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Lexa goes to Polis and Clarke follows. Those that were kept in the mountain followed Clarke. Some of them were wounded, and refused to be left behind; Bellamy, Clarke’s second, arranges shifts of walkers dragging travois with the injured.
Clarke ensures that no one is left behind.
There are whispers long before they reach the gates of Polis.
Her warriors mutter around the fires late at night, low enough for Lexa to pretend not to hear. They whisper stories from the battle, gesturing at Clarke and calling her the girl from the sky. The one who broke the mountain.
For as much as her warriors had played a key role, it’d been Clarke who’d stopped the killing by getting to Cage first and holding the cowards life ransom for peace. It’d been Clarke who’d slit his throat anyway.
"You will love it there." Lexa murmured into Clarke’s hair one night, still a week out from Polis. They stood in the ring of shadow just outside of the firelight, quietly.
"I know I will." Clarke whispered back. Peace suited her well, Lexa thought. And the weight of her people no longer bowed her spine so, and she stood up a little straighter in spirit, if not form. Her smiles were genuine, and no longer tight with worry.
"I must admit." Lexa said. "My reasons for wanting to reach Polis are not entirely altruistic."
Clarke blinked.
"Baths." Lexa said solemnly, fighting back a smile at that way Clarke’s eyes grew wide.
"You’re joking." she said, pulling Lexa’s arm so that they face each other fully. "I’m serious, Lexa." Clarke insisted, narrowing her eyes at Lexa’s smirk.
"I tell no lies, heda.” Lexa said, raising her palm as if to make an oath.
"You better not." Clarke said, grumpily. "And stop calling me that. I hear your people do it and it drives me insane."
"Then you will not like what they call those who follow you."
Clarke frowned. “What do they call them?”
Lexa shrugged sheepishly. “Clarkkru.”
Clarke blinked. “That’s terrible.”
Lexa shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Because as much as Clarke wished to protest, to insist that all of the people from the Ark were one, Lexa imagined that she would get a rude awakening when Lexa and the Woods Clan returned to rebuild Ton D.C in the spring. Those who were in power in the sky were loath to hand the reigns over to a girl they perceived as little more than a child- no matter how decisive her victory had been over the mountain men.
There was a divide, now, between those who would follow Clarke wherever she went, and those who would stay behind. The sooner Clarke saw that, the better.
But that was in the dim future, and Lexa was too content in the present, for once, to concern herself.
"Sleep in my tent tonight." Lexa murmured, pressing her lips against the smooth plane of Clarke’s forehead. "The night is turning cold." It was an invitation. It was an 'are you ready?'
Clarke let her fingers reach out and tangle with Lexa’s, their callouses skating past each other as their hands interlaced.
Her smile was a yes.