Chapter Notes:
The journey towards Polis is long and tiring, but with the help of horse-drawn wagons and a gift from Clarke, it just might end up tolerable.
—
A deathly quiet settles across the room as the trembling man finishes reciting the message. Nervous glances flit between scared terrified servants. Nobody dares speak. Nobody dares even look in her direction. To do so could mean death.
Weak.
With the mood Queen Nia has been in lately, it's a surprise the messenger is still alive, not to mention still in her throne room. Though judging by the man's Azgeda armour, there could be a good reason for the Queen's hesitance.
"Why did she send you?"
The words slip from Nia's lip with a quiet calm, turning up in a nearly friendly smile towards the end. It's as fake as it comes, but to anyone else it would be convincing. This is Nia at her most dangerous, when she packages her temper away to focus solely on the task at hand.
Clearly the messenger doesn't understand the precarious situation he's found himself in. One misstep will have him pleading to the spirits for a quick death. A death he wouldn't soon be granted.
"My Q-queen, Heda decreed none of her messengers be used. The Ambassadors each picked one of their own people to carry the summons. With Ambassador Teika slain, I was nominated by his Seken, Tayn"
Well-spoken. Thoughtful and obviously prepared. Perhaps he is more aware of their Queen's tempers than he lets on. Ambassador Teika had been a smart man, and picked his entourage well it seems. He was loyal to Azgeda and it's people, which is why Nia let him keep his spot in Polis, despite his personal disagreement with her policies. A man like Teika had been good at placating Heda when needed.
Shame he had to die.
It seems the Queen understands this too, relaxing slightly against the cold metal of her throne. Still thoughtfully composed and controlled, her eyes scan the messenger's well-maintained armour, lingering briefly on his ritual scars. A scout, trained for their political delegation. As Nia's eyes trail across the room, the servants struggle to maintain their composure, shuddering slightly as her gaze leaves them.
"Leave us."
A dozen pairs of boots hurry across the marbled floor, eager to be away from the Queen's reach. Not that leaving the room takes them away from her reach, the fools. The heavy spruce wood door closes with a satisfying thud, leaving the room with a much less fearful atmosphere. Leaving the trembling messenger alone with Nia and her most trusted.
"Tell me, have our people in Polis adjusted?"
"Your people are well, my Queen. Despite Ambassador Teika's death, there has been no further action taken against us. Heda's warriors have been watching carefully. We severed contact with the Scouts as protocol demands, but I believe they had alternate arrangements for this type of situation?"
Trick question. There's no 'our people' in Azgeda, certainly not with Queen Nia on the throne. The messenger has been trained well, despite his shaky mien. He receives no response to his question, however. Doesn't need to know.
Instead, the Queen waves over two cloaked men. It's impossible to tell from looking at them that they aren't Azgeda. That they're weak and malleable. Not all tools have to be sharp.
"Return to Polis. They know how to contact our Scouts, but need your help to get through the gates."
Nia's focus shifts from the men to the sheet of parchment, writing down what must be instructions for the delegation to prepare for her arrival. Not even Queen Nia can ignore a summons from Heda. Not when the clans are at peace, and certainly not when she would be the only absent clan leader. No, the risks of staying away are too severe, and despite the annoyance flickering across Queen Nia's face, she signs the sheet with a flick of the wrist, before sealing it with wax.
"Bring this to Ambassador Tayn, and convey my condolences for the loss of his Fos."
Nia doesn't sound displeased at all, instead rather pleased with the situation. A rare smile pulls her lips and distorts the ritual scars on her face. Not exactly a pleasant sight, but then the Queen has never cared about much other than power. Intimidation comes to her naturally.
She's a fool.
As soon as the messenger and his two new companions have left the throne room, Queen Nia surveys the remaining generals and trusted guards. Appears to search them for any hint of hesitance or deceit. She finds none, of course.
"My Queen," The voice rings out strong yet unchallenging. "If I may?" Waits for Nia's gaze to land, piercing, affectionate, and judging all at once. Waits for the minute — barely-there — dip of her head. "As you know, your Scouts among the Wastelanders have told of the Skaikru's quest for Nightblood. The man, Jaha, is returning from Arkadia."
The smile that splits Nia's face is entirely genuine this time. Pulls wide and reveals yellowing teeth. Her eyes twinkle with entirely too much enthusiasm.
"Go to him. Find out why they want a Nightblood." The Queen's eyes gaze down across the space between them. A small shudder; It's best to appear scared, otherwise the Queen will think her conditioning needs to be repeated. "And, if his plans align with our own…"
"Understood. My Queen."
It's a dismissal and an order all in one. Has to be taken as one, so a respectful bow of the head is aimed at the Queen. Then, striding through the wooden doors, strategies and plans begins to swirl aggressively once again.
Finally.
—
They step clear of the doorway, waiting outside for a moment to collect themselves. Lexa is moving her shoulders, attempting to clear the tension. Clarke just sighs in relief. Finally, finally they know what's happened to Anya; enough to help her get better, at least. Anya will have to fill in the blanks later.
"Indra will be waiting."
Lexa sounds tired. Far more than Clarke has ever noticed in the steadfast woman before. She shrugs in agreement. Indra definitely will be waiting for them, both to question them about why their time at Mt. Weather was nearly a day longer than agreed upon, and hopefully to tell them everything is ready for their trip to Polis.
Hopefully.
"Come on then," Clarke says.
She leads the way away from the stifling warmth of Anya's room in the Healer's House, and out into the mid-day sun filtering down through the canopy above. A chill hangs in the air, reminding Clarke of her preparations for winter, weeks earlier, back when she had been alone in the forest.
Clarke quietly takes in the transformation of TonDC in their absence. It's busier than she remembers, but less organized. Likely due to the addition of Skaikru to their numbers. Mixed groups of both Trikru and Skaikru are carrying planks of wood past the Healer's House, down to a square by one of the main gates in the wall surrounding TonDC. The loud noises of carpentry — of wood being cut to shape and nails being hammered in — carries easily above the bustle, with orders being shouted out in both Trigedasleng and English.
Perhaps we have a chance..
They find Indra by a small blacksmiths workshop, one that from the racks loaded with swords and spears and numerous other sharp implements focuses exclusively on weapons. She's practically hiding away in the heavy shadow and noise from the workshop.
"Scared of a few Skaikru, Indra?" Lexa jokes, seems to find some energy despite her exhaustion.
The Chief of TonDC turns towards them with a scowl. Unsurprisingly, it stays in place even as she greets them.
"They are as loud as a flock of Pauna, and about as uncoordinated," Indra deadpans.
Lexa stays quiet as Indra guides them back to her house, and the quiet office within. Clarke attempts to keep her questions contained, despite the building curiosity surrounding the sounds of construction.
"You are late."
The three of them are seated in wooden chairs around her map-covered table. It's the map Clarke remembers from their assault on Mt. Weather months ago, still carrying some of her marks and drawings.
Uncharacteristically, Indra raises a hand to stop Clarke and Lexa from speaking, something she wouldn't have dared do in public.
"It is good you are. A small group of people approached the Maun-de during the night, attempting to gain access through the Reaper tunnels. They wore simple clothes and it was too dark to see if they had any clan symbols, but they were not Skaikru. Came from the wrong direction, and were too familiar with the forest."
Indra points to the map, tracing the border drawn around Mt. Weather. "The scouts spotted them here," she taps, indicating a spot north of the mountain. To get there, anyone from Arkadia would have to travel around TonDC without being detected.
"They didn't get in." Clarke interrupts, ignoring Indra's still-raised hand.
"No. They did not. They left soon after, clothes wet from their shoulders. The scout tried to follow them, but horses were waiting close by, allowing them to get away."
Clarke nods, explaining Indra's unspoken question. "All entrances to the Maun-de have been sealed. I flooded the reaper tunnels, so anyone trying to get through has to swim. If they were Maunon, some of the few survivors, their keys wouldn't work either. There's only one way in."
Indra shoots a glance at Lexa, nodding in agreement. "They did not get in, but it is worrying they tried. This is the first time we've seen anyone but Skaikru attempting to gain access."
The follow-up question goes unasked. Just how many times have they tried to get in before now? For them to have horses means they have help, and the attempt to use the Reaper tunnels suggests either Maunon survivors themselves, or someone they're helping gain access.
"The Ambassadors will have much to discuss when we get to Polis." Lexa sounds almost bored, but the tension in her shoulders is only building with every moment. "And Arkadia?"
"Nothing. They have been quiet. An attempt has been made at repairing the wall, but it still has gaping holes. Warriors have been lined up on the ground to protect them, and so far only a single group of hunters have left and returned empty-handed. Abby kom Skaikru has not been seen since your people escaped, Wanheda."
With Abby busy, and the lack of Kane, Jackson and Sinclair, the Council will almost certainly be in too much turmoil to mount any expeditions to Mt. Weather. With the increased number of Scouts surrounding Arkadia, there's no chance of anyone from Arkadia making it so far without being spotted.
It's a relief that is shared by all three of them, exchanging weary smiles. They know it won't last, of course, but a temporary reprieve is the best they have been able to hope for.
"I will send more Scouts when we get to Polis. Perhaps a camp at the Maun-de's main entrance will deter any more expeditions."
With the topic back on Polis, Indra brightens significantly.
—
Leaving Indra's house behind them, Clarke and Lexa split up to ready their respective groups for the long trip to Polis. They can't wait another night, not if they want to make it in time for the scheduled meeting with the other clan leaders. With the sun having already passed its high point, they need to get going soon.
Clarke finds Kane first. The sleeves on his tattered Skaikru shirt are rolled up to the elbows and beads of sweat trail down his neck. He hasn't noticed her yet, hard at work beside a Trikru warrior mounting a wheel to a large flatbed wagon.
It's such a contrast to the usually reserved and sterile appearance of the Council members. Like someone pulled him from a meeting, and he just went right to work. It's a good look on him, Clarke has to admit. There seems to be a marked decrease in animosity between the two groups of her people, the 'adults' and the 'delinquents'. Perhaps it's Kane's willingness to step in, or perhaps it's just being away from Arkadia.
Whatever the reason, it warms something within Clarke. Makes her recall her earlier thought, that they just might be able to pull this off. That one day, hopefully, they will have peace.
"Need a hand there?"
Clarke's question startles both Kane and the Trikru warrior with her sudden proximity. The warriors eyes widen at the sight of her, but no fear creeps across her features, further easing Clarke's worries for the future.
"Hey Clarke, we're almost ready here. We just need to get the last wheel on, and then get everyone ready. The Trikru has already packed everything they need on the old wagons."
With the extra pair of hands and Clarke's added strength, they make quick work of the wagon. It stands finished before they know it, and another group of people quickly swoop in to drag it away towards the stables, where the horses are waiting. Clarke and Kane step out of the way of the people still bustling about."Looks like you and Harper did a good job keeping things under control. Thank you."
Kane pulls her to a stop, turning so he can look at both Clarke and the busy people behind them.
"You know, I never thought it could be like this." He begins, swallowing hard as his eyes scan what must have been a wide street before the bombs fell, but has now been turned into a square within the city of TonDC. "We were so frightened of them when we came down. Thought them to be savages."
"I don't know how to say it, Clarke. I'm not even sure I can… If I knew then," Kane points to the blue sky filtering through the leaves above, "what I know now.. I'd do so many things differently." He sighs, and Clarke abruptly remembers that Kane had been the one to push for sending the 100 delinquents to the ground.
"Then help me change things now."
Kane scans the area again, lips pulling up into a genuine grin. "I think you've already changed things, Clarke, but I'll help where I can."
—
The group travelling to Polis turns out to be much larger than Clarke had expected it would be. All of the surviving delinquents, except for Octavia who wants to stay behind with Indra, and the older Skaikru that Kane had convinced to escape as well make up nearly 80 people.
But they're not alone. No, a contingent of warriors have joined them on Indra's orders, protecting both people and the wagons meant to carry supplies back from Polis. All in all, the group numbers just over 100.
The convoy sets off in the middle of the afternoon, attempting to make the most of the remaining daylight, but everyone is well aware they won't make it all the way today.
Clarke rides side by side with Lexa at the front, having stolen Madi away from Monty's broken attempts at speaking with her in Trig. A minute longer and Clarke is certain Monty would give up and start teaching Madi swear words in English.
Madi doesn't mind at all, eager to be back in Clarke's arms and incredibly excited about being back on top of a horse. Unlike everyone else, Madi had no problems sleeping within Mt. Weather, and Clarke is just a little jealous.
"How did Anya take the news?"
Going from the sour mood and angry words that had spilled from the woman when they left TonDC, not very well, but Clarke wants the story from Lexa. She's given up trying to stay away, unable to fight the pull between them for much longer. A small reprieve can't hurt, can it?
"Nyko ordered her to stay on the wagon for the entire trip." Lexa sniggers. Doesn't even try to hide it, either, and the mirth is infectious. "Told her that if Reivon can lay down for the trip, so can she. None of her arguments were enough to convince him otherwise."
But they must have been enough to convince Nyko to join them instead. Clarke looks back over her shoulder, taking in the scene of Nyko riding beside the wagon with Anya and Raven. Noticing Clarke's attention, he looks up and smirks at her before turning back to reprimand Anya's attempt at sitting up.
Even with the size of the group slowing them down, they're still making good time. Indra's idea to build several flatbed wagons for Skaikru to rest on has been a fantastic time-saver, allowing them to continue until the sun is just about to come down.
With the sun setting, Lexa and her warriors insist on just another push before they make camp, knowing an easily defensible clearing lies up ahead, often used by traders and large groups of travellers to rest overnight.
With the darkness growing in density faster and faster, three warriors ride up ahead to prepare campfires, meant to provide both heat and light to set up camp around. Something that turns out to have been necessary, as night is upon them when they arrive.
Immediately jumping into action, the carts and wagons are placed around the perimeter of the camp, forming a defensive wall around both small and large tents that go up fast with the help of Lexa's warriors.
Clarke doesn't have a tent. She hadn't needed one in the forest, not with her comfortable cave and heavy furs. Madi's wolf form had no need for a warm tent or protection against the wind either. Now though, back in human form, she will need the protection against the elements.
With Madi holding her hand, Clarke walks around the makeshift camp, helping out here and there, making sure that the large tents for Skaikru go up without a problem, and that each tent has prepared food and water for the night.
Having reserved a small corner in the tent with Monty and the rest of the delinquents, Clarke sets about getting ready for the night when she spots something. Something that can't wait.
Leaving Madi with Monty is a practised response by now. He only smiles down at Madi, waving at her and digging out his tablet that she's grown to love. Madi might not know how to use it, but she loves looking at pictures on the screen.
Clarke smiles softly at the pair, not sure how her little family has managed to grow so much in just a few short months on the ground.
She leaves them behind, letting her feet carry her towards Lexa's tent.
—
"Lexa, can I come in?"
The voice belongs to Clarke, uncertain and hesitant. It's such a difference to the confident and assertive version of her that Lexa has grown so used to in just a few days. So similar and yet so completely different to Clarke from before Mt. Weather; before Lexa's decision had torn them apart and revealed Clarke's nature to herself.
"Of course, come in."
Lexa looks around the bare tent, nothing like her usual travel arrangement and just a fraction of the size of the war tent. Just a bedroll with a few furs, and her travel pack and outer armour hanging on hooks on the central tent-pole. Certainly nothing big enough to entertain guests.
Clarke looks even more uncertain than she sounded, wearing a lost expression and peering at Lexa with an unreadable glance. Her hands gripping at the air around her, and it's obvious to both of them that she's uncomfortable with whatever has brought her here. Lexa steadfastly pushes away the thoughts about how adorable Clarke looks like this.
"I…" Clarke begins. Her hand coming to a stop, before suddenly seeking out one of the daggers at her side.
So this is it. Clarke has changed her mind. About Lexa and about the alliance. About Skaikru. After seeing the inside of the Maun-de for herself, Lexa can't find it in her to be upset. Clarke deserves revenge if that's what she wants. Deserves to find whatever peace she can.
"..xa? Lexa!"
The insistent call of her name pulls Lexa from her thoughts, but what she finds isn't what she expected. There's no knife to her throat. No slowly bleeding wounds.
No, Clarke is standing in front of her with a worried expression. The dagger isn't pointed at her either. It's held up in Clarke's hand, an offering.
Her own dagger. The one she gave Clarke.
She's returning it?
"Klark, I wanted you to have it."
Perhaps Clarke doesn't understand. Perhaps she does, and this is her way of telling Lexa that it isn't possible. Lexa opens her mouth, trying to come up with the words to sound grateful for getting it back. Something she knows she'll utterly fail at.
"I know," Clarke manages to speak before her, "and it's not the one you gave me."
Clarke's other hand taps another dagger at her waist, allowing Lexa's gaze to take in the vast amount of knives both visible and hidden in Wanheda's armour, but inevitably they're dragged back to the dagger in her hand.
The dagger that looks newer than Lexa's did. The one with a handle just a shade darker, but with a blade that looks just as wickedly sharp as the one she gave Clarke. It's only now that Lexa notices the thin engraving of Wanheda's Mark on the blade itself, reflecting the flickering light of the tent's solitary torch.
Oh.
"I met a blacksmith in Drom, who adjusted my swords and made me some smaller blades. He saw the dagger you gave me, and insisted he make its opposite." Clarke hesitates, but her eyes are pulsing softly, calmly. "I don't know why. I wanted to give yours back, at first, but the moment I held this in my hand, I just knew."
"I want you to have it, Lexa."
Oh.
A shaky hand reaches out to run a finger down the cold metal, reverently taking in the details. It's a near perfect match for her own and, if Lexa is right, made by the same blacksmith. Fingers gently folding around the smooth walnut handle, Lexa lifts it and tests its balance. It's perfect.
Thanking Clarke would be inappropriate. Lexa had already shared her thoughts when she gave away her own dagger, offering protection for Clarke in a time of strife.
Instead, the dagger finds its way into the empty sheath at her waist, feeling a lump form in her throat as the feeling of being naked without her knife disappears, replaced by a blooming warmth of safety and protection.
Clarke looks just about to say something. Unsure about Lexa's sudden silence and the tear that's escaped her tight control. Maybe Clarke isn't as sure about their customs as her actions would lead Lexa to believe. Maybe — just maybe — it doesn't matter.
With slow careful steps, Lexa steps into Clarke's personal space. Inches forward until they're just a breath apart. Her eyes dip to Clarke's lips, and can feel them growing brighter in excitement. She leans forward, tilting her head sideways for better access.
Soft. So soft. Rational thought leaves Lexa as her trembling lips finally meet Clarke's. It's chaste at first, as Clarke stands still in surprise, but before Lexa has even thought about pulling back, Clarke surges back into her. It's still soft, but it's so much more. Clarke pushes against her, eliminating any space between them as Lexa is manoeuvred up against the central tent-pole.
Klark.
That's the main thought racing through Lexa. Clarke accepted her offering months ago, before the Maun-de. Lexa left her, betrayed her, and still Clarke accepted her dagger. Kept it, and used it to protect herself. She melts as Clarke pulls her closer still, parting her lips as Clarke nibbles softly at Lexa's lower lip.
Klark.
Clarke came back, but didn't hate her. She was angry, yes, but Lexa understands. And still, Clarke gave her an offering of her own. The thought makes Lexa push back at little, demanding control of the kiss for a moment to show her appreciation. Lexa isn't sure what changed. Doesn't know what made Clarke accept her, made her want Lexa.
With Clarke's mouth shifting away, Lexa attempts to voice her approval. Attempts to put words to the gratitude flowing through her at Clarke's reciprocal courting.
All that comes out, however, is a drawn out "Klark…" as Clarke's mouth finds the sensitive spot on her neck.
—
Author's Notes:
Merry Christmas and happy holidays!
I hope you're all having a wonderful time, whether you celebrate Christmas or not! :)
Had intended to get this chapter out in time for the morning, but I got caught up in a minor food coma yesterday, so had to finish it up today :0
I know this chapter has been something we've all been waiting for since the beginning of the story, and I swear I had no idea it would take 120k words to get here! Genuinely, my original estimate for the entire story was somewhere between 60-80k words, so a "somewhat slow" burn turned into a "what the hell are you doing, KISS ALREADY-slow" burn.
Can't wait to see what you think of this chapter!
