It has been a while, in all fairness. I was caught up in real life (and as you can imagine, that just kept on happening), and then when I went to return to I realised hadn't had nearly as much though put into Trikru as I had the various aspects of whump Azgeda was putting on.
Anya does not enjoy the constant daily event that is running things. Acting as a form of oversight for the various moving parts that make up the pack is bearable; direction and strategy in face of danger her hallmark. Paperwork and hand holding and organizing the month's meals in minute detail are not. This she and the elders of the pack recognized early, and since then she has only rarely been required to fulfill a role other than that of warchief.
Rarely, but not never. There are times that she alone is capable of seeing the pack continues to function. Such as now. It feels as though everything around her slows to a crawl after the mad rush of the raid. Anya knows it hasn't, because she is the one receiving all the reports and allotting detachments and confirming their stocks and managing the pack the way she should really only be taking care of their company's integrity. Work she can delegate only so far before it begins to cause problems of its own. Moments drag endlessly into similar moments. This is no task for a hotblooded wolf, but her wolf is not needed.
There is a very good reason why she remains employed only as head of pack security, despite being the one to train their Heda into the finest gona Trikru has to follow into battle. Train her in the old way, as a gona trains their sekon, wolf and skin. And yet, although even Leksa has to give up the trail eventually (it is cold, and has been since they stopped their pursuit to try and save Costia - the wolves of Azgeda are ghosts and shadows on snow) and Indra is at her back as they return in the late hours of the afternoon, they are pale copies of themselves. And so she remains in charge of events while they stand what methods of mourning they can stomach.
If she were as wounded as they, neither would let a burden they could shoulder fall on her struggle, and so she remains, in charge of the compound and pack and human business all. Strong protect the weak, healthy the injured. That is the way things are.
Indra, Anya knows, would have kept the hunt going until the cold edge of eternity grows dull, such is her cold fury and grief, if it were not for the anchor of her duty. And Lexa too, has her duty to cling to in the face of their loss.
Anya cannot, will not, add to their burden, and so she prevails even as the burden grows heavy.
It feels like everything slows after the mad rush of the raid, like stumbling into a thigh sucking mire after a sprint over packed earth. Anya knows it hasn't, because she is the one responsible for receiving all the reports and allotting detachments to guard against reprisal and confirming their stocks continue to provide for their expenses and managing the pack in the way she should really only be taking care of the company, of their goufa. More and more of the moments she lives through drag. But she is a gona. She will face this foe head on. She will not turn tail and run from what needs to be done. Even if she wants to.
The Omega is the least of it. She had been the biggest surprise, at the time - such an occurrence among their kind is rare, and precious; Omegas do not appear out of thin air - but she is compliant enough in her grief. Pairbonding, her mind supplies unhelpfully, even as she knows a single year of companionship has nothing on the decade that - she brings line of thought to sharp halt.
Anya has her moved to the quiet of the third floor. There is nothing wrong with her, physically, even with her silence, and Nyko has the other wounded to tend to. The new location is safe, secure, and stops her ever present distress pheromones from seeping into the surrounding area and affecting others. The rooms were designed with Omegas in mind, after all. Even if the assumption then had been of heat instead of trauma and grief. They will have to apply industrial grade cleansers to make the room usable again, but that is a future problem. If the spirits are kind, it is not one she will have to see to.
The tower's kitchen is working overtime, the crowded row of ovens heating the vast room to midsummer temperatures. The heavy air is hazy and thick with the scent of meat and rings of smoke coiling from simmering soups. They had begun to prepare even as the gona set out, preparing a feast for their return and a supply of stocks for the wounded they know would accompany any battle, victory or no, and need meat rich broths for their convalescence in the infirmary. It keeps idle hands busy, leaves little time for worry, can be used in other dishes if unneeded. Those left in safety cannot change whatever outcome may be, but they can prepare.
Now, they have moved to making messes of stews and loaves to provide sustenance for increased pack presence hunkering down to wait out Azgada's silence, and the new Omega. The new Omega is a mystery. She was saved from the ice wolves by the raid when Costia was not, she is wounded, she wears Costia's braids, and no one knows more than that. None in the infirmary speak, nor the gona who had escorted her to the safety of the compound.
Cook - in her kitchens she has no name or title but Cook - knows that she needs pampering. Immediately and ceaselessly. All Omegas do, but especially this one, after suffering and surviving Azgeda. Soft rolls and thick soups and sweet, dense pies - she will need all those and more to recover. She sets to making it so with every bit of skill and determination gained from her years of experience as a cook, as a baker, as an aunt. She has a niece training to be a guard - she can be trusted to deliver the parcels with only a few lost for bribes. Nothing too heavy to start - her stomach will have taken a shock - but the process of feeding up needs to begin sooner than later.
The ceremony ... the ceremony. The body of the pire is built from the compounds stock of seasoned wood, bone dry and quick to light, and fresh cut boughs from the surrounding trees that will weep as they weep. Gustus, silenter than ever, brings blocks of sweet smelling hickory and apple to add. Atop lies her favoured bow, a whittled teething toy that will never now see use, and flowers, a meadows worth of them. The goufa pluck the ground bare, piling the bundles until there is barely space for the shroud.
Titus returns from their business center in Washington to organize the ceremony, flying overnight in business class rather then his usual first. He is their foremost expert, knows more than any of the old rituals. Her spirit will need all the aid they can provide to find her way through her trials to peace.
They wait in silence as the sun dips to kiss the trees. They mourn. They weep. They keen and howl. They drink to her memory and eat in memory of her life. They send her on, that she may return to a better, happier life.
After Costia – all of Costia, losing her, the long months where they had nothing, the arrival of the unmarked package, the DNA match that made the next year a hellscape of waiting in dread of discovering another, the cautious pessimism while the mole they cultivated finally found her, and the mess that was the raid – Anya would be worried if she wasn't worried about Lexa.
Her facade of aloofness is a good one, but Anya was there when she developed it and her sekon has always felt deeply.
Lexa rages, when she has an enemy - rages and burns. When she has no one to throw herself against, that sharpness turns against herself, and Anya has no enemy to give her. No victory to be worth some small part of her suffering.
Indra returns from the hunt - returns, not for more supplies or a night's rest - days after, while the moon is still bright in the sky, and goes straight to the training grounds. She is empty-handed. The rest of the day is spent with a steady stream of gona trailing away from the ring to visit Nyko. Anya cycles them to less physically demanding posts, and sends fresh replacements. Considers, for longer than she strictly should, taking a turn herself - but while she could spare perhaps an hour, there is no time to spare for her recovery. The pack needs at least one of its protectors prepared to spring to its defense.
To say nothing of the other Omega they found. She hasn't been seen in days, and the trays they leave by her door – Lexa's door, truthfully, as all rooms on that floor are, not that she's left her circuit of the perimeter and training rooms to have use of it – remain untouched from when they are left to their collection. If she continues to keep up like this - she won't, not for much longer, and Anya is unsympathetic at the thought of leaving her to Nyko's tender mercies. Might have to anyway, but at least it doesn't look like she's about to fall into a stress heat. That would be just the thing to send her careening from overworked into a full blown stress overload. Without any Azgeda cowards to work her misery out on.
She has so much on her plate, Anya is forced to allow some duties to fall to the wayside. By prioritizing the pack as a whole, she is neglecting her duties to Tris. She knows it, and yet she cannot do more than share her meals when she can and delegate her training; send her to the kitchens to work under the guidance of the cooks in the mornings, to the grounds to learn from the guards training in the afternoons, and the security that is a pile if goufa sleeping in their fur at night. Anya has too much that she must take care of that Tris cannot help with - not that she has the slightest interest in paperwork and administration - and she will not let her wonder beyond the safety of the compound.
None of the pack's pups are allowed beyond the walls, no matter their location across the wider country. There is too much risk in that. Azgeda was taken by surprise once, but they have disappeared like smoke now that Trikru have shown they are seen and hunted. And the young must be protected - they have been shown no mercy before, and the ice wolves will not hesitate to display the depths of their ruthlessness now that they have been shown wanting.
It continues on until one afternoon Tris presents her with a handmade meal. She should be training, but - Anya is suddenly, guilty aware that their time together has grown rare to the point she cannot recall offhand when last they sat down together, just the two of them with nothing to do but share the others company. She puts aside a report - one of too many, that says little but might be the clue that leads the packs trackers to where Azgeda's - and spends time with her second. Food is noticeably improved from attempt at fish. Remains subdued, even with praise, but better than slipping into grief. Will get better. Indra is capable - not ready, but capable - of fulfilling her role of coordinator. Lexa is already picking up the parts of pack leadership that only Heda can. Anya only has a little more to put in place before she can begin to step back. She will get through this trial intact.