The moon sits somewhere overhead, its light casts deep shadows and Clarke lets the cool of the wind brush against her face as she leans back against the tree. Her legs sway lazily beneath her, the branch she sits in sturdy and barely swaying to the winds.
The forest stretches out before her, each tree ripples and dances, each shadow shifts and fades and bleeds into one another, and the birds, the animals and those that still sleep seem to spend the quiet of the night in peaceful company.
Light, a shining beacon, a flame that glows in the dark pierces the night in the greatest distance. Arkadia's ever present glow, thought dimmed to the dark, reaches far, it casts the surrounding trees hazed by the distance in a glow that seems part mist, part dream and mirage. Ton DC lies somewhere in the distance between where Clarke finds herself resting and where she eyes Arkadia, but for now she takes a moment a enjoy the calm, to enjoy the peace, the quiet before whatever her life is sure to become.
"Where are your thoughts?" Ontari's voice comes quietly, and Clarke looks down from where she perches to see Ontari looking up at her, the woman's hands tucked into the white of her furs.
"I don't know," Clarke answers with a shrug. "Just thinking over what Roan said," and she tried not to let Roan's worries become hers, if only because she hoped them to be unfounded, to be the product of paranoia and not the product of recognised pattern.
"You think King Roan's fears are just?" Ontari asks, and Clarke thinks she sees Ontari eye the closest branch, contemplates scaling it only to discard the idea with a distain that seems to sit far too openly on the woman's face.
"I hope not," Clarke says. "But we'll find out."
"And that is why we go to Ton DC?"
"Yeah," and Clarke takes a moment to stretch, to let her bones creak, her muscles protest and her lungs to fill with the cold air before she drops from the branch and comes to stand in front of Ontari. "I want to see if Ton DC has had anything weird happen with their tech, and the same with Arkadia."
"And that will give us reason to suspect foul play?" Ontari asks.
"I guess so," and Clarke looks out to motion she hears only to find Entani fumbling through the underbrush with a scowl and the barest signs of tiredness.
"You sneak off without me, Ontari," the healer says with a huff as she tries to tame a wild braid back into place.
"You were asleep," Ontari challenges lightly.
"And now I am not."
"So what are we going to do, Clarke?" Ontari says as she turns back to her.
"Hopefully nothing," Clarke says and she can't help but to smile as Entani's eyes roll.
A low hoot echoes out around them, the sound comes from somewhere nearby, its tone deep, rich, birdlike and defiant.
"Someone approaches," Torvun's voice whispers from the shadows, and Clarke knows the man already moving to intercept, already moving to identify who it might be that treads the lands at such an hour.
Clarke watches Ontari's gaze move out into the forest, the woman already preparing to strike, already preparing to defend if need be, and she even senses Entani shrinking into the shadows, her hand reaching for her ever present spear that had been hidden somewhere Clarke can't even fathom.
And if Clarke was younger, if Clarke was less known to the world, she would have stayed where she was bathed in what little of the moon's light that found its way to the forest floor. But she isn't, and so she lets herself slip into a shadow close by, one hand dropping to the knife tucked close to her body.
The careful snapping of a twig sounds out around them, and Clarke knows it to be purposeful, and yet she remains quiet, eyes looking, searching. A body bleeds out from the shadows before her, eyes fierce in the dark of the night, body clad in dark leathers, furs and armour, brutal and defiant in their shape and tone. But Clarke recognises the woman, she recognises the way the bronzed tips of her hair catch the light.
"Anya," Clarke calls out ever so quietly as she steps out from the shadows.
"Clarke," Anya says as she turns her head to the sounds of Entani and Ontari who both come to step into the light.
"You've been following us?" Clarke asks, but she thinks she knows the answer already.
"My scouts follow everyone who moves through our lands," Anya answers, and Clarke watches Anya greet both other women present with a subtle nod before her gaze turns back to her.
"You aren't here to just say hi? Are you?"
"No," Anya says simply. "You were being watched," and Anya simply shrugs as Ontari grumbles out a quiet annoyance at that. "And when I was informed that you four had split off from your warriors in the middle of the night," and Anya shrugs. "I thought it best to investigate."
"I see," and Clarke pauses for a moment as she listens to Torvun's quiet birdcall, long enough to know that it means the all clear, that whoever else is nearby is friend and not foe.
"We expected you to come to Polis directly," Anya continues, and Clarke watches as the woman rolls a shoulder for a moment as she comes to lean against a tree.
And Clarke takes just a moment to think of whether it useful to reveal Roan's worries to Anya, but, as she continues to eye Anya for a moment she thinks it best to inform, if only because it could help shed even a little light on the issue at hand.
And so, "Roan is worried about a clan trying to take more control than they currently have," Clarke begins, and she watches Anya's eyebrow raise, she watches the woman's eyes narrow, and she thinks she sees the barest hint of a snarl upon her lips.
"Who?" Anya says, and her voice comes out quiet.
"We don't know," Clarke answers with a shrug. "That's why I'm going to Ton DC first, to look around, ask some questions," and then she gestures to the glowing of Arkadia in the far distance. "And then to Arkadia, then we'll come to Polis."
"Why do you believe this?" Anya says, and Clarke sees the woman look pointedly to a shadow somewhere above, and Clarke knows Anya signals to a scout, a messenger perhaps.
And Clarke thinks it prudent to not reveal all, if only because she knew not if the fears were founded.
"It's complicated," Clarke says. "It could even be nothing," and she sighs as Anya's annoyance seems to grow. "Look, let me ask around, I'll see if anything is dangerous or not. But for now there's no need to go spreading panic to everyone else without any real proof or evidence to suggest something is happening."
"You must know I will not keep this from Heda," Anya says instead of agreeing with her.
"I know," Clarke's eyes close for a moment as she tries not to let the tiredness of her travels catch up to her.
"I will let you investigate in Ton DC, in Arkadia," Anya says. "And I will inform Heda of what you do. But you will inform Heda, yourself, of what this plan is, regardless of what you find, when you return to Polis."
Clarke's gaze snaps to movement from the shadows to find a figure stepping out, leathers and weathered furs draped around a slender, lithe body, and it takes her only a moment longer before she recognises the telltale signs of hair, curled and pulled back in a single messy braid that flows down the woman's back.
"Hello, Clarke," Costia says as she comes to stand beside Anya, a small knife held between fingers as she trims the nails of her free hand carefully. Costia's eyes narrow just a fraction as she pulls the knife away and holds her hand up to the moonlight as she inspects whatever trimmed cuts she has made. Clarke thinks Costia must be satisfied with the state of her nails for the motion lasts only a second before Costia flips the knife into her free hand and begins to trim the other nails.
Costia smirks for just a brief second as she looks to Ontari who stands beside Clarke, and Clarke is sure she sees Costia wink, and, as she spares a moment to look at Ontari from the corner of her eyes, she is sure she sees the tips of the woman's ears reddening just barely in the moonlight.
The forest breathes around her, each flitting bird overhead blends into the shadows, each sound of hoof clipping against ground, and each neighing echo adds to the softness of the forest sounds.
Clarke rides at the head of her warriors, her shoulders squared, her eyes careful as she peers ahead. Ontari and Entani ride beside her, each one of them wary of the lands surrounding them, despite the company they kept. Torvun rides behind them, too, the man's frame enough to cast a shadow across the ground that dwarfs Clarke's.
Clarke looks up to the sound of a birdcall, something loud, something strong enough to cut through the thick of the forests around them, but she doesn't mind, doesn't even feel apprehension as shadows seem to move through the trees overhead, as Trikru scouts begin to make themselves known through movement.
Her hand rises, the motion lazy, easy, simple and well worn, and so it doesn't surprise her when the motion is met by a deep horn blown from somewhere behind her, one of her warriors quick to follow her command.
Clarke smiles as the trees seemingly part before her very eyes, she smiles as the forest opens up to reveal gates already beginning to swing open with a low groan, and she smiles as she sees warriors, some familiar, who stand nearby, hands resting comfortably atop sword hilts, some leaning against trees close by.
The sounds of bustling life begin to reach her, too, and she hears yelling, laughter, the familiar clang of metal against metal and the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh. She smells meats cooking, scents, spices and a myriad of other things all forming together to bring life to Ton DC that spreads out before her.
Warriors from other clans seem to be present, some from Glowing Forest, from Broadleaf, even from as far as Desert Clan, but that doesn't surprise Clarke. Not when the Mountain has become a beacon of the Coalition, of what the clans can accomplish when united.
But she doesn't miss the barest hints of wariness within the eyes of some clans whose past with Azgeda was violent, filled with death and anger and old grudges. And yet, she doesn't quite seem to care. And so Clarke lets her shoulders square and her back straighten as she eases her horse to a slow stop.
"We make camp," Clarke calls out over her shoulder and she sees some of her warriors already beginning to disembark. "For the next few days. Then we will travel to Polis, so enjoy the break, hunt, trade, do not cause trouble."
Clarke dismounts, her feet hit the ground with a thud, and she feels Ontari and Entani, and Torvun come to stand beside her as she turns to face the presence she feels coming her way.
Indra walks forward, the older woman's face cast in an ever present scowl, but her steps come eased and relaxed. Not to Clarke's surprise, she finds Anya beside Indra, too, the woman having made it to Ton DC during the night.
"Clarke," Indra says, and Clarke can't help but to wonder if the woman ever relaxes, ever makes time for anything other than duty
"Indra," Clarke says, hand extending, fingers already closing around Indra's forearm.
"Anya has informed me," Indra says simply, eyes just once gazing around them and to any eyes that may be present.
"We should talk in private," Clarke says in answer, and she finds herself already feeling the barest signs of anxiousness taking hold, if only because she hopes to find no evidence or proof to confirm Roan's fears.
The room they stand in brings memories forward, of times when they had planned battles against the Mountain. Hardly anyone else stands around the table where a map that seems permanently placed, dominates its surface with models, some large, some small, each one a landmark of the surrounding areas.
"Speak, Clarke," Anya says, and Clarke looks from Anya to Indra and Costia, before taking a moment to hold the gaze of Ontari, Entani and Torvun.
"Roan believes someone is trying to sabotage our way of communicating," Clarke begins.
"How?" Indra asks.
"By sabotaging our radios," and Clarke gestures to the radio she sees tucked into Indra's pocket, and she thinks the general must keep it on her person at all times. "Every clan has a radio so their ambassadors can communicate with their capitals, to help trade, negotiations, or to even smooth over any problems before they spiral out of control," and Clarke lets her mind wander to the dangers, the challenges of suddenly being the only clan not able to communicate with their capital.
"Why does King Roan thinks this?" Indra says.
"When I was on my hunts," Clarke continues. "Echo noticed that someone had messed with the radios, tried to change something on them," and Clarke thinks to conversations already had.
Costia goes to say something then, gaze just once flicking to Ontari before back to Clarke.
"—And I know what some of you are thinking," Clarke interrupts with an apologetic smile. "But we've thought about it," and she pauses for just a second to order her thoughts. "Yes, Roan is being cautious, but someone could be playing with our radios to try to familiarise themselves with them, or to see just how much they could get away with before we start to notice," and Clarke looks to Torvun who seems to think her words make sense, and she thinks he must agree, if only because his experience as a royal guard must have meant his life had always been dominated by being over cautious, every threat, small or large, considered and taken as seriously as the next.
"And if it is not really a ploy to cause confusion, to cause conflict between the clans?" Costia asks, and Clarke can't help but to think, just for a moment, that the woman seems to have settled well into life free from shackles, free from torture and pain and servitude.
"That's why I'm here," Clarke answers. "Why we're all here," and she gestures to Ontari and Entani and Torvun. "If it's nothing, then there's no point going to Polis straight away and pointing fingers. We'd need proof of some kind," and she watches Anya nod slowly, she watches the scowl beginning to spread even further across Indra's face. "So we're here. At Ton DC, and then to Arkadia, even the Mountain if we don't find anything. But this is where the most tech is, where someone would try to do something if that's what they're after. If they're trying to cause trouble, then maybe they'll start here," and Clarke hopes her decision, her guess, is correct.
"I do not know," Anya says then, and Clarke's gaze snaps back to her.
"Why?" and Clarke doesn't question to cause offence, but merely to see a differing of opinions.
"If someone wishes to cause conflict with tech, then why risk being caught where it is more heavily guarded?"
"It makes sense to me, Anya," Costia counters. "If someone is causing trouble, if they have already done something in Polis, or if they have done all they can do in Polis, then they would need to find other sources of tech to learn, to try to sabotage," and Costia pauses, sweeps her hand around them. "So here. Arkadia. The Mountain."
And perhaps, as the conversation continues to flow around the table of point and counterpoint, argument and counterargument, and as Clark's gaze seems drawn to the map, to the models and the drawings of the lands, the trees and the forests, Clarke can't help but to think it tiring, to think it frustrating that tech could once more be the catalyst to troubles within the Coalition.
Lexa takes a deep breath, her lungs fill with the heavenly scents of pine, of flower, spices and forests. She lets her mind ease, her body relax as much as it can, and she tries to clear her thoughts of all worry, of all annoyances.
Steam clings to her body, its presence sensed more than felt, yet she thinks it warm, full of richness, full of a burning heat that eases her muscles and stills her heart.
"Heda," the voice calls out to her ever so quietly. "It is ready."
Lexa takes a step forward, eyes closed, thoughts clear, she lets her toes feel the heat of the metal and then she lets her foot raise, lets it dip into the heat of a searing bath and she can't hold back the groan of satisfaction, of comfort as the water begins to steal her worries.
And so Lexa finds herself reclining in the wash basin, its body large, its sides smoothed and polished brass. Reflections bounce off her wash rooms walls, some cast by the burning embers beneath the wash basin, some from the candles that linger nearby. Later laps at her chin, her head rests back against the wash basin's smoothed and rounded edge, and she can't help but to moan ever so gently as fingers card their way through her hair, and as the quiet sounds of a whetstone against metal ring out around her.
"You should tell the ambassadors to leave for the rest of the day," Shana says quietly, and Lexa can't help but to feel the barest smile tug at the corners of her lips.
"That would only cause me more discomfort and pain tomorrow and the day after, Shana. You know that."
"That sounds like a problem for the Heda of tomorrow," Shana counters.
And Lexa laughs lightly, the sound rumbling somewhere deep in her chest.
"And what do you think, Jass?" Lexa asks, and she listens to the stilling of the whetstone against metal.
"I think Shana speaks wisely," Jass' voice answers, and Lexa opens her eyes to see Jass eyeing her with a mirth behind hazel eyes, and a dark complexion.
"So it is mutiny?" Lexa chides, and she smiles as Jass flips the knife, pretends to stab it forward.
"Perhaps, Heda," Jass says, and from the slight pause in the fingers through her hair, Lexa is sure Shana's eyes roll.
The laughter fades though, and Lexa lets herself retreat deeper into her thoughts, into her memories, into things she knows are to come, and it happens subtly at first, and she thinks it not something conscious, not something purposeful, but she feels the pressure slowly building behind her eyes, she feels the frustration tensing her muscles, grinding her teeth, and she feels the anger already bubbl—
"Heda?" Shana's voice cuts in ever so quietly, and it takes Lexa a moment longer to realise that Shan's fingers have stilled in her hair, that Jass' sharpening of her knife has silenced.
"I am ok, Shana," Lexa says as she opens her eyes, looks up into the ceiling for a moment.
"Are you?" Jass asks, and Lexa knows it not often that one of her handmaidens would so openly ask, so openly disagree with her words, regardless of how close she feels to them.
And perhaps Jass' question, her worry, was enough for Lexa to think, to try to organise her thoughts, to really consider.
And so, "No," Lexa sighs as she dips just a little lower into the milky water.
"Do you wish to talk, Heda?" Shana asks.
And perhaps it couldn't hurt, couldn't cause anymore trouble than that of the ambassadors.
"The ambassadors are short sighted," Lexa begins, and she finds the smile spreading across Jass' lips familiar. "Not all of them," Lexa continues. "But Elios," and she grimaces as an image of the man and his narrow snake like face takes hold in her eyes. "He is blinded by his hatred for tech. Too blinded to see the good it does for our people," Lexa says.
"Not all ambassadors feel the same, Heda," Jass offers, and Lexa feels Shana's agreement in the gentle tug of her hair.
"They do not," Lexa says. "But they will not openly disagree with him over something that they fear themselves."
"They fear it?" Shana asks.
"They do," Lexa answers. "They fear it, but they do not think it is bad, not like Elios and some others."
"Do you wish for us to gather information?" Jass asks simply, and Lexa knows her handmaidens would do much for her, all she would need to do is say so.
"No, Jass," and Lexa shakes her head. "Not yet. I do not wish to antagonise any who are undecided. Not yet. Not when I must first deal with Elios."
"Very wise, Heda," Shana jokes.
"I am sure the warriors feel differently, Heda," Jass offers. "At least those who were wounded during the Mountain's siege, or from Nia's actions," and Lexa thinks she knows what Jass thinks of. "Many still breathe because of Skaikru and their tech. Many still walk, still wield weapon when once they would be maimed. Others still, who were more seriously wounded may continue to serve, perhaps not as warriors, but they can provide for their clan in other ways with the help of tech, when once they would become cripple."
"Yes, Jass," Lexa says, and she lets her eyes close and her worries drift away. "But still," and she lets sleep pull at her mind ever so slowly. "There are some who I must still convince."