Lexa sits on the low armrest of her couch, arms folded and mind turning in every direction.
"They are not happy, Heda," Jass says.
"Not everyone is unhappy," Shana counters.
"But some are unhappy enough to raise concern," Jass says.
"What do you think, Shana?" Lexa asks.
"Those who still harbour old grudges against Azgeda will see their increased presence as hostility or favouritism. Those who have historically sided with Azgeda or who have been neutral will be unconcerned with Azgeda's increased presence."
"That is what I suspected," Lexa says.
"Perhaps you should inform the ambassadors that someone is stealing tech," Jass offers. "You can tell them that is why Azgeda patrol the streets, especially those that travelled with Clarke," and she pauses for a moment. "They are the only ones you trust to not be responsible for the stealing."
"It would only reconfirm for the clans hostile of Azgeda, that I favour Azgeda over them."
"Do you not?" Jass continues.
"Yes," Lexa says with a heavy sigh for she knows herself backed into a corner that seems to have an escape only at the periphery of her vision. "But it is to ensure that Azgeda feel as though they are not being treated as second citizens when they were at their weakest and most exploitable," she says, and she knows from the reports from her spies that Azgeda warriors had expected to be cast out of Polis, to be sent back to their clan's borders and only allowed to exit into neighbouring clans under supervision or permission.
Shana clears her throat lightly before beginning, "I would suspect that the many Azgeda who served under Nia's rule, and who now serve with Roan as king, see that things are better for them, that they are not considered the violent brutes they once were."
"They still are more violent than other clans," Jass adds.
"Yes," Shana says with a sigh. "But they expected to be punished for their Kwin's actions."
"And I will not punish a whole clan for the actions of one person," Lexa says.
"Heda," Gustus' voice cuts in gruffly.
"Speak, Gustus," Lexa says as she turns to look at the man standing by her door.
"There are no Azgeda warriors within the ranks of the Polis Guard."
"That is true," Lexa says.
"I do not think many would wish to forfeit their clan," Shana cautions.
"I do not think they would, either, Gustus," Jass adds.
"It is only a suggestion," he says.
"Would that not only reinforce the belief that you favour Azgeda?" Jass asks. "If you were to offer them a place amongst the Polis Guard."
"Perhaps," Lexa says, her headache from the morning's meeting seemingly returning without warning.
"Then there are only two options, Heda," Shana says as regret colours her tone.
Lexa knows that Azgeda's presence in the city has been a good distraction, that whoever is stealing tech will see more Azgeda and worry about them rather than Clarke's absence. But she knows informing the ambassadors of the purpose to Azgeda's increased numbers could lead to fear, to panic and to this information spreading, getting to whoever is responsible and giving them enough warning to escape before Clarke can discover the truth. Or she can keep quiet, she can let Azgeda's presence continue to annoy and antagonise the ambassadors until they demand answers. But she fears that might even cause its own issues.
"How is the storeroom?" Lexa asks as she looks to Shana.
"Well protected, Heda," Shana replies. "Two handmaidens guard its interior at all times," she says. "No one has been seen near it, and the entrance in the ceiling has been kept clear for now."
"Good," Lexa says. "Continue to have it guarded. Do not cover its entrance, if someone is to try to sneak in, then I want them captured."
"Understood," Shana says as she bows her head.
Lexa has an idea then, and it isn't something shocking, isn't something even daring, but perhaps it is enough to begin to gauge who could be the most responsible for increasing animosity towards Azgeda.
"Who do you believe would be the one to spread animosity between Azgeda and clans unhappy with their presence," Lexa asks, if only to get more than her own opinion regardless of how sure she is of who it might already be.
"Elios," Gustus grunts out with a finality that Jass and Shana seem to think answer enough for themselves. "He complains, yet is unwilling to do anything to solve his issues other than to complain more."
"I agree," Lexa says as she stands and begins to move to her door, mind already turning to the conversation she wishes to have.
Polis tower remains a little more calm just after the midday meal is served. Servants don't move about as busily for the few moments they have between preparing to feed all who inhabit the tower, and having to clean the feed away. Most clan members themselves are occupied with their time off, with either catching a bite to eat or of finding time to train, to walk the city or to simply relax somewhere away from the constant bickering.
Lexa passes a guard who nods her head in greeting, she passes two servants who are in the middle of changing over well used torches along one long corridor. She even passes Titus who is followed by the nightbloods, each one quietly following as he talks of strategy, of diplomacy, of things Lexa can't help but to think the most annoying of her daily tasks.
She smiles as Jani catches her eye, the young nightblood a little taller than she once was. And for a moment Lexa wonders what it would be like to be able to relax, to treat the nightbloods brought to Polis for training with more than guarded care, with secret moments of kindness only to be dashed away with a swift kick or strike as she tries to impart upon them all she has learnt throughout her life.
Gustus shadows her steps as she continues to wind her way through Polis tower and towards where she thinks Elios might be, but as she turns a corner she finds Ilian descending the steps that twist up Polis Tower's centre.
"Ilian," Lexa calls out, and she sees him falter in step and turn to look over his shoulder with a look of surprise, perhaps she startled him from whatever revelry his mind was in.
"Heda?" he asks as he two steps back to return to even footing, his motions a little guarded and careful as he pivots on the balls of his feet to face her fully.
"Elios," she begins. "Is he in his quarters?"
"Yes, Heda," Ilian says with a nod. "I was just there."
"You are not eating?" she asks.
"No, Heda," Ilian says with a shake of his head. "I am trying to clear my head," and he smiles apologetically. "I mean no disrespect," he adds.
"None is taken," Lexa says with her own smile as she comes to stand opposite him, eyes taking in his posture for a moment as she lets her hands clasp behind her back. "I do not envy having to stand and listen to the ambassadors all day."
"Yet you must do the same," Ilian counters.
"That is true," she says. "However I am given the luxury of demanding they fall quiet when I wish," she says with a shrug. "You must listen even if you do not wish to."
"It is my duty," Ilian says as his smile seems to meet the corners of his eyes a little more carefree.
"Yes," and Lexa smiles just barely. "I will not keep you longer."
"Good day, Heda," Ilian bows his head as he turns for the stairs and begins to descend them once more, each second he takes light and heavy.
Ilian's walk down Polis tower and through the city seems to exist on the border where nuisance turns to pain. He wouldn't call each step he takes painful, but it's enough to distract, to constantly remind him of its presence. The morning meeting had gone much the same as others had in the past. Some ambassadors would complain of any number of things, some he thinks trivial, some perhaps not so much.
Others yet again brought up Azgeda and their increased presence in the city. But it isn't quite an increased presence, they just seem to be moving about more freely than they had just days earlier. He doesn't blame the Azgeda warriors though, not when even he doesn't like staying in one spot too long.
It annoys him that some of the clans seem to think antagonising Azgeda and Heda will change things, too. Though is isn't old enough to have fought in the wars between the Coalition and Azgeda, he is old enough to remember the chaos, the destruction and the violence.
And because of that he thinks it foolish to push, foolish to prod and annoy Azgeda. Perhaps it is simply a warrior's respect he has towards them, that unlike the many ambassadors he has come to recognise, Azgeda seem more willing to do as they say, to take action rather than spit insult and threat without standing by their word.
He remembers when word had first come that Azgeda would be sending warriors to fight against the Mountains, and they had sent more than most clans, had even done most of the fighting leading up to the final battle. Wanheda had even been the one to cure the reapers, to enter the Mountain on a suicidal mission to give the clans enough time to break through the main doors.
And where was Elios? Where were the other ambassadors?
Ilian snorts, and the sound startles a young child he moves past him.
"Sorry," Ilian says over his shoulder as he continues to wind his way through the city streets.
Maybe he thinks himself foolish to hope that Azgeda will be different now that it is controlled by Roan. But he thinks not, if only because he knows Roan led his warriors from the front, had been the one to wrestle power from his mother who did nothing but cause chaos.
And so Ilian thinks it respect. He thinks it respect for Azgeda's warriors. For Azgeda's King. For those Azgeda that moved through the city as they pleased.
He nods his head in greeting at a group of warriors he passes, some from his clan, others from those he hasn't even visited before. He even eyes a group of Azgeda warriors in the distance who all where the white of their furs proudly on display, the colour and crispness of it cutting through the swathes of browns and reds and yellows and muddy greens of all the other clans.
And perhaps that is what it is. As Ilian eyes the Azgeda, he realises that their warriors don't seem to shy away from being seen, don't try to blend too well into the forests, seem to regard the white of their garments as symbol and shrine.
Perhaps, he thinks, the clan meetings would run much more smoothly if each ambassador truly understood what was important just like Wanheda. Had she not bled and risked her life for her clan? Does she not truly understand what her people want simply because she lives amongst her clan's warriors unlike others?
He sighs tiredly, can't help but to yawn, stretch his arms around himself for a moment before coming to a stop on the side of the street.
People move past him, some tiredly, some happily, some run past, children and women and men, warriors and tradespeople all. Even pack animals, those carrying vast sums of supplies meander through the crowd led by someone, sometimes seemingly far too young to be given such responsibility, and sometimes by those who have seen generations go by.
Ilian makes note of the clans he sees, and he can't help but to think back to when he had first seen Teben amongst the Azgeda warriors. He thinks himself no fool, but it doesn't quite occur to him until just then that perhaps it isn't coincidence that Wanheda has disappeared to see to an Azgeda matter. Perhaps it isn't coincidence that Azgeda warriors are seemingly more prominently displayed throughout Polis streets. Or maybe he is simply being paranoid, simply seeing pattern where their is none.
But Ilian hasn't survived the reapers, the Mountain Men, or even Nia's cunning cruelty by ignoring his instincts.
And so he takes a moment to eye each clan he spots, he gauges how many warriors seem to linger nearby, and he thinks it no accident that he now notices that Azgeda far outweigh any other clan's presence this close to the dungeon entrance.
Clarke can't remember the last time she had this much dust in her furs. Perhaps she has never had so much dust in it before. But it stinks. A slight musk, something dusty that makes her nose itch, lingers in the air around her. She even feels like she borders right on the edge of a sneeze that never seems to come, no matter how long she looks into the burning fire before her.
She gave up trying to dust out her furs hours ago, their state needing for more attention than she is able to give to them while on the move. Even Entani who grumbles quietly beside her seems to resign herself to the same fact.
A warrior shuffles past them both, the woman who Clarke had seen fall only to be picked up by another. She walks with the barest hints of a limp that Clarke thinks more due to the bandage that wraps around her calf rather than any wound she suffered.
Clarke's mind turns to Teben then, and she wonders if the woman had hoped it to be a trap, or if those they hunted had merely been prepared, had had scouts in the forests well enough hidden to be unnoticed. But Clarke also remembers the bits of tech she saw, of the fist sized canisters she can't quite place and the mesh of the radio mouthpieces, and perhaps that is explanation enough, perhaps that is all that she needs to know.
"I don't think it was a trap," Clarke says as she stifles a yawn.
"You do not?" Teben asks as she leans back against the felled tree they lean against.
"No," Clarke answers with a shrug. "We know they're using tech," she pauses for a moment to look up into the darkening sky in search of answers to her many questions "I saw radio pieces," she continues. "I think we were spotted, maybe they even used tech to help spot us. But then they radioed, told the others we were coming."
"And that gave them enough time to destroy any evidence and flee," Entani finishes.
"Yeah," Clarke says.
They both fall into a comfortable silence then, and Clarke turns her attention to the other warriors that move about. She sees Jenma sorting through supplies, and for a moment she can't help but to feel just a little awkward.
And Clarke feels that awkwardness for she thinks Jenma older than her, she knows her to be more experienced, too. But merely from the things she was thrust into ever since crashing to the ground, she has somehow been given more responsibilities than most would ever dream to have.
Clarke doesn't think Jenma minds, not much anyway. But still, she knows it important to reward those who have served with her, who have followed her when it wasn't expected, and who have fought by her side in skirmishes and battles and acts of violence too many to count.
"You are thinking," Entani says quietly as she nudges her with an elbow.
Clarke hums something noncommittal in response as she looks from Jenma, frown now in place as she tries to unravel a tent hastily packed.
Entani prods her again, this time a little more curiously.
"Nothing much," Clarke says as she looks to the healer beside her.
"Nothing much?"
"Yeah," Clarke finds a smile playing across her own lips as Entani seems to look off into the distance and ponder for a long moment.
In the silence Clarke follows Entani's gaze to find her looking at Bronat who seems to be struggling in explanation of something, some idea, some theory, all the while Leeton looks on with an expression Clarke thinks half full of feigned interest and mirth.
"It is strange," Entani says as she pulls her eyes from the scene before them.
"What is?" Clarke asks.
"How far we have come," she answers with a smile.
"Yeah," Clarke finds herself agreeing, if only because she thinks it true.
"I remember when we heard reports, Ontari and I," she says. "Of a ball of fire crashing into our lands," she adds. "And then a scout returned with your body, covered in snow, half frozen to death and beaten so badly we thought a great beast must have come upon you."
Clarke can't quite help but to feel something sad pit in her stomach, she can't tell if it's a sadness for the life she never lived, or for days when she had little responsibility, had never known the terrors of the ground.
"And now we're here," Clarke says as she shakes her thoughts and sweeps her hand out around them.
"Yes," Entani says with a smile.
"How's your ribs?" Clarke asks then, gaze eyeing the way Entani seems to always sit a little more stiffly than she had only a year earlier.
"Ok," Entani says.
"Just ok?"
"Different," she says with a shrug. "It hurt to do anything, at first," she adds. "To cough, to laugh, to move, twist, sit or stand."
"Yeah," and Clarke can't help but to wince at the severeness of Entani's broken ribs from the explosion, of how shrapnel had punctured her torso and of how, in her frantic attempt to subdue Pike and the woman who had held them captive, she had only caused more damage, had pulled muscle and sinew and tendon in ways they should not have been pulled.
"But I am alive," Entani smiles.
"Yeah," Clarke says with her own smile. "You are."
They both hear a quiet horn toot in the darkening light, and as they, and others nearby, turn to the sound, they see shapes beginning to trudge out of the trees and into the clearing they have claimed for the night.
"They are back," Entani says as she stands with the barest hints of a groan. "And with good timing," she holds a hand out for Clarke to grasp.
Clarke smiles her own smile as she lets Entani help her up.
And so Clarke and Entani begin to make their way to the fire pit dug into the ground as Ontari and Torvun, and those who had accompanied them on the hunt for the night, carry the dead deer that will provide them with a welcomed meal for the night.