Clarke comes to the Azgeda camp in the forests surrounding Polis sometime in the very early morning. The sky is still dark, but the soon to be sun seems to be spreading the very first tendrils of light into the sky. Warriors move about quietly so as not to wake those that sleep, those that rest. She passes a few who stand guard, they share a quick nod and Clarke tries to fight the yawn pulling at the corners of her lips.
Before long Clarke and those that follow her file into the single large tent that dominates the centre of the Azgeda camp. A war table sits in its centre covered in a map. Bones and furs, trophies of great beasts hunted, decorate the tent's interior, and for a moment Clarke can't help but to think the tent's appearance uncomfortably similar to how Nia had decorated her own.
"So," Clarke begins as she comes to stand beside the table, gaze moving from person to person around her. "We've got a problem," and she watches as Jenma takes in a heavy breath, she watches as Ontari's lips purse.
"Yes," Ontari says.
"We didn't get any proof," Clarke continues and she sees Jenma curse herself for whatever thought crosses her mind.
"Is the ambush proof enough?" Jenma asks to no one in particular, but her gaze seems to settle on Leeton who nods along.
"Maybe," but Clarke doesn't think it enough to sway any clans to whatever suspicions they have.
"It will not be enough," Torvun says. "We have nothing but suspicions and the word of a prisoner who, for all we know, has lied to us repeatedly."
"The facts are," Clarke cuts in for she can see the conversation ready to devolve into pointless speculation. "The facts are we have no idea what these people are planning," and she pauses as she begins to sift through anything she has experienced that might shed some light on what next she should do.
"We know they experiment with tech," Entani offers into the silence. "That they are willing to kill to protect their plans."
"Correct," Clarke nods her agreement at that. "The Commander's told us that there was an explosion, and now we've been in one," she bites her lip in thought. "Worst case scenario, they try and blow something up."
"Why?" Leeton asks, and Clarke looks at the other woman to see her crossing her arms as she eyes the map before them.
"Why not ask our prisoner?" Bronat offers, and Clarke meets his gaze to see his usual jovial nature replaced by a seriousness, at least for this meeting.
"She's potentially lied to us once already," Clarke says. "I don't know if we can trust Teben anymore."
"It would be unwise," Torvun says.
"We must flush them out," Ontari says simply. "We have been led where they please," and she seems to sneer at her own words. "We need to make them react to our actions instead of us reacting to what we discover."
"I agree," Jenma says as she flashes a quick smile to Ontari.
Clarke's gaze settles on the model of Polis that dominates the map strewn across the table. She feels her frustrations growing with each passing second and she can't quite help but to think herself trapped, stuck in place with little to do but try to find a pattern where none is seen.
Torvun's hand closes over hers from where she grips her knife strapped to her thigh. He squeezes for only a moment, but Clarke finds it all she needs to realises she must have been clenching her fist tightly, must have been letting her frustrations show more than she had meant to let show.
And so she takes in a deep breath, settles her beating heart and she lets her eyes close for only a moment.
"We tell the ambassadors," Clarke begins as she opens her eyes. She sees the uncertainty in Jenma's gaze, she sees Ontari's head tilt to the side slightly, and she feels Bronat's surprise from the way his eyes widen a fraction. "We tell them that someone is planning to attack Polis," and Clarke pauses, if only to think a little more.
"And if whoever this is does not actually plan to attack Polis?" Entani asks.
"That doesn't matter," Clarke says. "We need them to make a move, and I know the ambassadors. Word will spread. We'll spook whoever it is," and she looks from the model of Polis and then to a skull laid across one corner of the map. "I want our warriors to fill the streets."
"More than they already are?" Entani asks.
"Yes," Clarke nods. "Have them stationed at every entry into Polis. Check everyone, I don't care who they are. Someone's stealing tech and we'll catch them if they're smuggling it out of the city."
"What of Heda?" Jenma asks.
"I'll deal with her," Clarke says. "She'll understand. But I want to spook whoever it is. I'm sure someone here in Polis is watching us. If they see that they can't get out then they'll panic, they'll do something stupid."
"And the warriors here?" Jenma asks.
"Keep them in reserve," Clarke says, "actually," and she pauses, looks away for a moment. "Bring them to the city walls. You won't be able to enter, but it'll shake things up," and she nods to herself.
"Are you sure?" Jenma asks a little more cautiously. "Some clans will not be pleased."
Clarke doesn't blame Jenma for bringing up the other clans, for she knows how it will look. And yet, she thinks it the only way forward.
"It will show them, and whoever is doing this, just how serious we're taking this threat. And if something does happen, I want us to be ready to move on it as soon as possible."
"I agree with Clarke," Entani offers.
"Me too," Leeton adds with a nod.
"Good," Clarke nods, partly to herself. "We keep patrolling the streets of Polis, but we start searching anyone trying to leave. And Jenma, you're in charge of our warriors outside Polis. If we manage to spook whoever it is, be ready to intercept if I call you on the radio."
"Understood, Clarke," Jenma answers with her own nod.
Walking through Polis in what seemed like the dead of night was always an odd sensation. The few who walk the streets, Clarke assumes, must be those who prepares foods and drinks for the morning. Some eye the Azgeda she walks with curiously, some a little more hostile, others from clans more friendly to Azgeda even smile or nod as they walk past.
Clarke finds herself walking down a main street Ontari and Entani had both left her to head to Azgeda sector with the others leaving just her and Torvun to walk the rest of the way to Polis tower.
Clarke doesn't mind the quiet though. She finds it calming in a way to walk the streets at this quiet hour. And she does for she can take the time to experience the world without worry. And it is without worry for needing to be aware of her surroundings when she rides through the forest, her senses at least always partly focusing on any sound she might hear lest she be attacked by beast. And she can't ever let her guard down when she travels through Azgeda lands either for she must be aware of the ever changing weather, of the dangers snow and of the freezing chill. But here, on the streets of Polis, she thinks she can let her guard down just a little more than anywhere else. At least for a short while.
Torvun walks behind her, each step he takes more quiet than she would expect. And though she can't quite hear him, she finds herself in sync with his presence, she finds herself able to feel rather than to see or hear his movements.
Before long Clarke finds herself walking up the steps to the main entrance of Polis tower. Guards stand at the entrance, each one with spear in hand as their heads turn and follow her as she approaches. She sees them begin to ease the tension from their shoulders when they recognise her, when they recognise the furs, the scars across her face, and even the skull sewn into the back of her clothing, whose weight has become something she finds comforting.
And so, as the doors to Polis tower thump shut behind her with a quietness she thinks purposeful, Clarke finds her feet already taking her to the lift that will rise up and up and into the sky.
After days of travel, Clarke has only one thing on her mind. A hot bath, a relaxing night to do little more than let her mind run free for as long as she could steal. But, as she stands in her washroom, as she eyes the rack that stands aside from the wash basin, she finds it completely void of the rich towels she brings with her from Azgeda's farthest corners.
Her eyes narrow a fraction, her lips purse and she tries to remember if she has forgotten to bring them, if she never unpacked them after first returning to Polis.
But that isn't so for she remembers it clearly.
Clarke tries to think of who it could be, of who would dare sneak into her quarters and remove her towels. And she wonders, if only for a moment, whether it is one of Lexa's handmaidens, if it is an over zealous servant, or a nosy guard, perhaps even a sp—
No.
She shakes her head as realisation dawns on her and so Clarke turns and makes her way out of her washroom and makes her way out of her quarters.
Clarke treads slowly, each step she takes purposeful and poised, her bare feet familiar with the stone underfoot. She picks up each slightly sound that spreads out around her, the time she has spent stalking prey in the wilds of the Azgeda plains, and the depths of the Trikru forests enough to hone her hearing further than she could ever imagine.
Torches still burn at this early hour, some more recently changes than others who burn their last little light before being replaced in the morning. The flames send shadows across the floor, they dance and flicker and stretch out in every direction as she walks forward.
But Clarke hears the quiet drip in the distance, she hears the lightness in step and so she takes in a deep breath, something careful, purposeful and she feels the expansion of her lungs as she begins to move from shadow to shadow.
Her gaze settles on a woman who walks down the hall. And it's times like this, times when none other dare tread the halls that Clarke finds herself lost in how different Lexa appears, when she wears little armour, when all she keeps with her is a knife that seems permanently strapped to her thigh or tucked against her body in some ingenious way.
But perhaps Clarke has let her thoughts stray too far for she sees Lexa's steps falter, she sees her sense her presence, prepare to react, to adju—
Clarke lunges, she flies from the dark of a dancing shadow and she crashes against Lexa as her hand reaches out for purchase in the towel.
But Lexa rolls, doesn't even seem to care about her state of undress, or simply reacts without thought or concern. And Clarke knows it to be instinct, muscle memory, unthought and unplanned action, for Lexa flips them over, she pins her to the ground and presses her knee to her throat, one hand poised to strike.
"You will have to do better than that if you are to sneak up on me," Lexa says as her eyes seem to flash in the flickering flame light.
"I knew it," Clarke hisses, and she tries to feign outrage, tries to feign indignation.
"You knew what?" Lexa says as she lifts her chin, seems smirk with the simple quirking of an eyebrow.
"I knew you were stealing my towels," Clarke says as she sits, one hand already brushing over the hem of the towel still wrapped around Lexa's body.
Lexa smiles at that, the motion more carefree than Clarke often gets to see, and then she leans down, brushes her lips against Clarke's forward before pulling away with a quiet chuckle.
"It is not my fault your towels were simply mixed up with the others."
"Oh," and Clarke pushes Lexa off her as she rises. "Is that so?" and she wipes her now damp hands on her own furs to dry them. "Then how'd my towels go missing?" she challenges.
"I do not know," Lexa shrugs. "They are the softest. Perhaps a servant mistook them as being mine."
"A very likely tale," Clarke scoffs as she reaches out, squeezes Lexa's hand for a moment before they begin to walk the way Lexa had originally been travelling.
"Yes, Clarke," Lexa nods to herself, but she falls quiet for only a moment to eye her from the corner of her eye.
"You want to know how my mission went," and Clarke stifles a yawn.
"Yes, but it can wait until the morning," Lexa says.
"What makes you think that?" Clarke lets her tone lighten in jest just a little as she crosses her arms. "I might have something really important to tell you that can't wait."
"It does not appear as though you do, Clarke," Lexa says with another nod.
"Yeah, well," Clarke thinks that it can't help but to let even herself think over what she plans do to for the rest of the night. "You're right."
"As I suspected."
Clarke wakes to the sun's heat brushing her cheek. It takes her a moment longer to remember the dream she had been dreaming, and as she recalls, as she lets her mind turn back the moments, she finds it odd that her sleeping mind at times goes to moments in her past she would rather forget.
But she knows it a fruitless endeavour to worry about things she can no longer change and so she lets her eyes open to the light of an early morning.
She can't remember how they decided that they'd share a bed, she can't even remember it being a conscious decision, but as she looks around herself, she finds a contentedness beginning to take hold.
Lexa lies on her side facing her, eyes closed and expression calm. A single strand of hair has somehow found its way across her face and now rests against her lip, each breath Lexa takes enough for the strand of hair to dance for a moment before settling. Despite her waking, Clarke thinks it still early though, for she can't hear the usual bustle of servants moving about Polis tower, she can't even hear the sounds of the city that normal filter up from the streets so far below.
"You are staring," though Lexa's eyes remain closed, and though her voice comes quiet, Clarke thinks Lexa must be awake, must have been awake for long enough that sleep no longer clouds her mind.
"You're awake," Clarke whispers, perhaps for the moment, unwilling to break the illusion of peacefulness that has settled around them both.
"And you are staring," Lexa repeats.
"Am I?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," Lexa nods an answer as she breathes in deeply before exhaling as her eyes open.
"We need to talk," Clarke says and she peers past Lexa and into the sky from the window to judge how far the sun has risen.
Lexa smiles, and it's a small little motion that Clarke thinks tinged with something between acceptance and sadness. But the emotion vanishes before she can analyse it. And so Lexa nods, perhaps as much to herself as to Clarke.
"We were ambushed," Clarke says as she rolls onto her back briefly before sitting and letting the covers pool around her waist. "They were in the caves like Teben said, but they got away."
"How?" Lexa asks as she rises from the bed, one hand settling the sleep clothes she wears as she begins moving to her day's clothes laid out on a desk near the bed.
"They used tech," Clarke says as she begins sorting through her own belongings. "No one was hurt," she adds. "But they were ready for us, or had planned for something like this to happen for a while."
"You were able to find no one?" Lexa asks and Clarke sees a slight annoyance in the woman's eyes, but she knows it not because of her failings, but rather the lack of answer.
"No," and Clarke shrugs and shakes her head. "No one, not even any tech. It's buried under rock now."
Lexa looks away in thought, seems to consider something before meeting her gaze once more.
"You have a plan, do you not, Clarke?"
"Yes," Clarke says. "I do."
"And it is?"
"You won't like it."
Lexa simply raises an eyebrow at that, perhaps the motion just as intrigued as it is guarded.
Clarke takes in a deep breath, if only because she doesn't quite know if Lexa will actually approve of the plan she has come up with. But she thinks it the only thing she can do to force the hand of whoever it is behind tech being stolen. But perhaps for a split second, she can't help but to wonder if all this is some sick misunderstanding, that the last few days has simply been a waste of time and worry.
"We need to tell the ambassadors what's been going on," Clarke says as she turns to face Lexa fully.
Lexa's head tilts ever so slightly to the side and Clarke suspects Lexa thinks over what she has heard and whatever she has seen in the last few days.
"Why?" Lexa questions.
"We don't know who's responsible," Clarke begins. "If we tell the ambassadors then word will spread, and it will get back to whoever is doing this," she pauses to make sense of the thoughts in her mind. "Whoever is doing this will panic. So far we've been keeping things quiet, and that's been good for us because panic hasn't spread. But it's been good for them, too. They know they can get away with things because they aren't being watched. But if we tell everyone on our terms, then they'll be caught flatfooted without a plan for how to deal with this."
Lexa looks away in thought then, and Clarke sees the thoughts beginning to flash behind Lexa's eyes as she considers and gauges strategy and outcome.
"And your Azgeda warriors?" Lexa asks. "They are to remain in the city?"
"Yeah," Clarke says. "But they won't be alone. Have the city guard begin to patrol, begin to search people moving about," she says.
"Whoever was at their camp site has still not been found," Lexa adds. "They will try to escape the city with the tech they have stolen when they realise everyone will be searching for them."
"Exactly," and Clarke finds a smile beginning to spread across her lips as Lexa seems to come to the same conclusions as she has. "And we'll catch them. They've been taking advantage of us keeping this quiet for too long."
But Lexa sighs heavily at that, and Clarke can't help but to feel a reprimand or some sort of denial soon to come.
"What?" Clarke asks, her arms crossing over her chest as she moves around her side of the bed until she comes face to face with Lexa.
"The ambassadors will not approve of Azgeda taking such an increased role in Polis' safety."
"Screw the ambassadors," and Clarke jerks her chin outwards. "Azgeda and Trikru have been the ones doing the heavy lifting for months, maybe even years. At least since the Mountain."
Lexa pauses for a moment and once more Clarke sees her thinking and judging. "We will inform them together," she begins. "And you will convince them of your theories," and Lexa seems to become content with whatever thought begins to enter her mind. "There are ambassadors who side with Azgeda, who have always sided with Azgeda," and she nods to herself, "they will be easy to convince, and they will help you convince the others."
"Good," Clarke says and perhaps for a moment she lets herself feel victorious at them both having come to an agreement as easily as they have.
Lexa sits in her throne, hands resting on the armrests, fingers drumming against the weathered wood as she continues to watch the conversation move from ambassador to ambassador. It doesn't surprise her that some were more quiet in their accusations now that Clarke has returned, and it doesn't surprise her that others seem relieved, seem happy with Azgeda's returned presence to the city.
But as she continues to watch, as she continues to glance from face to face, and at times perhaps lingering a little too long on Clarke, she doesn't forget meeting Ilian not so long ago, she doesn't forget the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to take steps just a little cautiously.
And she is no fool. She knows her suspicions to be as much false assumption as cautious wariness. Perhaps she should have told Clarke of her suspicions, too, but she can't risk Clarke letting slip her suspicions, not yet, not when she hasn't quite decided for herself.
And so Lexa settles for watching, for taking in Ilian's movements every time Elios speaks. And she knows she will watch with guarded curiosity when Clarke begins to talk of what has been happening.
Lexa spares a moment to take in the others that fill the throne room, and her gaze settles on the nightbloods who stand aside, who watch, some more curious than others. She takes in the guards that stand either side of the main doors, and she watches the servants who filter in and out, who bring refreshments for those that call for them.
But a silence settles over the room, and Lexa's attention snaps back to Clarke who rises from her chair, her gaze steely and her eyes iron as she looks from ambassador to ambassador who sits before her.
"Your absence was noted, Clarke" someone says, and Lexa's gaze snaps to Jetta who leans forward in her chair, the woman's bluntness perhaps refreshing insofar as it always let Lexa know where Jetta on topics.
"That is why I'm here," Clarke answers simply, and Lexa can't help but admire the way Clarke seems to dismiss Jetta's intrusion with little care or thought. Lexa continues to watch as Clarke looks around to those that stare at her, and as the silence grows, Lexa can't help but to think that some part of Clarke must relish the suspense that builds, but then Clarke smiles, the expression sweet, too kind, and perhaps just a little insincere. "I know some of you aren't happy with Azgeda patrolling the streets of Polis," she begins as she steps further from her chair until she dominates the centre of the room.
"We are not," someone says from behind Clarke, but she seems to ignore the interruption, or at least dismiss it as little more than a nuisance for she shrugs, doesn't even turn to face her interruptor and instead continues to look squarely at the ambassadors she faces.
"Some of you may have seen," Clarke continues, "that when I arrived, my Azgeda warriors had a prisoner," and Lexa sees Kahlan and Tahgo both nod their heads, the two ambassadors clearly having less issue with Azgeda than the others.
"May I ask why?" Tahgo voices, and Lexa can't help but to feel a twitching in her lips as Clarke's smile turns more genuine as she meets the young ambassador's question with warmth.
"That's what I'm here to discuss," Clarke continues. "We were attacked," Clarke says. "On our way to Polis we were attacked in the tunnels near the Mountain."
"Why?" someone asks, and as some others voice their curiosity Lexa finds her gaze moving to Elios who leans a little forward in his seat, and then to Ilian who stands stiff and tense behind him.
"We discovered that people were stealing tech," Clarke continues. "They were doing it in secret. And when we discovered this, they attacked us, tried to stop us from discovering more."
"But you found more?" Kahlan asks.
"Yes," Clarke says. "That's why I was gone," and she gestures outwards and in the direction of the caves further north, but as she does so, Lexa sees Ilian's eyes narrow a fraction. "We discovered a camp hidden in caves. But they anticipated our arrival, or had plans already set up to escape if someone discovered them."
"And what are these people doing with tech?" Elios asks, curiosity clearing colouring his tone.
"Experimenting with it," Clarke shrugs. "Trying to discover its secrets."
"I do not blame them," Jetta says, and Lexa's gaze snaps to the Lake Clan's ambassador to find her head tilted to the side. "Is it not too far fetched to believe that other clans wish to use tech as much as Azgeda and Skaikru do?"
"No," Clarke says with a shake of her head. "It isn't so far fetched."
"So?" Jetta continues.
"The problem is that they're stealing," and Clarke jabs a finger towards Jetta. "But that's not all. They've tried to kill my people twice now," and she lets her lip turn into a snarl. "A punishable act by any clan's standards," she says. "Do you remember the last time a clan tried to use tech? Do you remember how dangerous it could be if it fell into the wrong hands."
"Yes, Clarke," Elios interrupts. "We do remember what happened when one clan tried controlling it all," Lexa would have let her eyes roll if she was anyone else. "I agree with Jetta," he says with a nod. "I do not blame a clan for trying to steal tech to—"
"You can not be serious," Kahlan says, and Lexa watches as Kahlan pauses for only a moment to see if Clarke will continue to speak before she steps forward from where she sits. "We know how dangerous tech is if it falls into the wrong hands," she continues as she flicks her hair over her shoulder subconsciously. "We know the damage it can cause if those who wield it wish us harm."
"You are proving my point," Elios says. "It is not good for one clan to control all of it."
"That clan is Skaikru," Kahlan snaps. "Tahgo," and she gestures to the younger man. "Skaikru has helped your clan grow crops where you were once unable to do so," he nods. "Azgeda is starting to grow seed in their plains, where once they could grow nothing but tasteless roots— I mean no offence, Clarke."
"None is taken."
"You think Skaikru will always be willing to do for us what we ask?" Elios snaps. "They usurp our own self reliance, they make us rely on their tech, on things only they can control. One day they will demand more, and when that day comes, we will be able to do nothing but bow our heads and let them take what they want lest they throw our clans into ruin."
"That won't happen," Clarke snaps as she rounds on Elios, and Lexa thinks the time for her to intervene fast approaching.
"And how do you know that?" Elios spits.
"Because I won't let it," she says only for Elios to bark out a laugh. "You forget, Elios," Clarke continues, "that I didn't bow down to Nia's wishes. I could have followed her rule, let her take control of the tech the Mountain and Skaikru controlled, yet I didn't. I fought for the Coalition, for the clans. For you. And for peace."
"And when you are gone?" Elios says as he leans forward, his gaze hardening.
"Are you threatening Azgeda?" Tahgo says as he rises to his feet, one hand falling to the knife on his hip and his own guard, a keen and quiet woman shadowing his steps. Lexa sees even Kahlan and her guard begin to shift in posture as they prepare to reinforce Clarke and Tahgo if things turn sour.
"Y—"
"Enough," Lexa's voice cuts into the commotion. "Return to your seats," Lexa says as her gaze moves from each person who has now moved from where they once had been. "All of you," she finishes as she meets Clarke's narrowed eyes.
Lexa lets the silence settle, and in the time it does, she finds herself cataloguing the sides clans are falling to, and it doesn't surprise her that Azgeda, Delfikru and Blue Cliffs all side together, in part because of their shared pasts, and in part because their clans have always struggled with securing supplies for the harsher seasons.
Nor does it surprise Lexa that Elios, and perhaps the whole of Glowing Forest, seems not to take Skaikru's help of tech as seriously, if only because the forest clans have always had, at least in some way, greater success in taming their lands. But the clans that remain silent are perhaps just as telling, for Lexa knows they will dare not choose side until they are certain of the victor.
"It is not one clan that steals tech," Lexa says into the silence. "But a group of rebels, or bandits, people who have thrown aside their allegiance to the Coalition and who threaten to sow dissent amongst allies," and Lexa takes the opportunity to look at each ambassador carefully, and, from the corner of her eye she even takes in the way Ilian's face seems more blank than it normally is. "We can all agree that tech is valuable," she says. "And with Skaikru's help, perhaps more so than our stores of grain, of pelts, of meats dried over months, of medicines that keep us healthy, and of furs that keep us warm in the winter months," and she nods to no one in particular. "The crime of stealing any one of those supplies in such large numbers is serious. But the crime of stealing tech?" Lexa pauses, lets her gaze once more roam over each and every face she sees. "Punishable by death."