Only those in a bond of marriage are allowed safe passage. It’s a just negotiation deal for Clarke—but Octavia knows her brother thinks otherwise. // read on ao3
The Grounders all have their arrows cocked, ready to fire at a
single command from their Head—who, much to Octavia’s astonishment, is an
elderly woman. She is carried on a chair by several warriors, and is voiced by her
much larger, stronger Second. She tries not to stare at the elder, she really tries—but
the sight is so rare. She can’t remember the last time she saw someone so old.
Clarke’s voice pulls her away from her gawking. “We mean you no
harm,” Clarke is saying, “Osir laik
skaikru en osir gaf gothru klir.” We are skaikru and we seek safe passage.
The Second hisses, “We do not welcome strangers.”
“We have protection from—”
“We are part of no alliance. Turn around at once, or be killed.”
Octavia scowls, a hand reaching instinctively to her dagger. Clarke continues,
desperation tinting her voice. “If you don’t let us pass, we are all going to
The Second, eyes flaring, opens her mouth, but is stopped by a single
lift of a hand from the elder. Her voice is quiet, barely decipherable. But
Octavia hears the words: “Teik em.”
The Second’s mouth falls. She hisses, “Ogeda em?” All of them?
The elderly shakes her head. “Hedon.“
The Second’s eyes scour over each of them. “Our Land is sacred
ground,” she says. “Only the truest of bonds may pass.”
“What bond?” Octavia asks.
The fire of the Second’s eyes now targets Octavia. “Hodnes.” Love. “We require a bond of
“She use to be my Queen.” Series Part 3. A Bellamy Blake/Roan Imagine series
“Perfect.” Bellamy murmured as he ran a finger down (Y/n)’s bare back. Goosebumps then littering her skin. They had just taken that ultimate step as a couple. A young couple. They both glowed and glistened. It still smelled of love. The smell forever ingrained in their minds.
“You’re hands are cold.” She whispered with a giggle.
“It’s not my fault you’re smoking hot.” He grinned as she rolled her eyes.
“Why must you always be so cheesy.” She asked.
“That’s how I got you isn’t it?” He reasoned.
“Maybe.” She whispered as she leaned forward to kiss him.
“My queen? Are you awake?” “Hm?” You squirmed from the bed before you shot up. Roan all but ran to your side.
“Are you alright?” He asked carefully/
“Huh? Yeah. I’m fine.” You stated groggily. You shook your head at your brain. Pushing the thought from your brain.
“You’re zoning again queen.” He chuckled lowly. You smiled as you placed your hands on your small yet ever growing bump.
“Is there a reason my guards brought Blake and Kane up here?” “You know Kane is my dad right?” “Yes but what about Bellamy.”
“You’ll be delighted to tell him I told him off.” Roan grinned proudly. He wasn’t fond with Blake after hearing how he had treated you in yours and his relationship.
“My beautiful queen.” He murmured.
“And how is the small warrior?”
“They’re good. It’s so weird…” You muttered. He raised a brow in question.
“I mean think about it Roan…we’re going to have a little one. Isn’t that just odd.” You tried as you looked at him. He shook his head as he scooped you up into his arms as you squeaked. “Your hands are warm.” She murmured as he set her down on the bed before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sir?!” A guard barged in.
“What?!” He groaned tiredly.
“There’s a problem in the land.”
“And what would that be?!”
“Let me try.” You whispered. You went to get up but Roan grabbed your arm.
“Remember you are carrying precious cargo now my queen…I would rather you didn’t-” You shot him a look. He sighed.
“But then again when have you ever listened to a word I’ve said.” You smiled. You got up and walked with the guards to the elevator.
“(Y/n), are you and Bell going to get married?” Little 13 year old Octavia asked as you brushed her hair. Bellamy was working and you were making sure Octavia was okay. You blushed at the question.
“I don’t know O.” You murmured as you started to braid her hair.
“He really likes you. You know that right? He thinks you’re pretty….and he thinks you have a cute butt.” She giggled. Your jaw dropped.
“He said that.” She nodded enthusiastically. You shook your head.
“I think it’s time for bed missy.” You tried. She pouted.
“Can’t I wait for Bell?!”
“Not this time. Last time we almost got caught.”
“I love you (Y/n).” You froze as Octavia hugged you closely.
“I love you too O.” You whispered back.
“You let go of me right now you assholes!” Octavia shouted as she fought the guards.
“Octavia!” You shouted. She froze at the sound of your voice.
“Well if it isn’t the queen gracing us with her presence.” She smirked. You rolled your eyes.
“Teik her go.” You ordered. They immediately dropped her. “I’m so honored.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m sorry about Lincoln, O.” She flinched before rolling her eyes.
“Octavia!” Another voice bellowed. You both spun to see Bellamy. He looked angry.
“What the hell were you thinking Octavia.” He barked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Bellamy.” She snarked.
“YOU killed that man.” Bellamy rolled his eyes.
“What are you going to do arrest me?!”
“Octavia this is serious.” You whispered.
“So what.” She said cooly. You couldn’t believe it. The once hopeful and joyful girl was now cold and murderous.
“What happened to you.”
“I’m having Deja Vu. Aren’t you Bellamy?”
“HEY QUEEN!” You turned only to feel a sharp pain in your shoulder. You gasped as you looked so see a knife lodged into your upper chest. Dangerously close your heart. You screamed as you plummeted. Only to be caught by the man who made you feel a sharp pain in your heart.
“Oh my god.” Octavia whispered. People were shouting and your vision was blurring. There was only one voice you could focus on was one particular man. “(Y/n) stay with me….Don’t leave me again.” “I-I won’t.”
A/N: Soulmate AU. John Murphy has long since accepted that his soulmate might be insane, after all, the words on his wrist don’t make any sense. They aren’t in any language he knows, that is, until he learns about Trigedasleng
Characters: John Murphy
Pairings: John Murphy X reader
Prompt: “oooo can u do a John X reader where they’re soul mates but the reader is a grounder?”
John Murphy was sick and tired of trees. Honestly, they’d been cool at first, but after spending a week wandering through the woods, alone with only the leafy bastards to talk to? Yeah, John was just bout ready to take a blowtorch to the whole lot of them.
The boy reached out to scratch his bandaged wrist. There was nothing wrong with it, but John couldn’t stand to look at those infuriating words for a second longer. The first letter of his soulmate mark had arrived when he was three years old, burning itself into his skin in smooth, clean strokes, as was customary. His parents had been so excited. He could still remember his mother’s smiling face when the first mark arrived.
“Do you know what this means John?” She’d asked, tapping the black C that had formed on his thin wrist. John had shaken his head, “It means your soulmate was born today, and soon, you’ll have a whole word, maybe even a whole sentence! The first sentence they’ll ever say to you. It’s a very happy thing Johnny.”
“Why is there only one?” John had asked, tracing the letter with his chubby toddler finger.
“It only appears one letter at a time.” His mother explained, “Every time something significant happens in his or her life, you’ll get another one.”
John’s mouth had opened in a silent Oh as he traced the letter again. He hoped he or she was nice, maybe they’d meet soon, then they could play together.
John scoffed at the memory, absentmindedly running his thumb over the place on his left wrist where he knew the words were. It had taken all of 3 years for the first word to show up in full.
He remembered the confusion on his parents’ faces, and the faces of his teachers and then, soon after, on the faces on his classmates and friends. He’d started covering his wrists soon after that.
Now, fifteen years after the first letter appeared, the sentence was complete, and every bit as strange and cryptic as he’d imagined. For most of his life, John had simply assumed that his soulmate was insane. That would explain it right? The strange words, the aching distance he felt in his chest, the knowledge that had hit him in the ninth grade, that he would probably never meet the person who was his perfect match. John liked to believe that he’d come to terms with those things, that he’d gotten over the unfairness of it all, that he was genuinely happy when his friends found their soulmates and that he didn’t even care about soulmates anyway.
Everything had changed when he was captured by the grounders. It was during his second day as their prisoner when he heard it. Chon. Used in a sentence. Not his sentence exactly, but it existed! The nonsensical words that had rattled around in his brain for years finally had an origin! Then reality had struck. His soulmate…was a grounder.
Since that day, John had been haunted by the knowledge that, somewhere in these woods, his soulmate was waiting. He felt it in his chest, in the hole where his heart had been until his mother’s death. He knew that he or she was out there and the thought terrified him. Up until now, he’d never really had to worry about his soulmate, but with the world on the brink of war, and the blood of so many on his hands, John wasn’t sure he even deserved to meet his soulmate, whoever they were.
Driven by some sad, nostalgic part of him, John slowly unwrapped his left wrist, turning his palm to face the sky so he could read the words properly.
Chon yu bilaik?
He had no idea what it meant, but he knew that, whoever was going to say it was somewhere here and, judging by the tug he felt in between his ribs, they were close. Sometimes, he thought he could hear them. Always in a laugh that would echo in his mind, snippets of conversation or the shadow of a familiar smile. When he’d confided in Jaha about it, the man had told him it was a gift, but John couldn’t help but see it as a curse. What if it worked both ways? What had his soulmate heard him say? What had they seen him do? Did they even want to meet him?
Yes, he admitted to himself, he was quite sure they wanted to meet him, after all, that was why he was looking right?
He’d thought, for a moment, that Emori was his soulmate. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he’d hoped that she was, to the point of him blatantly ignoring all the very obvious, not at all complicated signs that she wasn’t. After he’d accepted that they weren’t meant to be, John had thought that, maybe it didn’t matter, maybe the two of them could work it out anyway, maybe they could have a life together. Oh well, he thought to himself with no small amount of sadness, she’s gone now. Before she’d left, John had asked her to translate the words on his left wrist, feeling the need to at least know what his soulmate had been asking, what question he thought he’d never be able to answer.
“This?” Emori had asked, “This means Who are you? Your soulmate is asking you who you are.”
“Oh.” John had responded, recovering his wrist. He was filled with a deep sadness. Surely his soulmate deserved to know who he was? Surely he deserved to know who they were?
“Are you okay?” Emori questioned.
“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”
In silence, John kept walking, turning over ideas and fantasies in his mind, ruminating on his many mistakes, replaying his best memories and praying, to whatever gods may be, that his best days weren’t already behind him.
So lost in his thoughts was John Murphy that he didn’t even notice the path his heart was leading him down. The scenery around him changed, from dense trees and prickly shrubs to soft muddy ground and crystalline rivers with the birdsong echoing through the canopy above his head.
He ached for human company. He ached for a partner in life. He ached with loneliness and, when he finally noticed the tears slipping down his cheeks, he collapsed. Letting his loneliness and regret wash over him like an ocean and hoping not to get sucked out to sea.
You growled with frustration, lowering your bow once again as your prey flew from its treetop perch. You’d been wondering through the woods for three days now, guided only by your heart and, occasionally your own knowledge of the woods surrounding you and your search had started to take its toll on you.
As was your habit, you reached down and brushed the markings on the inside of your right forearm, whispering your worries to them, as though your soulmate would somehow be able to hear you from across the distance.
Amongst your clan, you were something of an outsider. Your soulmate marks were written in a language that most, including your family, didn’t understand. Only the Warriors knew what they meant and they maintained that, to have a soulmate speak to you in the language of the mountain was an ill omen. You didn’t technically disagree, but for most of your life, you’d had an idea that your soulmate was too far away for you to ever actually meet them. It was a sad thought, one that had kept you up at night for years, straining for a clue, a sign, some proof that they were out there, maybe even looking for you.
You had entertained the idea that, maybe, your soulmate was a mountain man, but after wanheda destroyed the mountain, your marks did not fade. You’d spent days stalking around your camp, agonizing over what you should do. Somewhere deep down, you knew your soulmate was out there, you felt him (because you were quite sure it was a him) in your every movement, like a second heartbeat, or a breath on your neck. When he took a life, you felt it, deep within your soul and you shivered, wondering if he knew of all the lives you yourself had taken and wishing you could be there with him, to ease the pain and lift some of his burden.
When you were a child, you had let your mother convince you that there was nothing you could do, you would simply have to let your soulmate go, but you were no longer that child. You were a trained fighter, fluent in the language of the mountain, and in control of your own destiny.
So, you’d left. You had explained your quest to the commander, and Lexa heda had granted you permission to search for your soulmate for six moons. Four of which, were already behind you.
“Ha yu?” You asked your markings, “Ai kik raun.” You stroked the smooth lines tenderly, trying to work your mouth around the strange syllables of English, “My-my mo-ther tells me I must let you go.” You told them, “But I-uh-Ai nou na teik yu bants nowe. I am never going to let you go.” The confession helped ease some of your anxiety, “En daun laik daun.”
You kept walking, the sound of a nearby river calming you further. You were tired, but not tired enough to justify the way your heart pounded in your chest or the way your palms began to sweat, not tired enough to explain why your breath became labored and your battle senses began to dull. Something was wrong. Something was desperately, drastically wrong, but no matter where you looked, you couldn’t locate the threat. You unsheathed your hunting knives, suddenly aware of the quiet sound of sobbing coming from ahead.
You paused in the tree line, shock holding your body still.
It was a boy! A sky boy by the looks of his clothing, leaning against a tree, with his head buried in his hands. You swallowed hard past the lump in your throat, stepping forward with every intention of warning the boy to get out of your people’s territory. A branch snapped under your feet and his head shot up, his ice blue eyes flitting between your face and your knives. A sadistic grin stretched across the boy’s thin face, and you begrudgingly noticed that it didn’t take away from his handsomeness.
“I’m guessing you’re here to kill me then?” He asked.
Your blood froze. The breath died in your throat and you heard rather than felt, your knives fall into the muddy earth. You swallowed hard, the world narrowing onto the boy in front of you as you felt your right arm begin to burn. It couldn’t be. It couldn't….
“Chon yu bilaik?” You finally asked, your English words disappearing in the face of this sky boy.
His eyes widened.
“I’m guessing you’re here to kill me then?” John asked, suddenly not afraid of the grounder girl standing before him.
She was beautiful, he admitted to himself, more beautiful than any murderer had the right to be. But then again, maybe that’s how she kills, maybe she stuns her prey with her beauty and then slices their throats while they’re distracted. There are worse ways to go, he reasoned, swallowing hard past the nervousness in his gut. At least his last sight would be a beautiful one.
The girl gasped quietly, taking half a step back to balance herself, her knives falling gracelessly to the earth. John felt his heart pinch. He hadn’t meant to scare the girl, or to offend her, in fact the idea that he may have frightened her made him more sad than it ought to. He opened his mouth to apologize, but heard his words die in his mouth when she spoke.
“Chon yu bilaik?” She asked, her voice clear and true and as familiar to him as his own.
He felt his eyes widen. He felt his heart swell and burst in his chest. His left wrist burned as it recognized the speaker. If he had been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve given out as her words struck a chord in him that he hadn’t known existed. The girl stepped closer, collapsing to her knees in front of him, her eyes searching his face hungrily while welling up with tears.
This was her. He knew it as surely as he knew that the sky was blue. His soulmate was sitting in front of him, with his words tattooed on her skin.
An incredulous laugh made its way out of his throat as he took her in. Eighteen years of waiting. Eighteen years of not knowing and here she was. She had walked in on him crying, and he’d been a smartass. Typical.
“I’m-my name is John,” he finally answered reaching his hand out to shake hers, “John Murphy. Do you-do you speak any English?”
She nodded, a wide smile igniting her face as she took his hand, “I am Y/N of the Glowing Forest, we are-um-how do you say-osir keryon ste teina? Our-uh-,” she tapped her chest, her face screwed up in concentration as she tried to find the right words.
John felt his heart expand with tenderness at the sight and he smiled the type of smile he didn’t even know he had anymore, her hand still firmly grasping his.
“Soulmates?” he explained gently, gesturing to his wrist.
“Yes!” She exclaimed, snapping her fingers, “We are soulmates. Our souls are um, connected? No, intertwined, that’s the word. Our souls are intertwined.”
John nodded, his eyes still roaming lazily over the girl’s face. She blushed, their hands still connected, neither in a rush to let go.
“Are those?” She asked, gesturing to the inside on john’s wrist, “Are those mine?”
John smiled, “Yup. You can’t imagine how frustrating it was, not knowing what it meant.”
“I think I can.” She responded, her voice betraying a hint of mischief, “May I?”
John saw her fingers hovering over his skin and hesitated. He still wasn’t fully comfortable being touched, but this girl was his soulmate. Surely she wouldn’t hurt him?
“Sure.” He answered gently.
Her long fingers traced the letters, and John was suddenly immensely glad he’d let her. The feeling of her skin against his was like magic, or like liquid gold injected directly into his veins. But it was her face that made it worth it. He knew, instantly, that he would never tire of that look, that awestruck, wonder-filled look, and he’d spend his life trying to keep it there.
“How did you find me?” He asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
Y/N’s fingers stopped, her eyes moved slowly up to his and he felt himself shiver under her gaze.
“I followed here.” She answered, resting her hand on her heart, “How did you find me?”
John smiled again, he figured he might be doing a lot more of that from now on.
“I was concerned for you,” she continued, her fingers now tracing mindless patterns against his pulse point, “you were running from pain. I wanted to help.”
John felt paralyzed as the beautiful girl kept talking, words pouring out of her as though they’d been bottled up for too long.
“I know you have killed, but I have killed too. I know about the guilt and the shame and the heartache it causes. I did not want you to go through that alone.”
“Thank you.” John eventually managed.
Hesitantly, Y/N leant forward and John felt his breath catch in his throat. Her lips, pressed gently to the side of his mouth left more than enough room for him to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The fire igniting in his chest just felt too good.
“Fuck it,” John muttered, turning his head to capture Y/N’s lips with his own. She gasped with surprise, but linked her arms around his neck nonetheless and pressed against him.
This is what it should feel like, John thought. This is what it should be like and this is what I intend to make it.
And suddenly, he didn’t feel so lone anymore
After my last post, everyone has been asking how I learned Trigedasleng. So, here is my crazy process of learning the language over 2 and a half months.
Look at all of my stuff!!!! I actually used all of this too. I was dedicated.
I started with a pocket notebook, one that I could carry with me everywhere. The one on the left was my first one and has a small dictionary in it. The one on the right doesn’t have a dictionary in it, but I carry that one with me most because it is cleaner than the other. In these, I wrote down all of the rules from the Trigedasleng website from start to finish. This is how I learned the grammatical rules… most of them anyway.
In the first few pages I wrote the annunciation for each of the letters. Names came next, then pronouns, and so on and so forth.
Flashcards. The bane of my existence. I started 2 and a half months prior to this (before the start of season 3), so these are the ones that I used for the first month after a ton of words were added to the online dictionary. I started with regular flash cards but started cutting them in half after the first couple. This helped me learn the nouns, adjectives, conjunctions, adverbs, and prepositions. The verbs and phrases are trickier. The phrases were all for specific instances. “Thank you,” “You’re welcome,” “Hello,” “Goodbye,” etc. were easy to learn as phrases when I used them in conversations. My sister was practice for this because she was the only one that tolerated it.
My dictionary started about a month and a half in. I needed one that could evolve with the language so I left space in between each word to add new ones. The sticky notes are markers of where a certain letter starts.
Lastly, I started this one from the beginning. When I was trying to learn the language I wrote out sentences for fics that I was writing, sentences that I saw every day, lines from the show, things people said to me, etc. Then I translated them. Some phrases don’t translate well. Others do. After I learned all of the words and rules, it was easier to feelout the sentence. If I screwed up, I knew something was wrong. I highly recommend doing this otherwise you will be saying things wrong a lot.
There are a few rules that you need to know before you start learning this language:
Trigedasleng is a spoken language, not written. The Grounders do not write. You can write it out as I have, which is easy.
Not everything translates exactly. There will be MANY instances where you either have to simplify the sentence in your own language or rearrange the way you say it in Trigedasleng.
There are a few words that are spelt and pronounced exactly the same. Use context clues to figure these out.
It may be derived from English but just about every letter is pronounced differently. I recommend that you learn the pronunciations before anything else because some words have dual meanings. Their meanings will vary depending on how you say/ pronounce the word.
There areA LOT of hidden rules in this language. Beware the hidden rules. The best example that I can think of off the top of my head is:
Yumi na teik won sonraun au
The literal translation is: “You and I will take one life (out)”
It actually translate to: “Will you take a life with me?”
Questions are the prime example of these hidden rules. I still mess them up a lot.
If you are going to curse, be incredibly careful. Words like “shit” translate a little too closely.
Shit = Skrish
I wish you all good luck in learning the language. If you have any questions, feel free to message me, I will try my best to answer them. I will even translate something if you want.
recently i hit 2k followers, which is crazy!! so i thought i should make a post to appreciate all my lovely mutuals who are just fab and i love you all!! if i miss anyone on this list i am so so sorry, let me know!!!
italic- my dash wouldn’t be the same without them
bold - would die for, best of the best, my absolute faves!!
AN: The reader was taken in by grounders when she was found half-dead next to the river. No one is quite sure what to do with her, so Lexa keeps her nearby and the two have grown close.
Characters: Lexa, mentions of Indra
Pairings: Lexa x reader
Prompt: “omg Lexa x reader with a prompt for that prompt list you have! The “fight me” one!”
As she sharpened her blade, Lexa’s mind was clouded in a way she had never expected to happen again. You were sick, not seriously so, her healer’s assured her that you would make a full recovery within the fortnight, and yet she was worried about you. After Costia, Lexa had been sure that, whatever fate had in store for her, love would never be part of the equation. She couldn’t afford it, she didn’t want it, she was better off without it, and yet…
It had been raining when they found you, Lexa remembered because she had ordered her warriors to cover their tracks. Mud would not be the downfall of her army; the Sky People must never know that they had come this way.
It was only as they approached the river that they noticed you. You were lying on the river’s bank, your body soaked from both the rain and a swim in the river. Lexa called a halt, her small hunting party already drawing their weapons in preparation for a fight, but there would be none. You were unconscious and barely breathing, with deep gashes disfiguring your bare legs. The river guardian must have caught you, Lexa thought. Despite herself, the commander was deeply intrigued by you; she had never seen a Sky Person in the flesh. Why would she? One does not need to see one’s enemy to know them. You were beautiful to her, in an open and kind sort of way, in a way that made hurting you seem like a crime.
“Lexa heda,” Indra, the leader of a nearby village, asked you, “teik ai frag em op.”
Lexa felt her heart begin to pound, she did not want you to die, she wanted to know you, to see if the light in your soul matched the beauty of your face.
“No,” she said quickly, “emo gonplei nou ste odon nowe. Dison laik ain.”
No, her fight is not over. This one is mine.
In those few words, Lexa knew she had given herself over to you. If you turned out to be a traitor, her people would kill her for not killing you earlier, but if you became a warrior, she would be praised as a great saviour of the lost.
Lexa smiled at the memory in fondness. She hadn’t realised what she was getting herself in to.
After a tense night with Lexa’s best healer, you had regained consciousness and Lexa had breathed a sigh of relief.
The first word’s you had spoken to the commander were defiant, which at the time, had made Lexa more nervous than she would’ve cared to admit.
“Fight me!” you had been shouting, “Fight me you cowards!”
You were terrified, Lexa could see it in your eyes and in the way you thrashed when the healer tried to touch you, but your challenge was sincere. You were prepared to fight your way through her entire army, but you would not be a prisoner. Lexa knew then, that she had chosen well.
For many weeks Lexa had helped you regain your strength. She had trained you, put her trust in you, and tried to integrate you into the Trikru, but she had never made you stay.
She could still remember the feeling of your hair in her fingers as she wound your first braids together. You had seemed sad, less bright than the cautious leader had come to expect.
“Is something the matter Y/N?” she had finally asked, her voice betraying nothing more than polite concern.
For a long while, you were silent, struggling to put words to the confusion that swirled within you.
Finally you asked, “Am I a prisoner?”
Lexa’s fingers wavered slightly, “No,” she finally said, hoping you hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness, “yu laik ain. You are mine.”
She could tell you still weren’t satisfied, so she waited. By now she knew, you took your time before speaking, as though you chewed each word before letting it fall from your lips.
“Am I your prisoner?”
“No,” Lexa replied, completing your first braid, but keeping her fingers in your hair, “with me, yu laik klir, you are safe.”
“So I can leave whenever I want?” you questioned as Lexa began to run her fingers through your hair, combing it to pull back.
“If-that is what you want, then yes.” She replied, her hands gripping your locks slightly, “Is that what you want?”
You had shaken your head then, your hair slipping free of Lexa’s grasp, “No, I just miss my friends sometimes.” You said with a sigh, “Your warriors tell me you’re leaving soon, to meet with the Ice Nation.”
“They are right,” Lexa replied; glad that you couldn’t see the relieved smile on her face, “I’m hoping to form an alliance with them. I want to unite the 12 clans; we can’t survive if we keep fighting one another.”
“Isn’t that going to be dangerous?”
“Yes.” She responded. Lexa would not lie to you.
“Take me with you?” you’d asked in a small voice.
“Take me with you. I don’t want to be alone here; I want to be wherever you are.”
Lexa had felt heat rush to her face, you couldn’t have known how that statement would make her heart race, and yet you’d said it.
“Of course you may accompany me,” she told you, as you rested your head comfortably against her shoulder. It never ceased to amazing the commander, how comfortable you were with her, your gentle touches were torture for her, but a torture she would happily accept, “I would not want to be apart from you, not while your training is still incomplete.”
She imagined that she felt you sigh, “Mochof, Lexa heda. Thank you, commander Lexa.”
“Y/N?” she asked, stepping gingerly into your tent, her memories still swimming before her eyes.
“Lexaaaa,” you whined, just a disembodied voice from under your cocoon of pelts, “I feel like death.”
“It’s the flu Y/N, don’t be so dramatic.” She replied, sitting next to you with her legs on the mattress beside yours.
“I still feel like death, fight me about it.” You grumbled, sitting up to be closer to your friend, “Hey, you’re not wearing your greasepaint.”
Lexa smiled as you poked her bare cheeks, “Neither are you, and I wouldn’t dream of fighting you, you would win.”
This was completely untrue, so untrue that neither of you could keep from giggling.
“I brought you some food,” Lexa said, handing you a bowl of stew, “choj op.”
“Mochof.” You replied happily, flinging your blankets over your friend, “Hey, Lexa?”
You’d snuggled up to her now, your head tucked neatly into the crook of her neck.
“I’m glad I stayed.”
Lexa smiled, one day soon, she would tell you, but for now, this was all she needed.
Wrapped in puns
Tangled in your thoughts
Words that tie me
To invisible ports
Linked and driven
By essays of successful endeavours
Written in movies of
Happily ever afters.