Lexa hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d come to your chambers with a book she claimed was “strategically relevant,” but the moment she sat down on your worn sofa, her shoulders softened in that rare way they only did when she crossed your doorway. A few pages in, her eyelids had grown heavy. The book now rested loosely against her chest, rising and falling with each slow breath.

You sat in your chair to the left of her, not directly facing, but close enough to watch her features relax into something… unguarded. The fire cracked quietly in the corner, the only sound in the dim room. Your charcoal stained your fingers as you worked on the drawing in your lap: the Commander of the Twelve Clans, asleep, her hair half braided, her mouth softened, her hand still curled protectively around the book’s spine.

You let yourself look at her longer than you would if her green eyes were open. But the calm didn’t last.

Lexa’s breathing shifted,shallow, uneven. Her brow tightened. Her fingers twitched against the worn sofa cushion. The book on her chest slipped a little.

“Mhm…,” she murmured so softly you barely heard it. Her throat worked, and a tremor ran through her.

You straightened in your chair, charcoal forgotten.

Her body jerked. A sharp inhale. Her back arched off the sofa as if something was grabbing her in the dream she couldn’t escape.

Then she woke with a violent gasp, eyes wide, breath tearing out of her in a ragged, panicked rush.

You jumped to your feet instantly, your sketch falling to the floor without a second thought.

“Hey, hey, I‘ts okay, I’m here.” You crossed the room in three steps.

Lexa pushed herself upright, elbows on her knees, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her eyes were wild, looking for threats, ghosts, something that wasn’t there.

You sank to the sofa beside her, close but careful. You didn’t even realize your hand reached out until your palm rested warm against her thigh.

“Lexa,” you whispered, “it was just a dream.”

Her jaw clenched. “Just a dream?” She sounded furious, but beneath it—broken. “You don’t understand.”

She stood suddenly, the movement sharp, the book slipping from her lap and thudding against the floor.

“I broke the commandment that has guided my people for generations,” she spat, pacing away from you, away from the safety of your presence. “Blood must have blood—and I broke it.”

You slowly rose, watching her pace like a caged animal. Her hands were shaking. You’d seen Lexa calm in battle, calm with a blade at her throat—but this haunted her in ways war never had.

“Lexa, you did what you thought was right at the time—”

“Do not.” She turned on you, eyes blazing. “Do not tell me what I thought.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. You stepped toward her anyway.

“I’m not your enemy,” you said softly.

She looked away, breathing hard. “You can’t know what it means to betray the spirits of your own ancestors.”

Her voice trembled, just barely. You hesitated, then moved to stand beside her. Lexa suddenly sees the drawing on the table, the one you sketched the whole time while she was sleeping.

Her breath shuddered and she looked at you before stepping closer to the table.“

“Uhm, It‘s not finished yet,” you said, gentler now.

She lifted up the drawing before closing her eyes.

When she spoke again, her voice had lost all its armor.

„It’s beautiful..“

You look shyly up at Lexa before you both suddenly hear loud noises—sounding like Titus. When Lexa came she told the guards she didn’t want to be disturbed but Titus doesn’t know what that means. The door suddenly opens.