A/N this is also up on ao3 under the pseud Kendrene- unfortunately I forgot which email I paired that account with on here so I cannot access it.

"Baby blue, oh, baby blue.

Come here, I'm gonna smear another color over you.

Get out of bed, you little sleepy head,

Your black and white needs a little bit of red."

Serena Ryder – Little Bit Of Red

You have watched in horror as the ambassadors have turned on Lexa, like a pack of rabid wolves. Grounders above all else, respect strength and now they find hers lacking. Because of Skaikru. Because of you.

You have pleaded with her, not to fight Roan, to choose her own champion like Nia did, even as you knew your words were wasted while hers still resounded in your head.

I am the Commander. No one fights for me.

You have tried to take matters in your own hands, and your wrist still smarts from Ontari's crushing grip closing around it.

The hood obscures your features, as you make your way through the surging crowd. They chant her title softly, then louder, so you know she has arrived and you must hurry, before the duel starts. You want her to see that you came, despite your rage, despite the paralyzing fear that grips your heart, that her words will turn true and she will die today.

You push through the first line of onlookers and let the hood fall back away from your face with shaking hands, and your whole being vibrates as always when you stand in her presence. She is utterly still, a few paces away from you, gathered in on herself, eyes almost closed and you feel the violence coalesce around her like a shroud.

As if guided by an irresistible force, her head turns slowly to you and emerald green eyes meet sapphire blue. Little shocks course through your spine and your resentment cracks further.

"I am glad you came," she whispers, and it feels like the crowd has vanished around you.

"Me too." You hear yourself say, the hinted tremor in your voice making her eyes flash with something. Hope, perhaps?

Then it starts, and her savagery comes to the fore. Worry wars with attraction inside you, as you admit that side of her calls to the ferocity that you know resides beneath your breast, and you so rarely let out. You remember the last time you let it loose, the wild three months you spent alone, fending for yourself, more beast than woman.

You recall the moment Roan took the sackcloth off your head and the monster inside you roared the loudest, hurt and sorrowful, and so impotently angry at what she had done to you.

Her blood spatters like ink on the sand and you gasp, as she grips the blade of her own sword to repel Roan's assault. He is bigger, stronger and for a moment you think he will force her to the ground then, as suddenly as they came together, they part and resume their deadly dance.

Their blades sing to each other and whisper as they split the air like silk, sparks fly when they connect, then before you realize how it happened, Lexa is sprawled on the ground and Roan holds the spear he forcefully took from a guard at her throat.

You watch Titus slowly sit back on his chair, despair apparent on his features, and when Roan draws his arm back to deliver the final blow, you shut your eyes tightly, knowing that if you watch her die, it will send you mad and break you beyond repair.

The plaza has gone completely quiet, then the crowd screams its approval and you look, in time to see her vicious kick, reverse the situation. She is up in a flurry of movement, and no matter how fast Roan swings the spear, Lexa is always a step ahead. You see a growl form on her lips, right before she abruptly ends the duel

Spear in hand, she looks from Roan to Nia, as the Queen calls her son a coward. You see her lips move, even if the words are lost, drowned in the chanting of the crowd.

"Jus drein, jus daun." The spear draws a perfect arc, the Commander's will made manifest, as she exacts her vengeance and yours. The Ice Queen deflates on her throne, astonishment and death pushing her eyes wide open.

Your eyes are fixed on Lexa and you tremble in relief while she hails Roan as the new ruler of Azgeda. She steps back from him, panting, and you see her exhaustion as her gaze draws upwards, even if everyone else is too caught up in celebration to see, or care.

Your brief leadership has never set you so apart from your people, as hers does. She is a goddess among mortals, aloof and removed from mundane things. Yet, you have caught glimpses of the girl beneath, and you comprehend she chose to let you see, allowing you closer than anyone has ever been to her, save maybe for Costia.

You fight with yourself, to not step out of the crowd and go to her and touch her, and let her be just Lexa for a while, knowing that she cannot allow her people to see her weakness, knowing that it would endanger her again.

Her solitude calls to you, and your heart aches to fill her stinging voids and silent spaces.

Someone bumps into you, making you almost lose your footing, and you are forced to avert your gaze for an instant. When you look back she is gone, but you can't tear your gaze away from the blood on the ground.

Much later, you have had enough of food and drink, and you have sought refuge in your rooms. You sit in the dark, as the candles you lit only throw their radiance on the empty canvas resting on the easel in front of you.

You left the great windows open and the chill of the night's air brings you sounds of distant laughter and snatches of song. You try to still your heart, and draw the image of Lexa, victorious and untamed, with your mind's eye, before transferring it to the waiting surface, yet the only image you can conjure is the lonely, fragile girl beneath the Heda mantle, the one that only you can see.

You take a resigned look at the brushes and paints you laid out, as the tranquility you need to draw escapes you, when a soft knock at the door interrupts your musings.

"Is this, I told you so?" you ask when you find her on your doorstep, using humor to hide the thumping of your heart in your chest and the sudden lump in your throat.

"No, this is thank you," she murmurs in reply, soft eyes demurely downcast for a moment.

"Come in," you gesture to her bandaged hand, "let me change that for you."

She sits on the edge of your bed, back so straight it's almost rigid. The candlelight confers a golden hue to her skin and your eyes follow the curve of her bare shoulders, linger on the hinted swell of her breasts beneath her nightgown.

You feel the attraction you have tried to suppress rekindle, and the ghost feeling of her lips on yours almost staggers you, as heat spreads throughout your body. You close the distance quickly, and sit beside her, cupping her hand in yours and hoping she won't feel your fingers shake against her skin.

As you busy yourself with her bandages, you talk of something, anything else to distract yourself from the dizziness you feel at her closeness. You end up asking about Ontari and curse inwardly. You'd rather spend time with the girl than the Commander. When she inevitably mentions her death, you cannot stand it.

"Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?" you blurt out, forcefully. She just regards you, as if she doesn't understand why you are that bothered. She is so used to the idea that she will die young and violently, that the concept of someone being upset by a thing she deems inevitable and embraces wholly, confuses her.

"Thank you for backing me." Her words aim to soothe the distress she perceives in you, and you find it hard to swallow, as an invisible fist clamps around your throat.

I was doing it for you. A piece of you seems to click back in place.

"I was just doing what was right for my people." You so want to kick yourself when you see a shadow of hurt darken her eyes. You are still smarting so much, because of the word she gave you, that she seemed to be able to break without a second thought. She abandoned your people. She abandoned you. The fear you felt as she walked away from the battle with the Mountain Men returns, and you have to gasp for air as the dam that holds your sorrow back threatens to fold. You came out unscathed in body, but you feel your spirit is a ravaged battlefield, and you aren't sure she knows it. You wonder what would happen if you showed her how raw you truly are.

"Your ambassadors betrayed you. How do you move forward?" the words tumble out of their own accord, but the real question that you want to spit in her face is how you can move forward, past the hurt that makes for fitful sleep at night, past all the blood that's on your hands because of a choice you did not make.

"They were doing what they believed was right for their people, too."

You have to turn your head then, as the realization hits you like the spear that stabbed the Ice Queen through the heart. It was not Lexa choosing, but Heda. When faced with branching options, she pursued the one that would guarantee the safety of her people. You think back at what and who you have sacrificed to ensure the security of your own, and the fires of blame dwindle to embers in your chest, then are snuffed out by guilt.

Strands of your hair fall across your face, and partly obscure her from view, but you can still see her eyes watching you and imagine just how much it cost the girl Lexa to leave you behind.

You stand, unable to bear her scrutiny, and walk up to the easel. A rustling of silk, then you feel her presence at your back, scorching like the hottest summer sun.

"Clarke?"

You half turn and see she has picked up one of the brushes, dipping it in a half dried splotch of paint on the abandoned palette. "You were going to paint? At this hour?"

"Yes," you say simply, then following an abrupt urge, you add, "would you care to try?" You move to the side and she looks from the blank canvas to you and back, an adorably lost look forming on her face.

"I…"

"Just go along with what you feel," you urge, and pursuing your own counsel, you dip a finger in the paint and reach towards her, smearing some across her nose.

"Clarke!" her outraged glare, tips you over the edge and you start laughing unable, or unwilling to stop. The image of her laying on the sand erupts from the recesses of your mind, but this time Roan's spear hits home and her midnight blood drenches the ground black, soaks the world. Tears start streaming down your cheeks and patter to the floor as mournful sobs mingle with your laughter, then take over. The burnt, grotesquely contorted bodies of the innocents in Mount Weather join hers, and your legs give out from under you.

You do not know if you will ever stop falling.

The brush clatters from her fingers to the tiles, loud as gunshot in the quiet of the night, and strong arms catch you, encircling your shivering form protectively.

"Clarke," her voice caresses your name as she says it, the tips of her finger wipe at your tears and you cling to her like a castaway as the cruel chaff of unbridled emotions cuts your soul to pieces.

Her hand strokes your hair gently, pushing it away from your brow, and you meet her gaze, and see a single tear shine like crystal in the guttering light of the flames as it slowly makes its way down her cheek.

"Lexa, I..." you see her bite her lip, and she starts to pull back from you, her body gearing up for another rejection. Before she can move further away, you close the distance, your hands cupping her face tenderly as your mouths meet, and you feel her tremble against you.

You open yourself to her, and the hand that is tangled in your hair moves to the back of your neck, holding you, supporting you as you give into the heat of her body. You feel her tongue flick against your lips, as she takes in the taste of your tears and shares your sorrow.

Lexa exhales against you, her breath carrying the scent of mint, and the fainter one of alcohol, and you breathe her in and then she inhales and you feel like she has taken a part of your soul in with the air.

You pull back slowly, sucking on her lower lip gently as you do, and a sound half moan, half whimper of loss rises from her throat.

When you stand, she looks up to you, as if unsure what comes next. You find her hand and pull her up and into you, unable to resist kissing her again, even as you gently guide her to the bed.

"Clarke," she sighs your name into your mouth, and tingles rush down your spine. When you look at her, her eyes are serious.

"Are you sure?" she asks, and her hunger turns her voice into a husky growl.

You only nod, thinking that if you try to talk, you will burst into tears again.

Your hands go to her shoulders, as she sits on the bed, and hers pull at the laces keeping your own garments closed over your midriff, before she desists and surrenders, and allows you to slowly uncover her.

As you do and her body is revealed to you, you are filled with reverence, and you marvel at her perfection, then lust has the best of you both, and as the hunger stirs in your bellies, you climb on top of her, the barriers between you removed, as golden locks mingle with brown when you bend over her to cover her mouth with yours.

Your body molds itself on hers and she throws her head back and moans again, her fingers racking fiery paths down your naked back, and you gasp, mostly in surprise. She pauses, afraid she has hurt you and you nuzzle into her neck, licking the tender skin slowly as if you were trying to melt your tongue into it.

With a knee, you gently nudge her legs apart, and settle between them with a moan of your own. When you rock your hips, and your mounds collide, Lexa calls your name as you start rocking into her, and she into you.

Your bodies move in unison, following the ebb and flow of pleasure as the heat between your thighs and hers becomes unbearable, the wetness mixing, making the air heavy with your arousal. You feel her hands on your arms, as she tries to find leverage to flip you on your back and you shake her hold off, almost roughly, grabbing her wrists and locking them into a hold over her head.

She strains against you and your mouth finds her shoulder, your teeth sink into supple skin and she screams in pain as you mark her, but the gush of wetness that floods the space between your bodies tells you she does not mind.

You release your hold, and rain feather-like kisses on the already bruising skin, then your lips trace her collarbone, and you lick and nip your way down to her chest.

She squirms as you tease the sensitive spots under her breasts and you capture one of her nipples and slowly suck it and circle it, wetting it with your tongue and then you jokingly blow air onto it and are rewarded with delicious shivers as she squirms under you.

"Beja..." the plea is whispered, and you release her hands, feeling them press gently on the top of your head, urging you downwards.

Your hands grasp her hips, as you slither lower until your nose is filled by the aroma of her arousal to the point you cannot think anymore, merely act.

You want to drink it all, everything she has to give you and then more. You press your mouth to her mound, intent on devouring her and she lifts up into you, offering herself to your tongue, which delicately probes until you find her center.

Her juices fill your mouth, she tastes of salt and sweat and the distinct tang that you know instinctively is only her, and you cannot help but bait her almost to the limit before slowing and eliciting an annoyed grunt.

Her fingers tangle in your tresses and Lexa twists them and tugs them lightly, then harder until your scalp prickles slightly, so your tongue grows more insistent and you feel her go rigid all of a sudden, her thighs clamping around your head and then release completely as aftershocks wrack her and she whimpers into a pillow.

You glance upwards and notice she is looking down at you, eyes half lidded by pleasure, irises a green so dark they are almost black. Lexa's hand seeks one of yours and your fingers entwine. You feel the rougher spots on her skin, due to the long hours of sword training, and you raise yourself on one elbow, lovingly tracing her knuckles with soft kisses.

She tugs you up, next to her, and you can tell she is close to falling asleep as she settles against you with a sigh.

"Clarke..." she tries to move away and you see the determination under the weariness, to give back to you what she took.

"Rest," your arm encircles her shoulders as you pull her to lay with her face in the crook of your neck. You turn slightly towards her and kiss her nose lightly as your legs tangle. "It was a hard day."

She tugs a pelt over you both, as the breeze entering the room pebbles your skin with goosebumps, and soon enough her breathing slows and deepens as she drifts off to sleep.

You lay awake a while longer and when you are sure her slumber is deep enough that she won't hear, you kiss her brow and tell her you love her.

Ai hod yu in.

The words fill your thoughts and she fills your heart and you believe that, maybe, tonight there won't be nightmares.