remains the most vivid.
The moment the Alpha had entered the commander's tent, fierce and strong and utterly unwavering amidst an entire army hell bent on killing her, Lexa knew she was trouble. The girl was too much of everything. She was too stubborn, too willful, and far too stunning.
She reminded Lexa of the rising sun.
Her presence was illuminating, life-giving, and the red gashes that littered her face did nothing to belie her loveliness. Her scent had been just as intoxicating. The blonde smelled like mint leaves and juniper berries and morning rain all crushed into one being. She didn't smell like metal or rust like the other two Sky people Lexa had met. Instead, Clarke smelled like strength and freedom and love which didn't make any sense then, but makes all the sense now.
Clarke was special.
Lexa knew that the very moment she laid eyes on her, and that... well, that was troubling.
After all, the sky and the ground never met for a reason.