fragile | clexa

chapter thirty nine

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It was in the late morning hours that Lexa's and Clarke's peace was interrupted. They hadn't... talked, exactly.

Not about Octavia, not about the kiss, for Lexa's concern not about her crying and for Clarke's concern not about her rule-breaking. They hadn't talked at all in fact, nothing except a tired good morning. Lexa was sitting in the armchair that was serving as more comfortable replacement for the chair in front of Clarke's canvas, and Clarke was sitting in her lap with a brush in both hands, one between her teeth and the rest, Lexa was holding for her.

Due to that, it was a little complicated setting Clarke down to attend to whatever was to be attended to as a guard called for someone wishing to talk. It was also a little complicated because on the tip of Lexa's nose, there was splash of blue paint. Her cheek didn't look better.

"Come in," she called out and placed down one handful of brushes to secure the free arm around Clarke's waist.

The tent flap was moved, there was some rustling and then a man stepped in. "Hed- oh. Um- am I interrupting?"

It was Lincoln. Despite his polite question, you could see that he actually didn't want to be sent back. Lexa set the other hand of brushes and then Clarke down before getting up.

"If you were, you may as well interrupt a few more minutes. What's the matter?"

"Could we possibly discuss this outside?"

Lexa glanced at Clarke. The girl nodded quickly and Lexa sighed. "We can," she permitted, but she made sure they didn't go further than a few steps away from the tent. "What can I help you with, Lincoln?" Lexa asked then.

"My wife... I heard she got arrested and is about to be um- executed," Lincoln said, his usual composure almost gone. "Do you know anything about it? Could I see her one last time? Please."

"Don't tell me your wife's name is Octavia."

"It is! Is she here? What did she do?"

"I think your wife needs to learn how to respect her leader better," Lexa hissed. "Look at my face, and there you only have the evidence that wasn't verbal."

"Octavia didn't do that," Lincoln rather asked than stated, eyes wide and absolutely hopeless. You could see he was near tears. He subconsciously shook his head as he spoke, as if to answer his own question.

"Yes she did. I had her down on the ground and she still yelled at me she'd kill me. She was brought away still yelling. She showed absolute disrespect. The Azgeda ambassador questioned me with a slight undertone and you know his faith. What are you expecting me to do you with your wife after she has degraded, attacked, sworn and attempted to murder me?"

"I- no, no. Why would she do that? I know she has problems with anger sometimes but- why would she do that?"

"Clarke. She appears to be a friend of your wife," Lexa said coldly and Lincoln's face paled impossibly more. He was quiet for several, long seconds.

"Shit. Clarke is that Clarke! Heda. That makes everything way more problematic I believe. Please, for the sake of Clarke, let me talk to Octavia one last time today."

"You will not," Lexa said decidedly. "You won't see her either."

Lincoln's lips quivered before he worried it between his teeth, dipped his head and hurried to leave. Lexa grabbed his arm before he could. "Your wife is very lucky to be your wife and Clarke's friend. She would long be dead if she wasn't. I will find a consequence that is not death, but you may want to inform her that the next time she looks at me the wrong way her blood will nourish the flowers in my backyard. I am not in a way merciful to your wife, I simply aren't a monster to you and Clarke."

"Yes, Heda. Thank yo-"

"And now I want you to tell me exactly what makes the difference between Clarke being any Clarke and Clarke being 'that' Clarke," Lexa demanded so harshly she didn't even notice she cut Lincoln's attempts of expressing his endless gratitude off.

She certainly didn't notice the shadow that had snuck itself behind the other tents.

Their lowered voices didn't stop that shadow from listening and with little steps and red eyes because his mom had been arrested, the shadow ran away as quickly as it could after the conversation between the Heda and the guard had ended. To his friend Erik, his fluffy curly hair in his face, he excitedly told everything he'd heard.

Yeah, it wasn't exactly bad or scary that Lennox had eavesdropped his superhero dad. Not in the immediate aftermath.

But what Lincoln had told spread from Lennox over Erik to friends of Erik and as soon as most of the kids returned home to Polis the next one or two days, the talk spread out over the whole of Polis' children. Literally anything to do with the Heda always spread among them.

And when the kids of Polis talked about something, quite anybody could get the story from them. People heard them that Lincoln had talked to Lexa about extra carefully and quietly. People that had a horse ready just that evening, with a murderous grin, their equally minded companions, blank-polished weapons at their hips and a night of journey ahead of them.

Lexa was a very light sleeper. She had been trained to be. She would have sure noticed the fight outside of the tent the next morning or the guards dropping to the ground. She would have heard two or three attackers dropping to the ground as well.

She wouldn't have come home from a short meeting in the early morning hours, specifically asking if Clarke would like some alone time in safety with the double amount of guards, to what she did come home to.

A pool of blood seeped into the soil very slowly outside. Not wasting a second on if the guards might still be alive, Lexa dashed inside, her heart stopping, her brain working on highest alert and equal panic.

Along the tent's floor, more of the deep red liquid that was pure blood trickled towards Lexa. Everywhere it was. A thick smear along the furs of the bed, a blood-soaked sword on the ground and there, a piece of Clarke's shirt laid torn off on the ground, fully wet and thoroughly bloody.

There was not a sight of anybody. There was not a sight of anybody but the pale corpse on the floor.

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