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The first time that Clarke fell asleep in Lexa’s bed, she got only a few hours of fitful rest before she woke up, sweaty and panting and curled tightly around Lexa’s back. As she disentangled their knees, Clarke slipped her arm from where it was grasped between Lexa’s hands. She climbed out of bed and stood in the moonlight and tried to remember the moments just before she lost consciousness. Even the faintest of memories didn’t bother to return. She could recall nothing but blackness. When Clarke looked back over her shoulder to Lexa, she was still laying there, her breathing slow and deep. The sight of Lexa at such profound peace squeezed something vice-tight in Clarke’s chest.
Clarke went back to her room.
The second time she fell asleep in Lexa’s bed, she woke up with the dawn. Sleep had come easier to Clarke but not easily enough to make her feel rested. She and Lexa had stayed up late into the night, coming back together over and over again every time they fell apart. As she blinked herself awake, recollections of the night before came filtering back to her. She remembered the way her heart had ached when Lexa had tipped her head back and laughed and the way Lexa still trembled every time Clarke kissed her. She remembered the sounds Lexa made, surprisingly breathy and light, when Clarke touched her. For a long moment, Clarke laid there, as tranquil as Lexa was beside her, before she rose and dressed as she watched the sun come up over Polis. When she bent over to pick up her boots, she noticed that all the candles in the room still flickered in the weak, morning light. Had they been burning all night? She tried to bring to mind if they had still been lit when she awoke that first night but didn't know either way.
Clarke padded back to her room barefoot, socks and shoes in her hands.
Then there was a night when Lexa slept in Clarke’s bed. At least, Clarke thought she did. Clarke always fell asleep first when they spent the night together, and she didn’t know how soon Lexa left or if she slept at all. All Clarke knew was that she was alone when she awoke with the sun well above the horizon, and though Clarke had kept herself confined to one half of the bed in her sleep, the other side of the bed was empty. She stretched out when she realized she was alone and tried to appreciate the rare luxury of having a bed this plush, this huge. Relaxation evaded her, though, because half of the bed was cold.
Clarke quickly gave up on sleep and prepared to face the day.
The third time Clarke fell asleep in Lexa’s bed, she waited until Lexa fell asleep first. The memory of waking up alone was still vivid in Clarke’s head as was the knowledge that she had already done that to Lexa twice before. So Clarke held Lexa close while they came down from their highs as she usually did, but when Lexa wiggled her ass into the cleft between Clarke’s legs and closed her eyes, Clarke kept her eyes wide and focused. She sank back into the sort of thoughts she had been pushing away since Lexa pulled the gag from her mouth weeks ago. Rolling over the numbers in her head, Clarke tried to envision the people she had killed and the ramifications of the decisions she had made. She tried to wrap her mind around the deaths of so many and tried to imagine each of them with an actual life, family, dreams, and fears, but she couldn’t. By the time she came back to herself, Lexa had long since loosened in her arms, but Clarke was wide awake. If she slept that night, she didn’t know it. Eventually, Lexa was too close and too hot, and her breathing was too peaceful, too loud, and too quiet at the same time. Clarke propped herself up on her elbow and kissed Lexa awake. They made love again. Lexa was pleased and unquestioning. Afterwards, Lexa fell back asleep almost immediately, but Clarke pressed a kiss to her forehead just before Lexa drifted away.
“Reshop, Heda,” Clarke murmured, and Lexa mumbled something back as she burrowed deeper into the furs. Clarke climbed out of bed and dressed.
Clarke spent the sunrise walking the streets of Polis as it came alive.
Down in the marketplace, as the city just started to awaken, Clarke found a stand selling jewelry. She shifted through the wares, looking without seeing, until she found a long strap of leather supporting a carved doe. The doe was intricately created from a single piece of dark wood and was no bigger than Clarke’s smallest finger. She picked it up, thinking of Finn. The stall owner came to her, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry,” Clarke explained, then, at her blank stare, started again in Trigedasleng. “Ai don ste chek raun au.”
“Chon yu bilaik?”
Clarke hesitated. “Ai laik Klark kom Skaikru.”
The woman was suspicious, as though she didn’t quite believe that Clarke was who she said she was. Clarke looked more like a Grounder than she realized.
“Yu gaf na kofon?” The woman pushed.
Clarke sighed. She had nothing to trade. “Nou,” she said, and turned to walk away.
“Hod yu op,” the shopkeeper barked, coming around the table to step closer to Clarke. There was a long pause while the shopkeeper looked at Clarke then her eyes softened. “Wanheda?”
Clarke nodded as she looked away. She didn’t look up until she felt the woman’s hand close around her wrist. Her hand opened reflexively, and the shopkeeper dropped the necklace into her palm.
That night, when Clarke closed the door to Lexa’s bedroom behind her, she could feel the deer in her pocket digging into her thigh. She still wasn’t sure why she had it until Lexa turned from where she was sitting on her bed, brushing through her hair, to smile at Clarke.
“How was your day, Heda?” Clarke asked, a smile on her lips. She crossed the room to climb up on the bed behind Lexa. “Let me,” she said and took the brush from Lexa’s hands.
“As usual,” Lexa responded, tipping her head back to give Clarke better access. “Titus is still irritated you’re here, but he will manage. Roan sent a rider today inquiring after what had happened with the Maunon, and I suspect he’ll be none too pleased.”
“He’ll manage as well,” Clarke told her quietly, shifting to cross her legs. She leaned forward to pull all of Lexa’s hair back over her shoulders, allowing her fingers to brush against Lexa’s neck.
“Yes, he will,” Lexa agreed.
“I bought you something today,” Clarke said.
“You did?” Lexa asked, turning to look at Clarke, eyes lit up with surprise and perhaps something else.
“Let me finish your hair,” Clarke chided, pushing Lexa’s shoulder back into place and continuing her long brush strokes. “But yes, I did. Well, not really. I didn’t buy it, it was given to me.”
“And you want to give it to me?”
Clarke could see the tensing in Lexa’s neck and shoulders. “Yes, I do. When I first saw it, I thought of Finn. We saw a deer together not long after we landed, and he made me one from metal. But then he… And for a long time I blamed you, but it wasn’t your fault.” Clarke sat up on her knees to fish the necklace out of her pocket. She leaned forward to slip it over Lexa's head, then wound her hands under her now-silken hair to tie it against the back of her neck. “Finn died for peace,” Clarke whispered, stretching her legs along either side of Lexa's thighs and wrapping her arms around her stomach. Clarke rested her chin on her shoulder as Lexa picked up the necklace from where it hung just below her breasts and examined it, her face studiously passive. “His death brought peace,” Clarke elaborated, “and maybe he brought us together, too. When I remembered I had it tonight, I didn’t think of Finn. I thought of you.”
Lexa smiled slowly and twisted in Clarke’s arms to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Thank you,” she said, and when she pulled back from Clarke’s mouth she was still smiling. “I…it’s beautiful. I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten me anything before.”
Clarke frowned. “Really?”
Lexa shook her head, still smiling. “Occasionally there are gifts for Heda but never for me before now. Thank you, Clarke.”
They didn’t make love that night. They just laid together on their backs, hands intertwined, and talked about lost loves and gifts that meant nothing and the pressures of being Heda and her Wanheda. When it got well and truly dark, and Clarke began to hide her yawns behind her hands, Lexa got back out of bed.
“Where are you going?”
“The candles must be taken care of, Clarke. Titus is right. You have been a terrible influence on me. I’ve been neglecting them.”
“You’ve been neglecting the candles,” Clarke repeated dryly as she watched Lexa move to the first candle, all bare feet and fluffy hair.
“Yes, Clarke,” Lexa leaned over it and blew it out, lips pursed and eyes closed. “The candles all around Polis represent the flame of the Heda. When I rest so do they, and when I rise so do they.” She moved from candle to candle slowly and steadily, and Clarke watched, propped up against the headboard. Lexa’s skin grew paler with each extinguished flame, the room growing darker by fractions. When she finished with the ones she could reach, she picked up a candle snuffer on a long stick which she used to put out the candles hanging over head. Once the room was lit only by the light of the moon, she turned to Clarke and crawled back into bed. Clarke lifted the furs for her, and Lexa moved beneath them, curling her limbs over Clarke and nestling her head down into her chest. “It’s part of Titus’ job, as Fleimkepa. He’s responsible for putting out all the other candles when I retire to my quarters for the evening, and he’s responsible for lighting them in the morning when I wake up. The candles in here, however, are my responsibility to dampen before I sleep and to light upon waking.”
Clarke smiled smugly at the ceiling, petting her hand over Lexa’s head. “So you’re saying you’ve been ignoring your traditions for me.”
Lexa chuckled and shifted, pulling the wooden deer out from where it had been tucked between their chests to rest it against Clarke’s stomach. “Are you really surprised?”
When Clarke woke in the morning, Lexa was already rubbing circles into Clarke’s arm and, guessing by the sun, it was near lunchtime. Their bodies had shifted apart in the night, but Clarke immediately rolled over to see Lexa smiling at her.
"Mounin, Clarke,” she said quietly.
“Mounin, Heda,” Clarke responded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her Lexa’s cheek. “How did you sleep?”
Lexa tipped her chin to the side to capture Clarke’s mouth. “Perfectly,” she answered against Clarke’s lips, and Clarke saw the red mark where the deer had dug into Lexa’s chest all night as she pulled away.
“Me too,” Clarke agreed sincerely.
The candles were still unlit.