Chapter Text
Clarke had not intended to fall asleep in Lexa's bed. She hadn't intended to fall asleep in any bed, let alone Lexa's. In fact, she hadn't had much of a plan for sleeping at all that night and yet is still startled when she wakes up and finds herself here — in Lexa's bed .
The sun of another cold, clear morning streams through the tower windows, painting the expanse of Lexa's bedroom in a soft light. The cold does not penetrate to her bare skin, however; a linen sheet separates her from a pile of animal skins, many of which had ended up on the ground the night before but now insulate her from the wind thrumming just beyond the glass. Other than that, the bed is unoccupied.
Clarke can feel an edge of panic cut, cold and clear, through her grogginess as it takes her a moment to recognize where she is. Even so, waking up naked and alone in a room that is not her own leaves her on edge until...she recognizes the sound of Lexa's voice coming from the other side of the room's wooden divider. She speaks quietly in Trigedasleng, a little too quietly for Clarke to pick out specific words, and with the curtain drawn across the bedroom's opening Clarke cannot see her interlocutor. But after a moment, she hears what she thinks must be Elena's voice answering her.
The sound of Lexa’s - and to a lesser extent, Elena’s - voice soothes her panic a little. But not enough to stop her from getting up and pulling her pants back on. It takes her a moment to find them, and by the time she has them on and buttons them up Lexa walks back through the curtain.
"Clarke," she says quietly, stepping through so the curtain falls back into place behind her. She is already dressed, her hair half braided back, and she looks surprised. "Apologies - I did not mean for us to wake you."
“It’s alright, I should’ve been awake an hour ago.” Clarke fumbles with her bra but has it on in the next few seconds. “I don’t know how I slept so late, I don’t usually...” she eyes the bed, a mix of emotions fogging her mind for a moment.
But in the next, she turns back to Lexa and forgets about her anxiety. She looks sort of half ready; dressed, but a little off kilter, a little bit of the Lexa from last night still peeking through. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that the Commander of the Twelve Clans could ever sleep in.”
A flash of Lexa’s smile appears, but it's...hesitant. A little awkward, even, as though she isn't sure where she stands now that the light of day enters the room. " Ever is a strong word," she acknowledges - but it's not a no.
Seeing her dress, Lexa's eyes cast about until they find Clarke's shirt, pooled on the floor with her jacket. She picks them both up and puts the latter on the bed, while crossing to Clarke with the former. "It is early yet, though. You can take your time; I haven't even gone down to training."
“Thanks...” Clarke trails off as their fingers brush when she takes the shirt from Lexa’s hand.
Lexa’s hesitation gives Clarke pause. It’s not as if she’d really planned this far after coming to Lexa’s room last night. Would Lexa expect her to leave, so that she can get ready for her day uninterrupted? Clarke is no stranger to casual sex and would, under normal circumstances, already be gone at this point. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is Lexa.
“Um, would you rather I…” she hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the general direction of the bedroom door. “I don’t want to derail your morning. If you would rather I didn’t, anyway.”
“No! No, it’s alright, don’t--” Lexa catches herself and cuts herself off, her face going a little pink at her outburst. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, and in the process Clarke sees her all but physically rein herself back in. “Please, take your time. Elena and I are just going over the plan for the day.”
Clarke pulls on her shirt and chuckles through the fabric at the way Lexa’s voice forces itself into an entirely unconvincing attempt at casual. “Alright, I’ll take my time,” she says as she does her best to straighten out the wrinkles in the fabric. It’s clearly a losing battle, but she has nothing better to do with her hands. “So is there something in particular going on today, or is an Elena debriefing part of a regular morning?”
The unspoken question, at least to Clarke, feels quite obvious - Is Elena always here at this time, or is she here because Lexa disappeared with Wanheda last night? And with the way Lexa’s eyes cut back towards the divider, she’d guess she was right.
“It is typically how I begin my morning,” the Commander answers, and returns her attention to Clarke. “Elena helps me with my braids, and with organizing my schedule. It makes for an easier day...most days.”
Clarke raises an eyebrow. “But not today?”
“Today is a different sort of day,” Lexa admits, but she doesn’t elaborate. She just sort of...keeps looking at Clarke, as though she isn’t quite sure what to do with herself, or what to say. Which is certainly a strange look for the Commander of the Twelve Clans to have.
Frustrated by the sudden strangeness of this interaction, Clarke takes a tentative step into Lexa’s space. When the Commander doesn’t flinch or move away, Clarke closes the rest of the distance between them and cups her cheek, thumb gently moving across Lexa’s jawline.
“I don’t really know what to do now, either,” Clarke whispers, a soft smile on her lips. “But I do know that the only thing that’s different between now and last night is that there’s sunlight. And, I suppose, Elena.”
“She can be trusted,” Lexa is quick to say - and the fact that that is the takeaway for her is enough to make Clarke shake her head.
“Obviously. I meant that I don’t feel any differently now than I did last night. I’m still here.” Instinctively, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand with her unoccupied one and presses it to her own chest. Her heartbeat is fast enough now, pumping with adrenaline, that she’s sure Lexa can feel it. “See? You can touch me and everything, I won’t disappear.”
There is a certain ease that falls over Lexa then, swiftly settling into her shoulders and jaw. Her expression softens and her eyes grow fond, the smallest of smiles tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. She tips her forehead against Clarke’s and whispers: “Thank you.”
Clarke nudges Lexa’s nose up with her own until she can press a kiss to her mouth. It’s slow and soft, but no longer hesitant. Uniquely relaxed and familiar in a way that none of their past kisses have been. For some reason, this fact makes Clarke’s heart pound even harder against her ribs.
“Is this alright?” Clarke asks, still close enough that their lips brush as she speaks.
By way of answer Lexa’s hands find Clarke’s hips, and she tugs Clarke back for another kiss. She’s smiling before they pull away. “It is more than alright.”
“Good,” Clarke grins back. “I don’t really know how to do this whole morning after thing, but I do know that I’d like to keep doing that.”
“We can figure out together, then,” Lexa answers, and uses the opportunity of their closeness to sweep some of Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “Perhaps the first step is to finish getting ready.”
“Seems like a good suggestion. I could just stay here while you…do whatever it is you need to do?” Clarke glances over Lexa’s shoulder as she remembers that Elena is, quite literally, right around the corner. “I’ll just read for a bit. Stay out of your and Elena’s way.”
“Of course,” Lexa nods. “Will you be training with Ronnie today?”
“That was the plan. Is that still alright? I doubt he’ll think much of us arriving together.”
“It would not be the first time we were there before him.” Lexa offers her one last smile before turning and sweeping the curtain aside.
To her credit, Elena barely looks surprised to see Clarke step through from the bedroom behind Lexa. It’s there for only a moment, and then gone so fast that Clarke almost doesn’t catch it; she replaces it with a smile and a slight incline of her head. “ Wanheda .”
Lexa resumes the spot on the couch she’d clearly previously occupied, a smattering of papers scattered on the low table in front of it and Elena waiting expectantly behind it. She settles into her work as Clarke flops into a chair across from them, takes a look around, and picks up the book within reach that has the most promising title: The Lord of the Rings . She props the thick leather-bound tome against her thighs, cracks it open, and dives in.
Clarke is vaguely aware of a low exchange between Lexa and Elena in Trigedasleng as she reads, but after a few minutes even their voices fade into the background. This book is sp immediately different from anything she’s ever read that Clarke is quickly consumed by it to the detriment of all else. To the point where Lexa has to say her name several times before Clarke, bleary and confused, finally looks up from her book.
“Sorry, what?”
Lexa’s lips pull into a small smile, a look of adoration in her eyes. “I asked if you need anything before we go out.”
“Oh, right,” Clarke swings her legs back into a seated position and ponders that. “Nothing really, I have my jacket from…” her eyes catch Elena’s, “last night. Otherwise, I don’t think - oh.” Realization finally dawns as she looks down at the book in her lap and she catches sight of her shirtsleeves. “I may need a new shirt. Plenty of people saw me wearing this yesterday.”
Elena shoots a glance down at the back of Lexa’s head, but the Commander doesn’t miss a beat. “You can use one of mine,” she says, and stands.
“I - really?” Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks conspicuously from Lexa, down to her chest, and back up again, not even bothering to hide her train of thought. “Are you sure?”
Lexa’s eyes have followed Clarke’s and her face goes a little pink as they remain solidly fixed on her cleavage. Clarke has to put her book down with a heavier than necessary thud to get Lexa’s eyes to snap back up again. “I have older shirts that have loosened with use,” she says, and walks back into the bedroom. “And every one of them is either black or grey.”
“What a surprise,” Clarke mumbles, knowing only Elena could possibly hear her. The other woman does allow the corner of her mouth to turn up in a nearly imperceptible smirk before Lexa returns and she quickly schools her expression back into place.
It takes a moment of digging, but Lexa eventually unearths a long sleeved shirt that was probably once black, but has long since faded to grey. Clarke switches quickly from her henley to the borrowed shirt, and finds that it is indeed made soft and roomy by age. She tosses her coat on top and they’re set.
They head down to the training pitch in relative silence, a few comfortable comments being exchanged. Lexa seems...not distracted, but focused elsewhere - contemplating the workout to come, perhaps, as they take the lift downwards. No fresh snow has fallen since the previous morning, meaning the paths that had been cut through the few inches are still there, and the pitch itself is still clear. Nevertheless, frost crunches beneath their boots as they go.
Once there, Lexa unties her sword and leans it against the fence, then unbuckles her belt and the close of her coat. Those she leans against the fence as well, and in a thick long sleeved shirt and gloves, she turns to Clarke.
"Ronnie has been teaching you to stretch, hasn't he?" she asks, already pulling one arm across her chest.
“Um...” Clarke raises an eyebrow as Lexa bends a knee and pulls her foot back behind her. “No, he hasn’t. Is this an essential skill I’m missing?”
"I don't know that it's an essential skill," she answers, amused, "but it is a wise thing to do before or after training. Here - do as I do."
Clarke attempts to mimic Lexa's actions, but it's harder than it looks. The motion she's making where her knee is bent and she's grabbing her foot also involved balancing on one foot, which proves surprisingly difficult. She prefers the next one, which involves bending one arm behind her head and pulling on her elbow. It looks ridiculous, but actually does seem to relieve some tension in her shoulders she didn't realize was there.
"This is something you'd think I'd know," Clarke muses as Lexa drops into a new position. She keeps her feet together, legs straight, and bends at the waist to touch her toes. "What with the whole training to become a doctor thing."
"It is a little surprising," Lexa admits, "but in my experiences it can also be quite overlooked." Standing back up from her stretch after several seconds, she frowns a little at Clarke. "What did you do to stay strong on the Ark?"
"Strength wasn't exactly a necessity." Clarke shrugs. "Not like it is here, anyway. We had a room with pads and makeshift weight and some people liked to box or wrestle. It was either that, or running. Lots of running. We had a short track that you could physically run around, but most of us used machines to run on." Lexa looks utterly perplexed by this, so Clarke attempts to explain. "Basically you run on a short, flat surface that's covered with a moving belt. You can make the belt move faster or slower, and the faster it moves the faster you have to run to stay on top of the machine. Does that make sense at all?"
"The... machine does, yes," Lexa says, leaving the fact that the concept of running in place itself escapes her. "You did not have much room, I imagine?"
Clarke nods. "An understatement. But really I think the reason we didn't have as much emphasis on exercise or sports - beyond the necessity - was because we didn't need them. We needed engineers and doctors and scientists, for the same reason that you need warriors. We were trying to prepare ourselves and learn the survival skills we thought we'd need when we came back to Earth." Clarke grabs a practice sword and swings it a few times. Stretching really did help extend and relax her muscles. "Turns out we should've been learning to use these the whole time, huh?"
"Perhaps." Lexa watches her, an unmasked fondness in her eyes. "But you have weapons of your own - weapons that my people have struggled to counter for a generation now. Teaching yourself how to survive in a hostile world, however..."
She leaves her discarded clothing behind, and crosses to the equipment pile as well. Kneeling in the snow, she has one weighted bag slung over each of her shoulders, just as she did when Clarke was spying on her a handful of days ago. "I have heard you did not even have trees on the Ark."
Clarke snorts at the word hostile. Another understatement. “No trees,” she confirms instead of voicing her thoughts aloud. “No plants, really. We were able to grow some things, but not much, and what we could grow had to be rationed and used sparingly. That is one thing I do love about being down here. Forests, and trees. Life everywhere.” She grins as Lexa settles the bags on her shoulders. Instead of mimicking her actions, Clarke hops up onto the fence and rests the wooden sword over her shoulder. “And that there are more options for exercise than just running.”
"Yes, well." Lexa bounces upwards, popping the bags up so they settle differently on her shoulders. "Sometimes, the most basic ways are the best ways. I'll be back."
"I'll be here."
Clarke watches her run off and disappear around the side of the tower a minute later. She could start on exercises of her own, but Ronnie will be here soon enough. Instead she props the wooden sword on the fence next to her and digs a blank piece of paper and charcoal from her pocket. From where she sits, she can see the almost two thirds of the tower. Framed against a lightening sky, higher than anything for hundreds of miles around. Aside from mountains, anyway. She sketches it absently, noting significant structures like the elevator, the peak of the tower, and the lower wall surrounding it. Her home now, at least for a few months. The thought isn't unpleasant, but when she thinks of her room - of her favorite chair and the books she's become used to falling asleep with, of a bed as of yet un-slept in - it doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel like hers.
Her hand slips a little and the charcoal smudges her outline. Clarke frowns in frustration and gently wipes it out as best she can, leaving her with a slightly greyed smudge on an otherwise white paper.
Every so often, a glance up is met by the dark figure of the Commander coming around the tower's side again. All black and grey against the snow, Lexa follows the path cut through it to ease the difficulty of keeping her feet. Her face is red with exertion, and her breath clouds in white puffs in front of her as she goes, the sound of it drawing to mind...other sounds Lexa had made the night before, sending blood rushing to Clarke's face as well. It is, of course, the only time in her three passes around the foot of the tower that Lexa looks up at her, flashing a smile that seems far too easy for the work she's doing, and that only makes it worse.
When her final circuit is complete, Lexa does not attempt the vault over the fence that sent her sprawling in the dirt last time Clarke was watching. Instead she slows to a jog as she approaches the fence, and comes to a stop a few feet from where Clarke is standing. She watches her as Lexa swings the bags off her shoulder and slings them over the top of the fence. "Are you drawing?"
“Sketching,” Clarke confirms and hands the paper to Lexa as she approaches. “Got a little distracted somewhere along the way though.” She indicates the smudge in the center of the drawing and shrugs. “When there are too many attractive things to look at, I sometimes find it hard to focus.”
Lexa looks back up, and it's clear that it takes her a moment to realize that Clarke is talking about her. When she does, it looks like her face goes just a little bit redder. "You included the lift," she says, turning the paper around to indicate it to Clarke - as though she hadn't just drawn it herself a moment ago. "It's quite impressive."
“Thank you,” Clarke smirks. “Just trying to be accurate.” She folds the paper up and pockets it. A strong urge to take a step forward - and she would barely even need one step, Lexa is right there - and close the space between them overtakes Clarke for a moment. But she stops herself, not sure how Lexa would feel about it out here in the open. And a second later, when Ronnie comes trotting around the corner of the tower, she has her answer: they both instantly take a step back, Clarke to turn and face him and Lexa to... well, presumably not be so close to Clarke.
“You’re late!” Clarke calls at him.
"Late??" Ronnie calls back in a cry. His arms go up at the same time, and then he points at the sun above his head. "I'm right on time!"
“I don’t know...” Clarke pulls a dramatic frown and looks up at the sun. “I got here before you, so it seems likely that you’re late.”
"What!"
"She is right, you know," Lexa adds helpfully, looking sidelong at Clarke. There's amusement in her eyes as she continues, "A teacher should never arrive later than their student."
"I'm not late!" The boy protests, just a handful of feet from them now. "We set a specific time to meet, and it is now, currently, that time, which means--"
“I suppose I’ll forgive you.” Clarke can’t keep the smile from her voice. “Just this once.”
Ronnie sighs his exasperation, then turns to Lexa and puts his fist over his heart, inclining his head. "Monin, Heda."
"Monin, Natblidda," she answers, repeating the gesture back to him. She continues in Trigedasleng, "Are you ready for the day?"
"Sha, Heda," he answers, and drops his salute. "I have rested, and am ready for all it holds for me. "
"Good." Lexa folds her hands behind her, and looks to Clarke. "I will leave you both to it, then."
Clarke nods her acknowledgement. “Enjoy your training, Lexa.”
The Commander goes about her usual morning routine, which leaves Clarke and Ronnie to their own devices.
“I’m sorry I teased you,” she says as she tosses him a wooden sword. “I should be nicer to my teacher. Especially since you’ll be stuck with me for a while now.”
"Yeah! I heard your people left to go to Arkadia already," he says, catching the sword and giving it a spin. "But you're still here. Does that mean you'll be staying through the winter?"
The way he spins it gives Clarke pause, and then she chuckles when she realizes: it’s exactly the way she’d been spinning her sword a few minutes ago.
“It does. You’ll be stuck with me for at least another few months.”
"Good. I was worried you were gonna leave before I got tired of kicking your butt."
With a practice sword already in hand, Ronnie seems unwilling to make room for staves. Instead, he has Clarke pick up the pair of false daggers he provided for them a few days ago, and they spend the morning practicing with them. As such, Clarke is much less bruised by the time she turns around and finds Helena watching them.
"Looks like I taught you to move your feet better," she calls, grinning at her.
“You gave me a lot to imitate,” Clarke calls over her shoulder, “and I’ve been told I’m a fast learner.” She catches his sword with the dagger in her right hand and turns it, managing to tap him on the shoulder with her left before he dances away.
“Nice!” Ronnie whoops, as if he’d been the one to hit her. “Okay now do it again.”
She doesn't do that again. Not initially, anyway; put on the spot to recreate her success, Clarke isn't able to meet Ronnie's changing pattern of movement in a way that allows her to land the same strike. But as the morning wears on and the end of their training draws closer, Ronnie becomes a little less focused. She can't quite put her finger on it, but Clarke can tell that he isn't entirely engaged in what they're doing and - perhaps worse - has started holding back. As such, she's able to clip him with a wooden dagger twice more before they close for the day, a new best for sparring like this.
"That's the first time I've gotten that many hits on you, ever," Clarke muses aloud as they stow the equipment back where it belongs, "and I've been getting lessons from a trained warrior for maybe two weeks." She eyes Ronnie, who's methodically fingering through the training swords in search of his favorite. "You okay, Ronnie?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah - sorry, I'm just," he tips his head to the far side of the field, where Lexa is busy putting her coat back on. "Thinking about training. You did good, though! You moved really quick today, that's why you hit me so many times."
Clarke follows his line of sight and watches Lexa. "I have a good teacher. But what's got you so nervous about training today?"
"It's, um." He finds the sword he's looking for, and wiggles it until he can pull it out of the barrel. He gives it a spin, and looks for a moment as though he might switch it out. "Every so often, we go one on one with Heda, in front of everyone." He frowns. "I've never won."
Clarke has to physically hold back a scoff and words that she's sure would come out as Well, duh. She swallows and clears her throat, smoothing her voice of any amusement. "That sounds intimidating, but has anyone ever won? I can't imagine there's any shame in losing to the Commander."
"There isn't. Not really," he answers with a shrug. "But...we need to be at least as good as her. If not better. And the sooner we are, the better - it's what makes us worthy of carrying the Flame, and what keeps our people strong. If Heda dies before one of us is strong enough..."
"Lexa is not going to die."
Both Clarke and Ronnie look equally surprised by the vehemence of that statement. "I mean. She will, someday," Clarke attempts to clarify, "but not anytime soon. Not if I have anything to say about it. That being said," she adds with a wink, "I do hope you win. She could stand to get her ass kicked now and again."
A tentative grin answers that. "I wouldn't say that too loudly," Ronnie says. Boots in the frost announce Lexa's approach, and he glances over Clarke's shoulder at her. Around the corner, the sound of Nightbloods approaching echoes across the snow. "But it would be nice to be that good."
"Natblidda," Lexa says in Trigedasleng. She's adjusting the fit of one of her gloves when she comes into view, stopping beside Clarke. "Yu gud?"
"Sha, Heda," Ronnie says, inclining his head.
"Good. Go join the others."
Clarke gives him a reassuring nod and he smiles a little wider before running over to meet the other Nightbloods.
“You’re sparring the Nightbloods today?” Clarke turns to Lexa.
Lexa looks at her from the corner of her eye. "It's a test," she says, sorting through the collection of practice swords.
“Sure.” Clarke hops up on the fence next to them and shrugs. She glances to their right and sees Helena making her way over. “A child fighting the world’s greatest - or at least, most well known - warrior seems like a totally reasonable test.
"Most of them have fought much worse than I," she answers, neither particularly amused nor wholly terse. "And those that haven't are sure to, soon enough. They need to be ready."
“I’m sure that’s true,” Clarke makes a show of a dramatic sigh. “I was trying to tease you, but you really do know how to take the fun out of it.”
She detects just the slightest of smirks on Lexa's lips as she draws her chosen 'blade' from the pile. "You know I can't make it easy for you," she says, her voice low, "you might get bored otherwise."
She flips the practice sword in her hand to test its weight and, apparently satisfied, walks off with little more than that.
“It would be nice if it were easy even some of the time,” Clarke mutters, largely to herself.
Helena reaches her in the next instant, a far more pronounced smirk painted across her face. “Did you enjoy the show?” Clarke asks as the other woman hops gracefully onto the fence next to her.
"I enjoyed that show, whatever it was," she says, nodding at Lexa's retreating form. "You even got her to smile. What ever did you say to her?"
“That she should consider having a sense of humor now and again.” Clarke shrugs. “That was the essence of it, anyway.”
"Mm." Helena's heels bounce off the fence's wooden slats. "I'm impressed that made her smile. She usually just scowls at me when I suggest that."
“Maybe she likes me better than you.”
The Nightbloods have all gathered in front of them now to choose practice swords. Ronnie has always been partial to a certain sword, but today each of them seems to inspect them more carefully. As if a divot or notch here and there will be the difference between victory and defeat.
In the end, some of them settle on quarterstaffs, others on swords, yet others supplement with one of the daggers, as Helena had. It would appear that today, anything goes in the name of victory.
"Mmmmmm, not possible," Helena hums, and winks approvingly at the young Nightblood - who couldn't have been older than eight - who chose the sword and dagger combo. "There's no one she likes better than me."
Clarke laughs, startling the Nightblood in question - but a smile from her is instantly reciprocated. “It’s too bad she’s stuck with me for three months and not you, in that case.”
"It's true. I can only imagine the endless frustration you'll cause her - what little sanity will remain intact, by the time I come back."
Lexa looks over her shoulder at the commotion, momentarily suspicious of the sound. When she meets Clarke's eyes, she raises an eyebrow.
"In reality though," Helena sighs, watching the Nightbloods move back into formation with their chosen weapons. Kita has affixed a false blade to the end of her quarterstaff, arming herself with a spear. "I'll bet she's glad you're staying."
“I’m sure the frustration will be mutual.” Clarke meets Lexa’s gaze and raises her eyebrows in kind. The Commander shakes her head and returns to the task at hand. “Why do you think she’s glad?”
Helena snorts. "Because she won't be alone," she says, in a tone that suggests the obviousness of this. Across the pitch, the Nightblood's trainer has arrived, and they form up in front of the Commander.
"Though, she does seem to like you," Helena sighs, leaning forward just a little to rest her weight on her hands, which in turn are propped on the top of the fence. "Not as much as me, obviously, but more than a lot of others. Not that I can fathom why."
“And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was so hoping you’d come to appreciate my charm.” Clarke can’t hear exactly what Lexa says to the Nightbloods, but it seems to be something most have heard before as they nod along. The youngest seem more nervous than the others, but the older ones have a hand on their shoulders or a reassuring smile for them. It makes it a little easier to think of them as just kids training to become warriors, and not warriors trained by Lexa for the purpose of replacing her someday.
“I’m glad she won’t be alone too,” Clarke hums, half in response to her own thoughts.
"I'm sure you are." The Floukru chieftain looks at her from the corner of her eye. "You seem to like her too, more than most. Which is even less fathomable still."
“How’s that?” Clarke hops down from her perch to lean against the fence next to Helena. Easier to talk, and more comfortable if she’s going to be standing around here for a while. “You don’t think highly of our fearless Commander?”
"Our?" Helena repeats slyly. "Interesting choice of word."
This test of the Nightbloods begins with the youngest of them. Her sword in hand, Lexa doesn't pull her punches, per se; she scores a point wherever there's an opening, but she keeps up a near constant stream of coaching as she does. While there are a number of gaps in the smaller Nightbloods' defenses, they're still surprisingly capable.
"But no, of course I do," Helena goes on. "But I also know what a pain she can be, and though I love her, I am fairly baffled by the idea that anyone else could."
“She is a pain, that much I’ll grant you.” Clarke chooses her words carefully, and flips her attention from a particularly small Nightblood falling on his butt fully back to Helena. “But I think for some - not many, but some - good reasons. Losing someone you love can make you a difficult person to get close to. I’m told.”
Helena snorts. "You're told. I'm sure." She sighs, and pushes some snow off the top of the fence with the tip of her finger. "There are good reasons, of course. It's one thing I love about her; she never does anything without good reason."
“Or a reason she thinks is good,” Clarke scoffs, “more to the point.” Her mouth turns in a small smile. “You’re right, she is going to drive me insane.”
Helena shakes her head. "You're going to drive each other insane," she says, and turns a grin on her. "Just promise me you'll keep her safe?"
“I will,” Clarke promises, and though she’s still smiling, she means it as much as always. The number of times she’s found herself in a situation where she has to insist that she, just Clarke, will keep the Commander of the Twelve Clans safe is getting a little ridiculous. But even so, as much as she’d like to make light of that fact, she can never quite bring herself to. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe, that much I can promise. But I can’t imagine there will be too much to protect her from in Polis. Aside from boring politics.”
"Even those are a threat," Helena sighs, and for a beat she's serious. But then she follows it up with, "She could die of boredom."
The Floukru chieftain keeps up a running commentary from her perch next to Clarke, directing attention here and there to the mistakes and nice moves made by the Nightbloods in turn. The young ones are particularly ferocious for being so small, and even as Lexa deals with them handily, Clarke envisions getting her butt handed to her by an eight year old. One boy in particular, who had opted to fight with a sword in each hand, reminded Clarke of Octavia with the way he threw himself at the Commander with reckless abandon. Unlike Octavia, however, Lexa is not afraid to hit him where his attacks leave him open, and reprimand him for it.
"If you are going to fight like a berserker," she tells him disapprovingly, "You have to at least be fast."
There's a girl who comes at her with an axe, which Clarke has never seen before, and then another fights with sword and dagger. And then it's Ronnie's turn, with just his sword.
He doesn’t look nervous, just focused: he stands and moves with confidence and his expression is calculating, with just the littlest hint of excitement. An interpretation of “focused” that only Ronnie manages.
“Ronnie was distracted this morning, he let me get more hits in than usual,” Clarke muses. Helena had been leaning casually against the fence but now her back is straight, her attention more firmly on the fight in front of her. “He seemed very determined to win. More determined than I’ve ever seen him.”
"From what I understand, he takes the whole "being worthy of Heda' thing very seriously," she says, watching the two black-clad figures square off. "I mean, they all do - it's what they were born to do. But where others are concerned about the Flame, he's more concerned about her."
Clarke frowns as she considers the potential meaning of that. “He and I have that in common. But what do you mean?”
"You'll have to ask her," Helena says with a shrug. The sound of wood on wood rings out as Lexa takes a few test shots at Ronnie's defenses. "The Nightbloods are trained to be the Commander's successor, not Lexa's specifically. I think maybe he misses the distinction."
“Maybe he admires the kind of leader she is,” Clarke says, and gives a low whistle as Ronnie very narrowly avoids a swipe to the head. “Maybe he hopes to be the same, someday. Certainly he would be easier to deal with than Lexa.”
"Easier for some, maybe," Helena grins.
With the formalities out of the way, the fight between Commander and Nightblood begins in earnest. Ronnie is careful in his attacks; many of the advances he makes against Lexa are meant to draw out her defenses rather than score points, challenging her to recover after being overdrawn or risk leaving herself open. It's a good strategy, and it's clear from Lexa's coaching that she's impressed.
Nevertheless, he does not succeed in getting through her defenses. He's able to keep her at bay for some time - longer than the other Nightbloods were able to, that's for certain - and those watching often need to move out of the way as they battle back and forth. But a surprise burst of strength from Lexa batters down one of his parries, and she knocks the sword from his hand.
“Impressive,” Clarke muses aloud to Helena as Ronnie makes a show of an exasperated sigh. “I told him there’s no shame in losing to Lexa. I’m sure he’ll be grouchy about it, but I think he put up a good fight.”
"Not as good a one as he would have hoped, I'm sure," Helena says. Lexa shakes out her hand and fixes her glove again as Kita now steps forward. "But you're not wrong. He's scary good - probably at least as good as Lexa was at his age."
“He’s also not as good as Kita,” Clarke watches the girl in question test her spear’s weight with a few practice swings, “but don’t tell him I said so. Seems odd that they would be tested from youngest to oldest - effectively saving the best for last. Lexa has to be tired after all this.”
"Yeah, but it means letting the younger Natbliddas think about the mistakes they made, and see how the older ones deal with the same issues," Helena shrugs. "And Lexa's whole thing is that she's strong; she can handle it. Or at least, is supposed to."
The Commander certainly doesn't look worn out, standing with her back straight as Kita swings her spear about. She rakes it out in a wide arc to one side, making other Nightbloods draw back as its point skims the frozen ground near their feet, then she pulls it back in and spins it between her hands. First to one side, then to the other in a flourish that looks to be more dance than violence, she brings it to a stop with the blunt end behind her back. The rest of the shaft she locks beneath one arm, the point directed out and towards the ground, as she steps back into a fighting stance. Her free hand, unarmed, is bent and ready in front of her as her eyes settle on Lexa's.
As before, Lexa makes a few test strikes at her opponent. The eldest Nightblood refuses to meet her blade, however; instead of moving her spear from where it's set at her side, she spins one way, and then the other to avoid the blade entirely. For someone whose main weapon is her strength - so says Ronnie, whose lips are twisted with the intensity of his focus on the fight - she is extremely light on her feet.
It seems that she has been testing Lexa as much as the Commander has been testing her, as after the fourth strike she spins out with her spear, and swipes in a wide arc at Lexa's side. She fails to catch that this particular attempt at hitting her is a feint, however, as the spot that would have been left open by Lexa's attack - the same that had been left open after Lexa's previous attacks - is suddenly covered by her sword. The wood of the haft cracks against the blade of the training sword, and Kita beats a hasty retreat. Lexa smirks.
"Good," she says.
"Okay so the spear is pretty cool," Clarke says and Helena chuckles. "I think my defense against that would be 'run away.'"
Helena laughs at that, and the outburst this time draws not even a glance from the Nightbloods. "I think that might end up being Lexa's defense, too."
Sure enough, when Kita goes on the attack this time it's with wide, sweeping swings of the spear, using its extended reach to her advantage. Lexa is forced to give ground in the face of this tactic, deflecting the spear on occasion with the side of her blade, but largely prevented from probing much deeper beyond its established radius. The strategy behind choosing the spear quickly becomes evident, and its significance is not lost on Lexa.
"Keeping a stronger opponent at a distance," she says, even as she fails once more to get so much as a step closer to Kita. "A wise decision. But be careful--"
Kita makes another strong sweep, but instead of dancing away, Lexa steps into it. With a mighty swing of her own, she brings her sword down on top of the spearhead, and Kita's weight, already overextended, isn't enough to stop the point from being driven into the ground. Her eyes go wide, already knowing her mistake before Lexa steps forward and kicks her in the gut.
"Not to wear yourself out too quickly," the Commander finishes.
The blow has knocked Kita backwards, but she's able to wrench the spear backwards and shove the back of the haft into the ground. With that as a fulcrum, she catches her weight and spins, eating the momentum of the kick and regaining her balance. Clarke can hear her wheeze, even from this distance, as she fights to regain the breath the blow knocked from her - but without that, she wouldn't have known anything was wrong. Kita's face remains impassively determined, the spear now held close to her chest and between her hands in a defensive position.
The fight moves back and forth for several minutes more, both combatants much closer to each other now that Kita keeps more of her weight behind her spear. Nevertheless, she keeps Lexa on her toes with its extended reach; Kita has to be careful not to put her spear in range of Lexa's sword, as even a real haft would fail to stand up to a sharpened steel sword for too long, but Lexa's sword presents little defense against the jabs that the longer weapon is capable of. Where swords and knives could be turned aside, it's the Commander who has to turn aside to avoid the spear tip when it comes seeking after her. As a result, this fight between student and teacher is much more physical than the previous ones, with both fighters resorting to the use of fists and feet while their weapons are stuck engaging the other's.
A particularly vicious sequence - in which a number of close-quarter exchanges push Lexa to step past Kita, allowing the Nightblood to spin around and make a low sweep with her spear, making Lexa jump over it like a jump rope - culminates in a jab that makes Lexa's hand snap up and close around the haft. With a grunt she stops the spear from probing any closer...but not before it is immensely clear that the tip of the spear hovers just to the left of her heart. Had this been a real fight, and had Kita intended to kill her, a blow like that would have done a great deal of harm. And just like that, the fight is over.
Kita has beaten the Commander.
Clarke had been watching the two warriors with growing interest, analyzing the way they seemed to constantly evaluate and reevaluate each other. Lexa had the advantage most of the time but Kita clearly knows her Commander well - that was clear before, but abundantly so now that she's obviously passed this test.
The Nightbloods are tense, no one daring to move or say a word, and for several seconds both Kita and Lexa stand there, chests heaving and fighting for breath. Clarke raises her hands and starts to clap; slowly and relatively softly, but it rings clear over the silence of the training pitch.
The Nightbloods turn as one towards the sound, expressions ranging from bafflement to annoyance. But Helena joins a moment later, and when Ronnie meets Clarke's eyes, he grins a little and starts to clap as well. Before long, most - but not all - of the Nightbloods have joined in, creating a small scattering of applause that makes Kita look bashful and Lexa beam.
Those three Nightbloods who do not offer their congratulations just scowl, and it isn't clear if they're scowling at Clarke or at Kita.
"Guess your friend isn't wrong," Helena says, looking at Clarke. "No one fights like the Nightbloods."
"No," Clarke smiles at the look on Lexa's face - all pride and excitement. She's seen more smiles from the Commander in the last twenty-four hours than the entire time Clarke has known her. It's tempting to get used to it. "No, they don't. Good thing I have one for a teacher."
With the formal test concluded, the Nightblood's regular trainer - whose partially shaved head and tattoos Clarke now recognizes as the marks of a Flamekeeper, reminiscent of Titus' - has them set up training dummies, and puts them to thinking about and working on the feedback provided to them by Lexa during their individual fights. The Commander herself tucks her practice sword under her arm and undoes the button at the wrist of her gloves, all while heading back to the barrel of practice blades. As she approaches she raises her eyes to Clarke and Helena in turn, as both still stand near that end of the equipment pile.
"Nicely done, Commander," Helena hums. "You really showed those kids who's boss."
"One of those kids put you through your paces yesterday," Lexa says, stuffing her removed gloves in a pocket of her coat. Who even knew the thing had pockets. "My training choices are clearly effective."
"Clearly," Clarke agrees. She watches as Kita trades her spear for a sword and attacks the dummy, her movements nearly identical to those Lexa had used while fighting Ronnie. "Good thing they won't be facing you in battle anytime soon."
"Speeeeeaking of." Helena presses her palms together, and angles her aligned fingers in Lexa's direction. "We should probably discuss that mess with Yuujleda today."
"Mm." Lexa waits for the Nightbloods to put their equipment away, then takes her turn to stuff the practice sword back in its barrel. "We have kept them waiting long enough. If we ignore it for much longer, they might decide to take it into their own hands."
"We could include Clarke," the chieftain suggests, tipping her head towards Clarke even as she speaks as though she isn't there.
Clarke rolls her eyes. "By all means, include me." She raises an eyebrow at Helena, waiting until the other woman meets her eyes. "I am standing right here, after all. You may as well."
"It has nothing to do with Skaikru," Lexa says, as though Clarke hasn't spoken.
"No," Helena admits with a shrug, "but the whole point of her being here is that she gets integrated in Polis politics. This would be a good place to start, don't you think?"
"A fair point." Lexa's eyes turn to Clarke, surveying her a moment before amending, "If it is something she would be interested in doing."
"Fantastic!" Helena claps her hands together, and looks at Clarke. "Now I don't know about you," she says, "but I'm hungry. And you," she pointedly looks Lexa up and down, "are sweaty." Lexa raises an eyebrow, but doesn't interrupt as Helena goes on, "Perhaps we should reconvene in the throne room in an hour's time?"
"I don't know why I bother speaking when the two of you are together," Clarke says, and earns barely a glance from either woman. She sighs, exasperated, and takes a few steps back toward the tower. "I wouldn't mind cleaning up myself, though," she says, looking pointedly at Lexa. That does manage to get the Commander's attention, and Clarke smirks before turning fully and waving absently behind her. "I'll see you both in an hour."
"Perfect!" Helena calls, even as she can feel Lexa's eyes lingering on her. "See you then!"