Lightning Only Strikes Once - Clexa

Chapter 132: Our Story

The tattooist pricks Lexa's upper left arm with the needle so quickly and expertly that she cannot feel a thing. In an hour or so, perhaps she will – it is her left side that is injured, after all. Perhaps the others believe she is getting it on that side just because her right arm already bears one of the Commander's tattoos, or even believe it is foolish to get the bonding tattoo there while still injured, but Lexa thinks it is fitting.

Her lingering injury means her left side will always be vulnerable in battles, just as Clarke's broken ankle may weaken her right side. Lexa will strengthen her right arm further and grow used to fighting more fiercely with it, but her left arm will never be quite the same. However, this does not matter. This tattoo is a symbol telling the world that she will always have someone fighting by her side, so the injury that appears to be a weakness is in fact a strength. Clarke will cover Lexa's weak left side. She will cover Clarke's weak right. They will still be far stronger than if either of them fought alone.

Clarke holds her right hand tightly now, the other tattooist working steadily away at her design. Despite the prick of the needles, the drinks and food spread around them, and the bright chatter of stories and blessings provided by their guests, they cannot look away from each other. Every part of Lexa's focus is on Clarke. The heat of her body, the curve of her smile, the smell of her hair. The stories are simply background music to it.

"I've known Clarke my whole life. Once when I was five, some older boys were bullying me, and Clarke stepped in front of me and said 'how dare you hurt my friend!' and glared them down like they were nothing. She was so tiny and pretty that she shouldn't have been threatening at all, but she had this look in her eyes as if she could face down armies. I think some part of me knew, even back then, that someday she would face down armies. But I never imagined that there was someone in the world who could match Clarke's intelligence, her fierceness, her desire to do what's right, her belief in people, her sheer force of character – not until we came down here. Back when we were up on the Ark, I never realised that she wouldn't be facing down those armies alone. Now I know she'll never have to face anything alone, because she found Lexa, and Lexa found her."

The gifts from the clans are piled before them now, a haphazard assortment of carved chess pieces, lizard wine, finely made saddles, dried ocean delicacies. A wolf cub snores in Clarke's lap, creating a picture Lexa finds as heartwarming as she does amusing – Roan claims the beast is well-trained, but she has her doubts. She attributes its easy affection towards Clarke as being because – well, it is Clarke. How could anyone, even a wolf cub, fail to love Clarke?

"Heda was the smallest Natblida when she arrived, as well as the quietest. Because she was silent, because she watched and did not speak, she saw more than anyone else could see – when she first looked at me I thought she could see my spirit and it swore allegiance to her before I did. I still believe that to be true. At times I could see flashes of her spirit as well, not just the Commander spirit that chose her, but the spirit that Lexa kom Trikru had before she ever won the Conclave. A true spirit, a wise spirit. Nearly always she held it quietly within her, like so much else, but when you watched her fight or speak or smile you could see the edges of it. I believe she could not let us see more without blinding us. In Clarke kom Skaikru she has found someone not blinded by her spirit, but willing to meet it and match it. She has found someone who does not just understand her burdens but shares them..."

The tattooist takes a moment to wipe away the excess ink and blood. Lexa is always more difficult to tattoo accurately than other people, her black blood mixing with the ink and making it difficult to tell the two apart. Clarke's tattooist is finding it easier, her red blood bright against the dull grey of the needle and black of the ink.

"...So my brother came staggering out of the tent, all white-faced, talking about the Commander like she was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen, some kind of demon or whatever. We thought Clarke would be coming out of that tent in pieces, the way he was talking. The minutes just kept ticking by and everything was so quiet we could hear our own breathing and all the Trikru around us started muttering quietly to each other and putting their hands on their weapons just in case. Then Anya kom Trikru went inside to check, and the next thing we knew, Clarke and Heda walked out together. They were standing close to each other and for the next week I never saw them further apart than twenty feet, I swear. And the way they talked, it was like they could read each other's minds. Like they were the only people who got each other, and the only ones who could make the kind of choices they make, and make them so well. It still seems like that. It's incredible."