"—zgeda continues to encroach on Trikru lands, you will forgive Glowing Forest for sending reinforcements to the Mountain," the woman snarls, her gaze firmly meeting Nia's. "Azgeda will not be allowed to—"
"Azgeda does exactly what the rules of the Coalition allows," Nia snaps back.
"How would Azgeda explain its warriors at Arkadia?" another woman asks, her gaze equally as sharp as her features.
"Wanheda destroyed the Mountain," and Nia tips her head towards Clarke. "Her old people are a target for the last of the Mountain Men. Surely it is prudent for Azgeda to repay her actions by protecting her old people."
The second woman takes a long moment to consider Nia's words, a finger tapping against the red-browns of her long sleeve.
"And what of Azgeda at the border?" and this time Clarke recognises that this ambassador comes from Lake Clan, the light blue of his clothing similar to that of Jomm's, who had so often frustrated her during the Mountain's siege.
"Azgeda moves its warriors close to the border to protect our own villages," Nia says simply. "Trikru is not the only clan to be targeted by the last of the Mountain Men.
Clarke follows the back and forth then, and she finds a sigh escaping her lips as the Desert Clan's ambassador begins questioning Nia, and so Clarke's eyes wander for a moment, she eyes the ambassadors who sit in front of her, their chairs underneath the banners of each clan they represent. her gaze moves from the Rock Line ambassador, the man large and broad shouldered, she eyes the Glowing Forest ambassador, the woman warily eyeing Nia who continues to reinforce Azgeda's desire to protect their own villages. But Clarke's gaze shifts to Lexa's, the woman sitting in her throne as she watches the back and forth easily, her fingers gripping her armrests with a comfort as she lazes in her throne. Clarke finds herself staring for a long moment, her eyes trying to meet Lexa's, and she thinks she almost succeeds a number of times only for Lexa to hone her attention back to another ambassador who questions Nia's actions.
"And why is Wanheda here?" and Clarke turns at the question to find the Broadleaf ambassador looking at her cautiously.
"Wanheda is here to prove how seriously Azgeda takes this matter," Nia answers. "You accuse Azgeda of not caring? Of being provocative and aggressive, yet who of you take steps to protect Coalition borders?" and Nia sweeps her hands out before her. "Azgeda protects the Mountain, Azgeda moves its warriors to the border to aid Trikru in our fight against the last of the Mountain Men. Azgeda sends its most fierce warriors to come to the aid of Skaikru," and Nia's eyes turn to Clarke's. "Wanheda represents her clan at Polis because Azgeda takes the Mountain Men's threat seriously," Nia finishes.
"And why are you here, Kwin Nia, when your ambassador could have delivered Azgeda's message of commitment," and Clarke eyes the man who stands besides Lexa as he steps forward, the length of his robes falling to the ground.
"I am here because Azgeda do not hide behind words," and Nia pins the man with a firm gaze. "Unlike others in the coalition, Azgeda sends our best. Unlike others, Azgeda do not hide on their thrones, in their capitals."
"You insult the Commander?" the man says, the bald of his head catching the glimmer of a burning flame as he continues to step closer from where Lexa sits on her throne.
"I do no such thing," Nia counters. "I merely make observations," she shrugs. "Azgeda suffered the highest casualties within the Mountain and Azgeda still suffers from the continued attacks by the Mountain Men," and Nia turns to Clarke slowly, her gaze smiling at her, and as their eyes meet Clarke feels the skin on the back of her neck begin to prickle for a chilled moment. "Azgeda has scouts hunting them even now, and our warriors are ready to fight," and Nia turns to face the man once more. "What have the other clans done, Titus?"
"Azgeda fights for the Coalition," Lexa calls out, her voice hardening as she meets Nia's gaze, and the man, Titus, takes his place by her side once more. "The scouts you have here will work with the Trikru scouts," Lexa continues as she holds Nia's gaze. "Trikru and Azgeda will work together as they hunt the Mountain Men," and Lexa pauses as she meets the eyes of the other ambassadors that sit before her.
The other ambassadors fall quiet as they bow their heads, Lexa's words ending further dissent. And so discussion turns to other matters, to trade, to who owes who for lower yields of seasons past and Clarke finds her thoughts drifting once more. She takes the time to gaze around the throne room now, and she finds it rich in colour, deep red cloth draping the walls, a sheer fabric hanging behind Lexa's throne that helps to cut much of the glare of the sun that shines in from what Clarke assumes must be an open balcony behind Lexa.
Clarke even spots Anya sitting besides the Trikru ambassador, the man rough in age, his face wiry, the muscles of his tattooed arms cording up weathered skin. Clarke thinks she smiles briefly as she sees Anya's eyes roll as an ambassador voices concerns of unfair trade negotiations.
Lexa's voice rings out through the room once more, and so Clarke turns to find her hand raised easily as she leans forward in her chair.
"We will recess for today," Lexa says, gaze moving from face to face. "Tomorrow Skaikru will be present," she finishes as she comes to a stand, her hands clasped behind her back as she looks out at the other ambassadors who rise in turn before bowing their heads before making their leave. "Wanheda, remain," Lexa says as Clarke begins to rise. "I wish to discuss Skaikru matters with you," is all Lexa says before she begins moving to a table that sits in the far corner of the room, Anya, Titus and Gustus moving with her.
Clarke meets Nia's gaze for a quick moment before the Kwin nods, the Azgeda ambassador already in hushed discussion with her as she makes her way from the throne room. It doesn't take long for the last of the ambassadors to file out, and so Lexa raises a hand once more, and Clarke sees the few guards who remain bow their heads before taking their exit, the doors closing behind them with a low thud. And so Clarke turns to face Lexa and Titus who stand by the large table with the map across it, Gustus and Anya standing close by.
"Just like old times," Clarke says into the silence, Titus eyeing her carefully, Anya merely snorting at her words. "I'm guessing you don't actually want to talk about Skaikru?" and she gestures around them, "no Skaikru are here."
"It is not the only reason," Lexa responds as her gaze turns to the map, and as Clarke eyes the map herself she finds small figures placed along the Trikru-Azgeda border. "I believe that the Mountain Men will become more bold now that Nia is in Polis."
"You're sure?" Clarke asks, her gaze moving to Titus briefly.
"As sure as we can be," Lexa says, eyes tracking the details of the map for a moment.
"What's going to happen?" Clarke asks once again, her gaze following a river that winds its way through the roughened map.
"Nia will make her move," Lexa answers, gaze moving to Anya's for a moment before shifting to Gustus who stands close by. "The Mountain Men will attack somewhere close enough that Nia can communicate with them quickly, she will use that to begin to sway the ambassadors against me and the actions I have taken and then she will challenge me to the throne," Lexa finishes.
"Can't you do something?" Clarke says, her gaze turning to Gustus who grumbles quietly under his breath. "If you know all the moves Nia's going to do why can't you act?"
"The Commander must have proof," Titus cuts in, his gaze hardening as his eyes follows the scars on Clarke's face.
"So what? We're just going to roll over and show our bellies while Nia does what she wants?"
"I have Trikru warriors protecting Arkadia," Lexa says. "Rangers from the southern parts of Trikru are already in the forests protecting the other villages near the border," and Lexa taps on areas of the map, small figures marking different villages.
"You have to have a plan, Lexa," and Clarke steps around the table until she stands closer to the other woman, her hand coming to reach for Lexa's wrist, only for Lexa to glance once to Titus before squaring her shoulders, hands coming to rest behind her back. "You can't seriously just be waiting for Nia to do something."
"It is the only option available to us without proof of Nia's treachery," Lexa answers. "Nia will issue the challenge and I will meet—"
"—That's not a plan," Clarke insists, her gaze flicking from Anya to Gustus before settling on Titus who peers at her cautiously. "You can't really just be waiting for her to do something," Clarke says after a moment, her hip coming to lean against the table.
"Why do you make moves against your own clan?" Titus cuts into the silence. "You are Azgeda yet you question your Kwin."
"I want what's best for my people," Clarke answers, chin lifting as she meets Titus' gaze. "War with the Coalition would be horrible for Azgeda. I don't want that," and she turns to meet Anya's quiet sigh.
"Clarke has fought for her people, Titus," Lexa says evenly.
"And you trust her?" he counters.
"I'm standing right here."
"We will not have this discussion," and Lexa pins Titus with a stern look, her eyes hardening in the light.
Titus bows his head after a pause, his jaw clenching as he takes a measured step back. Lexa looks around herself and then her gaze moves over the map before her as she takes in a shallow breath and holds it for a moment.
"Leave us," she says, her eyes meeting Anya and Gustus who both nod their heads once, and then her gaze shifts to Titus whose eyes narrow at her words.
Clarke watches as Titus pauses for a moment before he, too, turns and makes his way to the doors, the robes he wears flowing around his steps. And so Clarke finds herself alone in the throne room with Lexa, the other woman eyeing the door for a long moment, the sounds of footfalls receding and the wind that breezes through the balcony behind her throne the only sounds to fill the large space.
"He doesn't like me, does he?" Clarke asks into the silence, eyes moving over Lexa's face.
"Titus is cautious," Lexa says in answer as she turns back to the map. "You are Azgeda so Titus is wary of your loyalties," she finishes with a shrug.
"He doesn't know, does he?" and Clarke thinks back to when Lexa had avoided her touch only moments ago.
"He would not approve," Lexa says, her eyes meeting Clarke's quietly.
"Who is he, exactly?" and Clarke jerks her chin towards the door. "Advisor?"
"Teacher," Lexa answers, "and Fleimkepa."
"You do realise I don't know what a Fleimkepa is, right?" and Clarke lets a warmth find a place in her words as she comes to rest a hip against the table's edge once more, arms crossing over her chest as she peers at Lexa's profile.
"They serve the Spirit of the Commander," Lexa says. "Titus has been Fleimkepa long before I ascended."
"That still doesn't tell me much, Lexa," and Clarke thinks she sees Lexa's eyes roll for a moment.
"Then perhaps it is a discussion for another day, Clarke," and Lexa turns to meet her gaze.
And so Clarke smiles once, fingers slowly coming to smooth over the map on the table, and her eye follows the river from earlier, her gaze follows its twists and turns as it bends and wends its way through the forest.
"Are all meetings like that?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," and Lexa sighs quietly. "Ambassadors are not easily satisfied," she continues. "They often do not appreciate how tiresome their arguments can become."
"The joys of being in charge," and Clarke smiles softly, eyes tracing the outline of the Mountain that sits quietly on the map.
"Yes," and she thinks she feels the exhale that Lexa must breathe.
"You're really just going to wait until Nia makes the first move," and Clarke isn't so sure if her words come out as question or statement.
"Yes, Clarke," and Clarke feels Lexa begin to move around the table evenly, her eyes peering at landmarks and features that dot the large map. "Nia is cunning and she is patient. She has the advantage of having prepared this plan of hers for many years," and Lexa pauses in her steps to meet Clarke's gaze. "So yes, I will wait for her to make the first move."
"And then what?" and Clarke leans forward. "You'll fight whoever fights for Nia? That's it?"
"Yes," Lexa says simply.
"What if you don't win?" and Clarke worries her lip briefly. "You don't seem to care about losing."
"I do care, Clarke," and Lexa lifts her chin slightly. "I will win—"
"But if you don't."
"Then the Spirit will choose the next Commander," and Lexa smiles briefly.
"What happens when you win?" and Clarke lets her mind turn to the future for a moment.
"Then Nia's plan will have failed and the laws of the Coalition will allow me to remove her from power."
"Then what?" and Clarke thinks she knows what Lexa will next say.
"Then a new ruler of Azgeda must be chosen," and it comes simply.
"You still want it to be me," Clarke says.
"Yes, Clarke," and Lexa leans forward over the table slightly. "You were born for this, same as me," and Lexa holds her gaze for a long moment. "You are a leader your people already look to for guidance."
"What about Ro—"
"Roan is more than likely dead, Clarke," and Lexa begins to circle the table once more, each step taking her closer to Clarke's side.
"But if he isn't?" Clarke counters.
"Then where is he? Why has he not contacted you?"
"He could be in hiding," Clarke pushes. "What if he realised Nia's plans and tried to get away, and is stuck in Azgeda lands until it's safe for him to get back?"
"And who would help Roan in such a matter?" Lexa says. "You must consider all options, Clarke," and Lexa stops before her, eyes holding Clarke's gaze for a moment. "Yes, if Roan is still alive then he can take the throne after I defeat Nia's champion, but if he is not found by then someone else must take it or Azgeda will fall into chaos."
"It won't come to that," and Clarke worries her lip, her words leaving her less sure then she would like.
"There are many things we do not wish to happen that do, Clarke," and Lexa looks to the door briefly before stepping closer to her. "To be a leader is to make sacrifices for our people, Clarke," and Lexa reaches out, her fingers curling around Clarke's briefly with a gentle squeeze before she lets go. "You will not be alone if it comes to it."
"Ok," and Clarke turns from Lexa, the other woman's gaze lingering across her face for a moment. "Can we talk about something else?" and Clarke feels the furrow in her brows that begins to spread.
"We can discuss anything, Clarke," and Lexa turns so that she now stands by Clarke's side, her shoulder only just brushing against Clarke's own.
"Jani," and Clarke smiles when she hears Lexa sigh slightly. "Who is she?"
"A nightblood," Lexa says simply.
"You do realise half the things you're saying I don't know what they are, Lexa. You have to give me more than just a name."
"Nightbloods are the only ones who can receive the Spirit of the Commander."
"That's not really explaining what a nightblood is," Clarke says once more.
"Our blood is black," Lexa says simply, her head cocking to the side.
"Oh," and Clarke winces slightly, her mind not quite sure how to react to what Lexa says. "Your blood's black?"
"Yes," Lexa says. "Nightblood," she finishes simply.
"And Jani has it, too?" and Clarke thinks of what may have caused it, the mutations that must have been a result of radiation.
"Yes, Clarke," Lexa answers.
"She seems to know you really well," Clarke continues, her mind turning back to the small moment she had had with the young girl and the way she had lifted her chin.
"I have known her since she was a newborn," Lexa says, her eyes smiling quietly at the memory. "She came to Polis at the same time I did," and Lexa begins to walk around the table quietly, hands held behind her back.
"You've not always lived here?" Clarke asks, her eyes tracking Lexa's movements.
"No," and Lexa stops in her movements to meet Clarke's gaze. "When a nightblood is found they are brought to Polis to train," and she thinks for a moment, a memory slowly being recalled. "I was almost ten when I was discovered," Lexa continues, "Jani was a newborn when she was discovered at the same time."
"What about your parents?" but Clarke thinks she has touched upon a sore topic as Lexa looks away briefly.
"It is a blessing for a child to have nightblood, Clarke," and Lexa begins to move slowly once more around the table.
"You don't see them?" Clarke asks, Lexa's unspoken words clear for Clarke to read.
"They no longer live," Lexa says simply, her eyes falling to the Mountain.
Clarke winces at the words, her mind reprimanding herself at the direction she has steered the conversation, "I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"It was not your fault, Clarke," Lexa says in answer.
And so Clarke turns her mind to other things in search of a topic less sore, "so you've known Jani since she was a baby?"
"Yes," Lexa answers. "She was too young to take part in my conclave."
"When you became the Commander?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," and Lexa's gaze turns darker for a moment. "She was no more than five," Lexa finishes simply. "There are other nightbloods," Lexa says, her mind already anticipating Clarke's next question. "Perhaps you will meet them another time," Lexa finishes with a smile.
Lexa's gaze turns to the balcony, her eyes tracking the swaying of the sheer fabric that hangs from the ceiling, and so Lexa turns to Clarke, her head inclining in invitation and Clarke feels her lips smile as she begins to walk forward.
It surprises Clarke when she feels the wind that is held back by the fabric, the chill of the open air enough to catch her breath for a long moment. And so Lexa eyes her as they find themselves resting against the stone railing, the vastness of Polis spreading out below them.
"Polis is beautiful," Clarke says quietly, her eyes tracking the streets that wind between buildings and the richness of colours that flash through the streets only to be swallowed by the forest that surrounds the city on all four sides and the swathe of mountain ridges that fade into the distance, some snowcapped, some jagged as they reach up into the sky.
Clarke eyes the sky for a moment, her gaze tracing the clouds overhead and the sun that only just begins to settle at the highest point in the sky.
"The peace will not last," Lexa says quietly, and Clarke knows Lexa gazes at her. "Nia will march on Polis," she continues, "perhaps it will not be tomorrow, or next season, or even two seasons from now. But Nia will march on Polis if she still rules Azgeda, Clarke," and Lexa's voice quiets, it softens and the timber of it lessens as the last of her words leave her lips.
"I know," and it comes out tinged with a sadness, and Clarke lets herself think of what she knows of Nia, of the things Nia has done and the things Lexa has done, and perhaps even the things she knows herself to have done. "I never wanted to rule anything though," Clarke whispers to Lexa, the other woman's shoulder brushing against hers for a moment.
"There are many things we do not wish to happen that do, Clarke," Lexa echoes from earlier.
Clarke finds herself at the training grounds, her feet scuffing against the dirt underfoot as she takes in lungfuls of air, Torvun close by her side as he waits for her to catch her breath once more. She had left Lexa and Polis tower near midday, their shared conversation weighing on her mind. She had felt the tension building, too, and so she had found her way to the training grounds.
And so she looks up at the groan of pain and the thump that echoes out through the lightly crowded area to find Ontari struggling up to her feet as Entani winces slightly, all the while Teril continues to smirk down at her from where he stands, his feet lazy in their movements.
Ontari struggles to her feet with a scowl, her hand coming to wipe at the sweat against her forehead as her hand reaches out for her blunted blade. Teril only watches for a moment, long enough for Ontari's fingers to fully close around the handle of the blade before he lunges. Ontari senses his shift in posture just as his feet leave the dirt and so she curses out, ducks a swing and rolls from him as she already begins to swivel on her knees, blade swiping out behind her as she comes to her feet. But Teril closes in on her, his sword slashing at her leg, Ontari shifts her leg with the motion, the strike only just missing her before Teril spins with the momentum, his fist snapping out as he comes to face her once more, and Clarke winces as she once more hears the slap of Teril's hand as it crashes against Ontari's nose.
"Stay down, Ontari," Teril says from where he stands over her. "You will not best me," and he eyes her for a moment, his lips turning up into a smirk as he watches Ontari spit out a mouthful of blood.
Clarke smiles as she sees curses fall from Ontari's lips as the woman is helped up by Entani, already holding a clean cloth to her nose.
"I'm glad you don't hit me so hard, Torvun," Clarke says as she turns to the large man by her side.
"Do you wish me to?" he asks, hand swiping at his scalp as sweat drips down the side of his face.
"Nope," she laughs as she eyes Ontari making her way to them, Teril already turning to another of Nia's guards who approaches, sword in hand as it swings out lazily before her, clearly eager to test her own skills against Teril.
"Teril is skilled at range and at close quarters," Torvun says more quietly, his eyes tracking Teril as he slips from under the other guard before rising behind her, foot lashing out at her thigh as she turns quickly too.
"You've served with him, right?" Clarke asks, nodding once at Ontari who comes to a rest by her side.
"Yes," Torvun says simply.
"How's your nose?" Clarke asks, the conversation between her and Torvun quickly dropping.
"Fine," Ontari says, her voice coming muffled from behind the cloth held to her nose.
"Your shoulder looked better," Clarke says, her gaze falling to Ontari's shoulder briefly.
Ontari shrugs at her words with hardly a wince, "it is getting better," she finishes.
They fall into a quiet then, their eyes tracking Teril who disarms the other guard before elbowing her across the jaw. Clarke watches as the woman rolls with the blow only for Teril to pounce onto her, knees pinning her arms to the side as he drags a hand across her throat, the act a clear simulation of slicing under her chin with a blade.
"Teril has killed another," Torvun says easily.
"Yeah," and Clarke worries her lip as she sees him help the other guard to her feet, hand clapping her across the shoulder as she grumbles under her breath.
But Clarke sees the two guards sense a shift in the air, and Clarke feels Torvun sense the same as he tenses and as he turns from her. And so Clarke follows his eyes to find Nia standing at the edge of the training grounds, Polis tower rising up behind her in the distance as she begins to walk past a few warriors from other clans who eye her suspiciously, her own guards glaring harshly at any who move too close or too fast.
Clarke feels the Azgeda slowly move towards Nia then, and so she finds her own feet taking her forward, the few Azgeda, no more than twenty slowly coalescing into a group as Nia comes to a stop before them.
"I am pleased you are preparing yourselves," Nia says, eyes moving from scarred face to scarred face she sees. "Come Clarke, I wish for you to walk with me," and Nia's eyes snap to Clarke's with a smile.
The walk through Polis is an odd experience, Clarke finds. It's tense in that she feels Nia's gaze on her even when the Kwin lets her gaze wander, it's tense because Clarke feels the prickle on the back of her neck the longer she stays in the Kwin's proximity, and Clarke thinks it tense if only because she knows not what Nia knows.
Clarke hears Teril growl out a warning to a passerby who walks too close, the Lake Clan warrior merely grunting out his own response as he passes, and so Clarke lets her gaze move from person to person she sees, vendors behind carts, smiles on their faces as they barter and trade with those before them. Clarke eyes merchants who move through the streets, some pulling carts, others carrying baskets, and Clarke sees people who must live in Polis, some warriors, some craftsmen and others whose job Clarke can't quite put her finger on.
"What do you think of Polis, Clarke?" Nia asks over her shoulder, her eyes flashing to Clarke's easily.
"It is large," Clarke answers, the truth in her words clear for any to see.
"It is," Nia says, her lip curling up slightly at her words before she turns her attention back to where she walks.
And so Clarke continues to follow the many guards that flank Nia and who push their way through the throng of people as Nia winds her way deeper and deeper into the depths of Polis. And it must be an age that they walk, the sun now slowly beginning its descent in the sky, but as they turn another corner Clarke registers the shift in moods, in the colours that surround her and that hang from the buildings that spring up all around her.
"Azgeda sector," Nia says simply, her eyes tracking a banner that drapes the front of a large building, the stark white of the hand glinting in the sunlight.
Clarke notices that many more Azgeda line the streets now, the majority warriors, hardened and roughened to the harshness of the ground. Clarke eyes a few from other clans, some craftsmen and merchants, their clothing more vibrant and rich than the whites and greys of Azgeda.
"Merchants brave enough to face Azgeda are welcomed in Azgeda sector," Teril says as Clarke eyes the few merchants about.
"Not many want to trade here?" Clarke asks, but from the way a quiet settles over this part of Polis, Clarke thinks she can't blame the masses for avoiding this small Azgeda keep.
"The market is better suited for trade," Nia says from where she walks, her head nodding in acknowledgement to a number of warriors who pass her, their own heads bowing. "Azgeda sector is for warriors," she finishes simply.
Clarke notices that many of these warriors carry the same half circle scars slashed across their faces, the line and curve of them similar to Teril's.
"Many are from the Northern villages," Nia says simply, eyes tracking Clarke's wandering gaze.
"How many are here?" Clarke asks cautiously, and as the words leave her lips she thinks she feels the smirk Nia lets spread across her lips.
"Enough," Nia answers as she comes to a stop at a door, this one large and not unlike the doors to Nia's throne room Clarke had visited months ago. "Come, Clarke," Nia says as she steps inside, guards peeling off to take position outside as Teril walks in first, his gaze sweeping over the interior.
And so Clarke enters too, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dimmed light to find a large table that sits at the far end of the long space, a fire burning in its place in the centre of the floor, and a throne of simple stone wrapped in furs at the head of the table.
"You will dine with me, Clarke," Nia says as she begins walking forwards, "you must be hungry after training.".
And so Clarke nods her head simply, the truth of Nia's words making themselves known as her stomach grumbles to the scents of foods cooked and spiced. And as Clarke begins to walk towards the large table she feels Teril's eye drilling into her, and she eyes that same servant who had been present last time she had eaten with Nia, the woman's eyes peering at her cautiously before looking away, the scar across her cheek and that dips into her lip glinting dimly in the candle light.