Clarke walks the halls of Polis tower. The sun seems to be starting its downward journey through the sky and she thinks the way the stone glimmers a golden colour charming. Lexa walks beside her, and as both women pass Polis guard and tower servant, they fall into the comfortable pattern of nodding a head in acknowledgement, and smiling at those they recognise.
"How have things been?" Clarke asks.
"The ambassadors do little different," Lexa answers, and Clarke finds herself smiling despite the headache she knows will return come their next clan meeting.
"To be honest," Clarke continues. "I thought they might get less annoying with me gone."
Lexa seems to smile just a little at that, but Clarke sees the expression turn to frown as they turn a corner, "some made more demands of Azgeda with your absence."
Clarke scoffs, barks out a laugh and she thinks it to be expected, "who?" she asks. "They're too afraid to say it directly to my face."
"They fell in line," Lexa says.
"They did, did they?"
"Yes, Clarke."
"Did you have to threaten them?"
"Perhaps."
"Cool," Clarke says. "What do you think, Torvun?" she asks over her shoulder. "Do you think we should give them a little visit, make them think twice about taking advantage of my absence?"
"Perhaps, Clarke," Torvun answers from somewhere behind her. "You have not demonstrated your skills with a knife for quite some time."
Teben sits crosslegged on the stone floor. A single rough fur the only thing to help fight the cold of the dungeons. Clarke wonders if the woman regrets the choices she made in life that led her to where she now is. Just for a moment Clarke feels a stab of pity before she pushes it away and takes a step forward.
"Teben," Clarke says.
"Clarke," Teben answers as she peers past her and to Lexa who remains in the shadows.
"How's your arm?" Clarke asks, and she eyes the bandage that seems fresh, less stained with blood.
"Sore," Teben says as she raises it for a moment only to have it drop back to her side. "It itches."
"That's good," Clarke says. "It means it's beginning to heal."
"Yes," and Teben looks away, seems to focus her gaze somewhere on the wall where stone and crack and water meet in a constant drip.
"I heard something that might interest you," Clarke says, and she pauses for long enough that the words sink in and that Teben turns to face her again. "We found some of your friends in the forests," and she gestures outwards. "They were experimenting with tech but it went wrong. There was an accident and they died."
Clarke sees Teben's eyes narrow a fraction, she sees the suspicion and the barest hints of anger flare in her eyes and across her pale skin.
"You think I'm lying, don't you?" Clarke asks.
Instead of answering, Teben turns her face and looks to the dungeon wall, and Clarke finds herself trying to gauge just how much Teben knows, whether she is a pawn, someone infatuated with an ideal, or whether she knows more, has known more from the very start. Clarke thinks Teben smart though, and so she sighs, steps closer and comes to crouch down before the woman.
"Look," she begins. "I've kept my word since the very start," and Clarke feels the smallest of victories as Teben looks back to her. "I've treated you as well as can be expected given the situation," and she pauses as she thinks of how best to say her next words. "But I didn't lie to you about the consequences, Teben," she continues. "It's up to you to decide how this plays out."
"How many?" Teben says.
"How many?"
"How many were killed?"
"Nine," Lexa's voice cuts in, and Clarke senses her step closer and come to stand behind her. "Someone escaped," Lexa adds, and Clarke sees Teben's eyes flash something she can't quite place. "They are injured," Lexa says.
"Teben," and Clarke pulls the woman's attention back to her. "So far none of your friends have done anything that is too serious," Clarke tries to let her voice become as gentle as possible. "I know you don't like tech, but it's helped you. It's helped the Coalition," she says. "If you friends are experimenting with explosives, if they don't know what they're playing with, then more people are going to be hurt, more people could die."
Teben breaks eye contact again.
"So far they haven't hurt anyone else," Clarke pushes. "If you help us, if you tell us what you know, then no one," and Clarke reaches out and puts a hand on the woman's knee. "Needs to be hurt further."
Clarke watches as Teben bites her lip, seems to chew on it for a long moment before looking past her and to Lexa who Clarke is sure must be staring unwaveringly at the woman.
"Where did they die?" Teben says eventually.
"West," Lexa says. "Past the bend in river Tarno."
Teben seems to think for another moment before she must make her mind up for she blinks a few times in the dark of the dungeons before meeting Clarke's inquisitive stare.
"There are more," Teben says. "We have camps throughout the forests."
"Why?" Clarke asks.
"So we can learn tech away from others."
"Why?"
"We do not want to hurt people," Teben says, and Clarke is sure she sees the woman accept the fact that she is to reveal more than she had ever planned to do. "But we do not trust tech. We think it only causes violence and destruction."
"So, what?" Clarke asks. "You steal it?"
"Yes."
"What are you planning to do with the stolen tech?" Clarke asks.
"I do not know," Teben answers, and Clarke thinks she tells the truth.
"Who leads you?"
"I do not know," Teben repeats quietly, her head hung low.
"Where's the closest camp to Polis?" Clarke continues.
But Teben seems to second guess what she is about to say for she looks back up to them, and Clarke is sure Lexa's presence must be daunting, must be having an effect on the woman.
"In the forests," Teben says, this time to Lexa. "Do you know the caves near the lakes to the north?'
"Yes," Lexa answers.
And with that Teben seems to deflate just a little more than before, and Clarke is sure she sees a guilt take hold of the woman's thoughts.
"You're going to help us stop this getting worse, Teben," Clarke says as she comes to stand. "I hope you realise that," and Clarke watches as Teben looks up again, but this time her gaze seems a little less sure and steady.
"What will you do to them?"
"That's up to them," Clarke says as simply as she can, and she tries to keep emotion out of her voice.
To the side of Lexa's throne room and through a heavy set of doors lies a small chamber. But perhaps small is quite the best description if only because it's interior isn't much smaller than Lexa's war tent, and that, Clarke thinks, is anything but small. In comparison to her throne room, though, perhaps it is, just a little. A large war table dominates its centre, a map lies across it and candles and torches burn in scones upon the walls or upon small trays set about the room.
Anya stalks around the table slowly, the woman's gaze directed down onto the map and the small model that marks where Teben had said the camp is. Lexa remains standing still, gaze careful as she takes in the surrounding landscapes, and as Clarke continues to watch Anya, she can't help but to think the woman keen for a fight, for something more to do than the peace that has settled since Nia's fall.
"You trust her?" Anya asks, and Clarke isn't sure whether she speaks to her or to Lexa.
"Yes," Clarke says anyway, and she feels Lexa's gaze move to her briefly before back down to the map.
"And your plan?" Anya continues. "You are not going to let them continue making camps and stealing tech."
"No," Lexa says. "The prisoner says she does not wish to harm others."
"But?" Anya asks.
"She may not speak for everyone she is allied with."
"They're playing with explosives," Clarke says, and she sees Anya's eyes narrow a fraction. "From what you've told me," and Clarke wonders how they got hold of such tech. "I don't even know how they got hold of them, maybe they were really just experimenting with it, and things got out of hand."
"I can not allow people who are not capable of understanding tech continue to experiment with it," Lexa says.
"No," Clarke nods. "I didn't think you'd want that, either."
"So?" Anya asks. "I will take warriors," and Anya jerks her chin towards Costia who remains offside, and standing by the closest wall, the woman's habit of standing in the shadows not lost on Clarke. "We will confront."
"No," Lexa says quickly, and Clarke watches as Anya's head tilts in confusion for a moment.
"No?" she asks, and Clarke looks to Gustus who remains by the door, the man's own eyes somewhat curious as to what Lexa must be thinking.
"There is someone in Polis," Lexa says. "Who is wounded. Who must be watching us," and she pauses, looks around to Clarke, to Anya, Costia, even Gustus and Torvun. "If you pull your warriors from Polis, Anya," she continues. "Then word can spread. Then whoever watches us may warn all those nearby."
Clarke smiles then, for she thinks she knows where Lexa goes.
"I have warriors camped outside Polis," Clarke says, and she knows she has guessed correctly when Lexa smiles subtly before nodding for her to continue. "They won't be watched, so their movements won't be noticed," Clarke says. "We'll have a better chance of slipping through the forest and sneaking up on them than your warriors, Anya," Clarke says as she turns to the older woman. "I'll keep my warriors already in Polis here, I'll even have them begin to move through the Polis streets, make their presence in the city even more obvious."
Anya seems to think over what she says for a long moment, but Clarke knows Anya cunning, smart, ruthless and practical, at least when it comes to violence, so she thinks it not likely that Anya will disagree with what she has said.
"It is sound," Anya says after another moment.
"So what's the plan, Lexa?" Clarke asks as she smiles at Anya before facing Lexa once more.
Lexa takes a moment to take in the map once more, and Clarke can't help but to admire the way the flame light seems to dance across her face as she leans forward before looking up at everyone who stands near and far.
"Confront them, subdue them however you must, destroy their camp and bring back any tech you find."
"That easy, huh?" Clarke asks, and she doesn't care that Anya's eyes roll.
"I have faith in your abilities, Clarke," Lexa says in response, but Clarke thinks it comes out all too serious.
Ilian's hip hasn't stopped hurting him since the explosion, but the paste he applies every morning seems to have turned the burning pain into a dulled ache. As he continues to wind his way through the markets, his time free during the middle of the day, his thoughts turn to the others who still remain in the forests. He is sure they would have heard the explosion, or at least those who are closer, and he is equally sure they will have become more cautious with the tech they experiment with.
He pushes that little worry into the depths of his mind then, and he does for he knows he can't control how the others go about that task, especially now when the Commander has seen some of what they have done. And though he thinks the streets of Polis not yet full of warriors on guard, he is sure that some are on watch, that some search for him still, as they must be searching for any signs of tech being misused or stolen.
Ilian hasn't come this far in life though, he hasn't survived the Mountain's reign and Nia of Azgeda's cruelty and want to throw the Coalition back into chaos to simply be caught off guard, to act without plan, without caution, so he doesn't worry himself with those things out of his control. And he knows he must simply take things one step at a time.
And so Ilian turns his mind to Teben who is locked in the dungeons, who he saw was wounded and under guard by Azgeda warriors, at least that one time.
Ilian comes to a stop before a small building, just one of many that line the street. Its walls battered metal and wood and stone, ornate carvings etched where they can be etched, decorations and painted patterns upon surfaces un-etchable.
He knocks twice, his fist quick to clip against the beaten wood of the door. As he waits for an answer, Ilian keeps his gaze settled before him for he knows looking up and down the street in search of being watch would be too obvious for anyone who actually did watch.
He hears the approach of feet then.
"Who is it?" he hears called out from behind the door as the feet come to a stop.
"Ilian," he answers.
The door opens to reveal a small home, its interior decorated with carvings of stone that depicts animals, mountains, landscapes that are native to a clan he hasn't been to yet.
"Ilian," the woman before him says, eyes quick to peer out behind him before stepping aside and inviting him in.
And so Ilian smiles warmly, steps inside, and lets his eyes adjust to the dim light before he turns to her with a sigh.
"We have a problem."
The Mountain never quite seems to settle for Raven. Each time she visits she feels as though her skin crawls. She hasn't quite figured out why though, perhaps it's the fact that the old inhabitants had done such terrible things, perhaps it was simply because she was buried beneath so much stone that if it were to collapse her body would be turns to a mixture of pulp, liquid and pulverised bone, or perhaps it was simply the fact that the grounders used so many open fires to light their way that she couldn't help but to think it nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.
"What?" she says as she hears a sigh from somewhere behind her.
"You're thinking too hard, Raven," Bellamy says as he grunts and shifts the tubing over his shoulder.
"And how do you know that?" she asks as she turns to face him, eyebrows raising in challenge.
"You're grumbling to yourself," he says.
"You're the one who offered to help," she counters and she turns back the way they walk into the deepest parts of the Mountain.
She smiles as they pass two warriors, both, she thinks, are Plains Riders, from the red of their flowing clothes. One of them, a woman who seems to be in her mid thirties has dots that run down from her bottom lip, with hair braided into thick dreadlocks that falls down past her shoulders, the other a man, slender with darker skin and a calm expression.
"Which clan's the furthest?" Bellamy asks as they continue down the lone hallway.
"Don't know," Raven answers, but she takes a moment to think over what she knows. "Glowing forest? Maybe Plains Riders?"
"I think I want to go on a tour," Bellamy sighs.
"You do?"
"Yeah," he says. "Wouldn't you?" and they both come to a pause in front of heavy set doors that lead to the machines that circulate the air through the Mountain.
"I guess it'd be cool to see new things," Raven says, and she does think so, if only because the forests and trees do sometimes get just a little tiring after the few long years they've spent on the ground.
"You miss it, don't you," and she thinks she hears less of a question and more of a statement in the way Bellamy's voice filters into the quietness settling around them.
"Miss what?" she asks.
"Space," and he jerks a thumb upwards. "Zero G."
Raven smiles though, if only because she does miss it in some way. But, perhaps she can't complain about the way her life has turned out. Not when she has the chance to wake up each day to breathe fresh air, and to feel the wind on her skin.
"Nah," and she jerks her head towards the plumbing recessed into one corner of the dark room. "Come on."
Azgeda warriors fill the tavern, candles burn on each table and the sounds of quiet music played by the band mix with conversation and laughter. The drink in Ontari's hand is cool, chilled, cold enough to soothe the slight rise in temperature over the last few days.
Azgeda sector in Polis flies the banners of their clan, its image a hand with the piercing winds of the Azgeda plains in its palm, a symbol of Azgeda having tamed the often violent, often frozen wilds of their lands.
Warriors sit at the benches in the tavern, each one's face scarred, some fresher than others, all with the whites and pale greys of their furs shining in the firelight.
Ontari grimaces just a little as an over eager and freshly scarred warrior sits down beside her, the man's lips turned up into a wide smile, his face just a little red from the drink.
"Ontari," he says with a smile, her name falling from his lips just a little sullied by the drink.
"What?" she asks, and she can't help but to find it just a little annoying that Entani sits in front of her with a smirk in her eyes.
"I am Korga," the man says as he downs half his mug.
"And I do not care," she answers for she thinks she knows where this conversation goes.
Nonetheless, Ontari sees him ignore her response and simply smile a little more widely, "I travelled to your home village last winter," he says, and she sees him glance over to another table not far from them, and she is sure the man's friends must be watching.
"I am surprised someone as fresh faced as you is able to do that," she says.
"Ronto is very beautiful," Korga continues, and she feels him lean a little closer. "As are you."
"And you have drunk too much," she says as simply as she can, but she feels the slightest embers of annoyance beginning to return.
"You are a ferocious warrior," he continues and Ontari sees Entani's eyes roll from the corner of her vision. "You fought by Wanheda's side during the Mountain's fall," he says. "You helped kill the last of the Mountain Men and you helped King Roan ascend the throne," and she can't help but to feel just a little flush of pleasure at the way he speaks of her triumphs. If only because she knows if someone else had done them she would feel a twisted sense of pleasure and thrill.
"I did all those things," Ontari says and she lets her voice turn sweet, turn a little too high and eager and innocent as she downs the last of her drink and turns to face him. "Each one of those people annoyed me greatly," and she lets her mug back down onto the table with a satisfying thump before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "Do you know what I did to those people who annoyed me?" she asks.
"No," and Korga seems to think her talking as invitation for him to let his hand fall to her knee under the table.
"I took my knife," she says as she draws it from her hip and lets the light catch its blade between them.
"And?" and she can't help but to think Korga a fool. A youthful, fresh faced, and far too overconfident fool.
"And I cut off their manhood," Ontari slams the knife down into the bench between Korga's legs with a thump, Korga yelps in surprise, and Ontari lets her smile widen and her teeth glow in the light as she hears Entani guffaw.
"I would leave, Korga," Entani says, and Ontari finds herself suppressing the laugh as Korga seems to come to his senses and rises before stumbling away to the sounds of his own friends laughing at his expense. "That was mean," Entani says once Korga vanishes from their vision.
"He was annoying," Ontari shrugs as she reaches for the beaker to pour herself another drink.
"He was fresh faced," Entani laughs.
"Still annoying."
Entani shrugs at that, chuckles to herself a little and brings the mug in her hands to her lips. Ontari can't blame Korga though, she can't even really blame all the others that seem to be enjoying the first real break they have had since their travels from the Capital, if only because it has seemed like they have been on the move constantly without much rest. Ontari also can't blame them for feeling a little restless simply because hardly any have fought battle since the Mountain Men, when reapers would roam the forests and warriors would need to fight and be ready to fight at a moment's notice. Maybe, as Ontari begins to think over that fact, as she begins to think over her own restlessness, she thi—
The tavern doors open, the light streams in from outside and Ontari sees Entani squint as sunlight falls across her face before the doors close again. But Ontari sees Entani's eyes narrow a fraction, and she hears feet approaching her from behind and so she turns, peers over her shoulder and she finds Bronat walking her way, a slight layer of sweat clinging to his body and his chest rising a little to whatever exertion he has run.
"Ontari, Entani," Bronat says, his usual easygoing demeanour replaced by a seriousness Ontari knows means only one thing.
"Bronat," she says in greeting, and she sees him nod past her and to Entani.
"Clarke calls for you," he says and he jerks his head towards the door. "We are needed."
And Ontari knows what that means, she knows what Clarke must want, what she must have discovered. And so Ontari feels a flush beginning to fill her body, she feels an excitement, an eagerness and a perverse kind of twisted pleasure that takes hold of her senses.
Maybe later she will worry about just how excited she gets at the prospect of a soon to be real fight.