fragile | clexa

chapter fifty nine

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When Lexa came back to her tent, the news of a feast to be held that night had long spread. Indra, the chief of TonDC who was now back in her town, had insisted to hold one despite the larger celebration in Polis. "It's an honor for my town to be the first witness of such a great act. I will hold a feast," had been her words when Lexa had encountered her, and when Indra wanted a feast, then there would be a feast.

Also, it might be a chance for some of the slaves to at least see that they weren't to be hurt, that the people accepted them, wanted to help them, celebrated their saving.

Clarke was still sitting on the bed where Lexa had left her, bandages around hands that held a book, her body still in her dress. She looked up when Lexa entered.

"Hi," Lexa said and hesitantly, Clarke repeated it.

"How did it go with Octavia?" she asked then, nervosly.

"Good. Except that I'm going from cutting Finn's dick in a hundred pieces to a thousand."

"I don't think there's enough... working space for that."

Lexa laughed and nodded. "Probably not."

Clarke got up and put the book aside, reaching for her gloves. "Did you hear about the feast?"

"Yeah, Indra didn't leave room for discussion. Would you like to go?"

"If you do, sure. I mean I spent the whole day in this dress, time for it to get some proper use that isn't Jaha."

"It did have the use that everyone that has seen you so far is absolutely in awe of you."

"In awe of the dress, you mean. It's the gold that's special, not necessarily me inside."

Lexa hummed in disagreement and looked over the dress as if to make sure of her point. "Nope. Definitely you that makes the goddess," she said. "Definitely worthy of some..." Her second hand appeared behind her back, holding the company of roses. "... flowers. I cut them now," she said proudly.

"Where are the spikes?" Clarke asked, taking the bunch of roses like they were out of glass.

"I cut them," Lexa repeated confused.

"The spikes?"

"Yeah, didn't you tell me to cut them? Because you said I shouldn't pick roses because of the blood. It's why I'm a little late, it took a while to cut all the spikes."

With a kind of adoration gleaming in her eyes, Clarke looked at Lexa. "Oh God, you're so sweet."

"What?"

"You cut the roses, not all the spikes. Down at the stem, so you can carefully pick them up and hold where there are no spikes."

"Oh. Well, now you can hold them without hurting yourself."

Clarke smiled and stretched her hand out to caress a small cut on Lexa's cheek. It must've happened during the fight in the bunker's hut. "Thank you. I've never had more perfect roses. Is there an occasion?"

"Well, you only just saved about a 1000 people's lives. And I love you. And I'm proud of you. So proud."

"I just did what I could to help."

Lexa shook her head softly and reached up to the hand that was resting on her cheek. Their fingers intertwined almost by themselves. "I'm so proud of you, Clarke," she repeated. "The word doesn't even fit. You deserve the world. You should know that you do, you should know how strong you are. There's nothing on this Earth that would make fair of it."