Clarke stares for only a moment, enough for Nia's eyes to shift over the dark pelt draped across her shoulders and the skull that peeks over her head. And then Nia's eyes snap back to Clarke's own, her gaze careful, light, perhaps even happy.
"Kwin Nia," Ontari says, her momentary shock at Nia's presence quickly replaced by deference as she bows her head before kneeling before her. "You honour us with your presence," she finishes as she rises, her gaze lowered as she nudges Clarke ruefully from behind to follow the bow that she and Torvun both send to Nia.
And so Clarke bows too, uncertainty, shock and confusion swirling within her mind, a small greeting leaving her lips. And then she rises to find Nia dismounted, her horse neighing quietly behind her. Clarke eyes the large beast for a long moment, she finds its hairs longer, thicker, warm furs draped over its back. She even sees the many Azgeda that stand quietly behind Nia, their eyes shifting from face to face, from Skaikru to Azgeda to Trikru, just small flashes of distrust, disgust finding a place upon their expressions.
"We wish to rest for the night," Nia says easily as she strides through the gates, the closest warriors moving with her, clearly royal guards from the whiteness of their furs and the way they huddle far too close to Nia despite not causing her step to falter.
And so Clarke nods nervously, her mind quickly coming to terms with who stands before, and with who doesn't stand before her.
"There are stables, Kwin Nia," Clarke begins as she gestures towards one of the largest buildings that sits near the open gates. "Our horses can find shelter there," she finishes, gaze looking pointedly at the closest Skaikru guard.
"Good," Nia says in answer, her hand coming to rest against the sword at her hip, the bone of the pommel shining as it catches the setting sun's light. "So this is Skaikru," she says, her steps thudding just quietly enough to announce her presence as she walks besides Clarke.
"Yes Kwin Nia," Clarke answers, Ontari already walking quickly besides her, Entani and Torvun following close behind. Nia stops her forward movements though, her furs rustling in the wind as she casts her gaze around once more, her eyes taking in all that she can see.
Clarke takes the moment of silence to look back to the main gates to find perhaps a hundred Azgeda have come with Nia. She finds some already setting up tents outside the gates, some already moving off into the trees to hunt and some beginning to set up a camp site, a fire soon to follow. But what catches Clarke's eye the most is that these warriors all share similar scars, half circles that curve across flesh, some from eyebrow to eyebrow in an arc, others with scars on their chins or the sides of heads.
"Torvun," and Nia turns to face Torvun as he nods to a few others who nod back in recognition as they part for him to approach. "You have done well to keep Clarke alive," Nia says.
"Thank you, Kwin Nia," Torvun says, his head bowing once more. "If I may, Kwin Nia?" and he pauses his question, eyes still averted for just long enough for Nia to raise an eyebrow in acknowledgement before he meets her eyes. "I would wish to continue to serve as Clarke's guard."
"Why? May I ask?" Nia says, her eyes only once meeting Clarke's before she looks at Torvun fully.
"Wanheda has enemies, Kwin," Torvun begins. "An—"
"Trikru enemies?" Nia cuts in.
"No, Kwin Nia," and Torvun looks once to the Trikru who stand back, gazes careful as they take in the large number of Azgeda now making themselves home within and without Arkadia's walls. "But those that escaped the Mountain's death may try to take revenge on Clarke, Kwin Nia. I would wish to continue to protect her if it would please you."
"Very well, Torvun," Nia says easily.
The guards closest to Nia turn quickly at the sound of approaching feet, the harsher thump announcing a non Azgeda person nears. Clarke turns too, and she finds Kane walking up nervously, Bellamy and another Skaikru guard with him, a blonde woman that Clarke remembers from the Mountain's fall. Kane comes to a stop, an Azgeda guard moving in front of him as he barks out an order for him to halt.
"Stand easy, Teril," Nia says, her hand waving the large man back, his eyes narrowing at Bellamy's rifle that is held firmly in his hands.
"Kwin Nia," Kane begins as the large guard, Teril, stands back, his hand resting comfortably upon a wicked knife that remains sheathed across his ribs. "It is an honour to meet you," Kane finishes as he bows his head once, protocol on how to greet her having clearly been shown to him by Ontari's actions mere minutes ago. "My name is Marcus Kane, Kwin Nia, Chancellor of Skaikru," he finishes as he straightens.
"Marcus Kane of Skaikru," and Nia casts her gaze over the remnants of the Ark, the buildings that remain half constructed and the paved ground and high walls and towers that surround the fallen Ark. "You have made an impressive keep for Skaikru to hold," she smiles warmly, a hand extending.
Clarke watches the interaction, Kane happy to fall into discussion on Skaikru's future plans on expansion granted Lexa's blessing, their construction methods, the materials they use and the technology they still have functioning. Nia begins walking the perimeter, Kane close behind her as he continues to talk, and as both leaders exchange pleasantries Clarke finds herself worrying her lip, thoughts of Roan in chains flooding her mind, thoughts of how dangerous a situation she may be in lingering not far behind her eyes.
"Forgive me, Kwin Nia, but where is Prince Roan?" Ontari says as conversation lulls, her head cocked to the side in thought as she turns to survey the Azgeda who make camp. "Is he serving in your stead at the capital?"
Nia turns to face Ontari, her eyes softening briefly as she smiles before finding Clarke's gaze.
"You performed a great service to Azgeda, Clarke, by securing Prince Roan's release," Nia begins, "Prince Roan is currently performing duties elsewhere," Nia answers, Ontari bowing her head once more. "Clarke," Nia continues, "you will dine with me tonight," she finishes with a smile before turning to Kane once more, conversation starting up again as she continues to walk through Arkadia's ground.
Clarke finds herself sitting on a bench outside, her eyes following Azgeda forces as they move through the small camp that spreads out outside the walls of Arkadia. Shadows lengthen now, too, the sun already beginning to set, and so she lets her mind wander, lets it focus on the conversation she is sure will soon be had, and she thinks things are dangerous now, she thinks Nia plays a careful game. But she looks up at the sounds of footsteps approaching to find Abby walking towards her cautiously.
"Hi," Clarke says in greeting, her mother coming to stand awkwardly before her. "You can sit," she finishes as she gestures to the space besides her.
Abby takes a seat then, her fingers twisting together for a moment as she considers her words.
"I met Kwin Nia," she begins, "she seems nice," Abby finishes.
"Yeah," Clarke answers, her eyes peering around her in search of too close ears.
"I'm still not over the scars," Abby says despite Clarke's lack of words, "it must be a painful procedure."
"It wasn't so bad," Clarke shrugs, a finger coming to trace the raised edges of the scar across her forehead.
"If I could take it back I would," Abby says after a moment, her voice falling away at the end.
"I know," Clarke says as she turns to face her mother. "I understand," and she wipes a finger across her eyes. "I do," and she bites her lip, the trembling in her fingers enough to draw Abby's attention. "But I still hate the decision you made," she finishes.
And she thinks Abby understands her words, she thinks Abby even accepts the words.
"I'm proud of you, Clarke," Abby says, her words now more quiet. "I know you might not want to here it, but I am. I'm so, so proud that you found a place, that you found a people here," and Abby's hand comes to squeeze her own briefly before releasing it. "And I know your father would be too."
"Yeah," Clarke answers once more, her thoughts still slightly too numb to articulate more than just a few words.
"I'll let you have some time alone," Abby smiles warmly then before she stands, a wave sent to Clarke before she turns and heads back to the main structure of the Ark, her medical coat swaying lazily in the cool breeze.
And so Clarke stays seated on the bench, the occasional Azgeda warrior sending her a greeting as they pass, her own returned to them with a smile. But she thinks she plays a dangerous game now, she thinks her gamble fell through, that Roan might not even live anymore, and that Nia knows her plans, had got them out of Roan before he was killed quietly and then buried in an unmarked grave in the snowfields of Azgeda. But she thinks herself not one to roll over and show her belly, she knows herself too stubborn to take such a setback lying down, and so she sighs just once, she takes a deep breath and holds it for a long moment and then she stands, her destination already in mind.
The Ark still echoes out around her, the halls still hum with the recycled air that rushes through, but at least this time it is less stale, less manufactured, if only because the air she breathes is fresh air brought in from outside. And so she finds herself face to face with Raven's workshop, the other woman elbow deep in machinery as she curses quietly behind a face shield, hands trying to pull apart a large engine that sits on the ground.
Clarke enters cautiously, a haphazard trail of machinery strewn about, carcasses of old engines, of old technology that have died unceremoniously to Raven's often grimy hands.
"Hi Raven," Clarke calls out over the din of sparks and buzzing.
Raven looks up at her name being called before smiling a wide, toothy grin as she lifts the face shield.
"Clarke," and she stands, wipes her hands on her pants, "what's up?"
"I need a favour," Clarke begins.
"Yeah, what's the favour?" Raven asks, her thumb rubbing at a grease stain on her forearm.
"Can you get me three radios no questions asked?"
"Sure," Raven shrugs, "that's easy, we've got a lot lying around," and Raven turns for a moment as she eyes a large pile of what seems like junk to Clarke. "Do you want it easy to hide or long range?"
"How small can you make them?"
"About this small," and Raven holds up a radio from nearby, "we've got bigger ones, but I'm assuming you don't want to be carrying around a large radio," she finishes.
"Yeah," Clarke smiles as she rubs her neck briefly. "Thanks."
"No problem, Clarke," Raven says. "Take this one," and she passes Clarke the radio in her hand, "I'll get the others to you by tomorrow morning?"
"Thanks, Raven," Clarke says as she turns from Raven, the brunette already beginning to work on the task.
And as Clarke treads out the room she finds herself thankful, she finds herself enjoying the small moments she shares with the other woman, however short they may be.
It's dread. That she is sure of. Or perhaps it's an eagerness, it's an anticipation of things to come. But Clarke thinks she should feel anxious, should feel worried. And so she squares her shoulders, brushes her furs once more and she begins the short walk to Nia's tent, Ontari giving her a nervous smile from a campfire that burns dutifully in front of the gathered warriors.
Clarke comes to a stop in front of the large tent, Teril, Nia's guard from earlier standing in her way. Clarke takes a moment to take him in then, and she finds him young, perhaps not much older than herself, but she thinks she sees the lines of a scar that sneak out past the furs on his shoulders, scars that speak of a wound, of a battle that almost claimed his life. She finds him to be large, muscles that cord and bend a hold his body rigid. His face looks bronzed from the time spent in the harshness of the sun that bounces against the white of Azgeda snow fields. She eyes the short hair that he wears too, all of it shaved close to the scalp, three scars stacked atop each other, arcs that start from the corner of his mouth that rise and curve behind his ears, cutting a swathe of hairless flesh against both sides of his head, as if an animal had raked its claws against his scalp. But perhaps what catches her eyes the most is the quiet mirth, the quiet glint that she thinks lingers in his eyes as they wander over her body briefly.
"I am here to see Kwin Nia," Clarke says as she looks up at him, the grey of his eyes narrowing to her knife and the furs she wears.
"Spread," he says, hands gesturing for her arms and legs to widen. And so Clarke steps shoulder width apart and raises her arms. Teril makes short work of patting her down, his hands barely skimming her body as he thumbs over the creases of her legs and arms in search of hidden weapons. "Turn," and he gestures once before running his hands over her back, the black pelt across her shoulders and then he inspects the panther's skull. "This was a fresh kill," he says when she turns to face him, his gaze peering at the skull peeking over her head.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs in answer before tapping her forehead, the cut slowly healing. "It got me too," she shrugs.
"Perhaps you will enjoy the Northern hunts," he says with a smirk. "Far greater beasts await the worthy," he finishes as he swings open the furs that hide the entrance of Nia's tent.
Stepping into Nia's tent not unlike stepping into a storied past. Clarke finds pelts, furs and relics of old hunts lying strewn across the corners of the tents, antlers, skeletons, all glowing quietly in the light of a fire that burns in the centre of the room. Behind the fire Clarke finds Nia's throne, and between it and the burning flame a table lies, foods and plates and drinks laying atop it, another chair at one end.
Nia sits in her throne too, her eyes meeting Clarke's. And so Clarke bows once more, and she feels Teril do the same before he takes a stand in the corner of the room, the shadows quickly swallowing him as he recedes into the dark.
"Clarke," and Nia stands, her arm gesturing to the free chair. "I hope you are hungry," she finishes with a smile, the scars across her face catching the flickering of the flame.
"Yes, Kwin Nia," Clarke begins as she steps carefully around the open fire.
Clarke's eyes catch movement then, and she finds a servant stepping forward, a quiet presence that Clarke assumes will remain voiceless for the night. She watches as the woman bows her head once before she pulls the chair out, a clear invitation for Clarke to sit. And so Clarke whispers a quiet thank you as she finds herself sitting across from Nia, the older woman smiling kindly at the servant before turning her attention back to Clarke.
"Please, eat, Clarke," and Nia gestures once, the servant quickly piling an assortment of fruits and breads, and cheeses onto a plate, and filling a bowl with a meat broth, its scents sweet and spiced.
And so Clarke takes the food offered to her with another quiet thank you before she waits for Nia to begin, her own food already placed in front of her.
"You do not have to wait for me, Clarke," Nia says as she begins eating, her knife slashing through a large vegetable with practised ease. And so Clarke thinks she grimaces internally, her fingers gripping the spoon tightly for just a moment before she begins to eat.
They eat in a quiet silence for a short while, and Clarke thinks that if she didn't have such a secret, then it could have perhaps been pleasant, but in this moment she thinks she feels the eyes of Teril drilling into her, and she knows she feels his hand ever present on the throwing knife she had spied, his aim surely trained on her back should she make a move. The servant offers her food too, berries and slices of cheeses when she finishes those on her plate. Clarke takes the time to eye the servant then, and she thinks from the scars on her fingers, that the servant must be a trained warrior, if only because her hands speak of a life handling blades. But Clarke's gaze travels up her arms, the corded, wiry muscles shining, and the dark of the servant's skin glowing quietly in the flames that flicker.
Clarke thinks it strange too, that a woman of such a complexion would be of Azgeda decent, or perhaps it makes sense, if only because Clarke eyes the scar that blemishes the woman's cheek, that cuts and dips into the top of her lip. And as Clarke takes her in, she thinks the woman is perhaps a spy, an assassin, one trained, one chosen, because she does not look Azgeda. But she thinks the woman serves Nia personally now, the scar now giving away her abilities, her background, her experience in having survived a mortal fight.
"Tell me, Clarke," Nia says, Clarke pausing midway through bringing the spoon to her lips. "How are things at the Mountain?"
"Good, Kwin Nia," she begins, her thoughts turning to the work that has been done, and the work that remains to be completed. "We are able to grow many vegetables and fruits using the Mountain's power," she begins, "trade has been successful between the Mountain and the other clans," and Nia smiles once more at these words. "We are able to use what the Mountain has to heal, too," and Clarke can't help but let a small smile linger at the enhanced capabilities the clans now have with both Arkadia and the Mountain providing medical aid.
"That is wonderful, Clarke," and Nia flips her knife through her fingers just once before letting it lay on the table top. "You have made Azgeda proud," and she smiles widely, her teeth shining. "You have made me proud," she finishes, fingers now trailing over the edge of the blade.
"Thank you, Kwin Nia," Clarke swallows once.
"It is important for us to be ready for anything," Nia continues quietly, her eyes moving to the servant who stands quietly to the side, her gaze focused on Clarke, a curiosity living in the dark of her eyes. Nia sweeps her hand around the tent then, eyes moving from skeletal relic to fur to pelt. "Take, for example, all these trophies," and she smiles once. "Tell me, Clarke, what do they say of me?"
And so Clarke lets her gaze follow the way the trophies lie around the tent, she lets her mind turn back to the time she had seen Nia in her throne room, the large building only holding furs that hung from the ceiling and draped the walls.
"It says that you are capable, Kwin Nia," Clarke answers, Nia's eyebrow raising once. "It says you are not afraid to get your hands dirty, and to do things the way you wish for them to be done," and Clarke sees a small smile spread across Nia's face once more.
"I see," Nia muses.
"But," and Clarke trails off once more, thoughts sifting, thoughts coalescing. "It is also a trick," and she finds Nia's eyes more careful now, more quiet in the dark. "Anyone who would have seen your throne room would expect for you to keep your tent neat, Kwin Nia, they would assume you may not travel with much."
"And what does that say, Clarke?" Nia asks, her smiling more happy, more free.
"You are careful," and Clarke shrugs. "If one was to meet you here then it would give them pause, it would make them reconsider you, reconsider what they know about you," and Clarke eyes Nia as she continues to brush a finger of the knife's edge. "And for assassins it would make it harder for them to sneak in without tripping," and at the end of her words Clarke thinks Nia nods to herself once more.
And so Nia leans forward, picks up her knife and flips it over her hand once. "I do not have the luxury of training so openly as my warriors do," Nia says after a moment. "As I am sure you understand, it is prudent for many to not know of our capabilities, Clarke," and Nia pauses for just a moment before she flings the knife harshly towards her servant.
Clarke's head whips around with the knife as it whistles through the air, and she lets out just a small gasp as the knife imbeds itself into the wood of a pillar mere hair's breadth from the woman's face.
"I am sure you are tired, Clarke," Nia says as she stands, her hand gesturing for Clarke to do so as well, "and I will not keep you any longer."
And so Clarke takes her leave, a quiet thank you falling from her lips as she bows once more to Nia before she exist the tent, her mind tired and weary and her body tense and uneasy.
Clarke knows she will find sleep quickly, the day's events having drained her of energy, and so she enters her tent with a nod to Torvun who remains ever present outside. She finds Entani undressing tiredly, Ontari already laying in the bed, arm wrapped around a pillow as she breathes in deeply, sleep already having taken hold.
"She did not say it," Entani begins quietly as Clarke begins pulling her furs off, "but I think doing the exercising pains her," and Entani sighs once as she unwraps her chest binding. "She should have listened earlier," she grunts out as she slips on a sleep shirt before crawling into the furs.
"Yeah," Clarke agrees, her own clothes quickly falling away as she climbs into the furs besides Ontari, "but she'll get better with time," and Clarke smiles softly as she hears Entani grunt out an answer, her voice husky with sleep.
Clarke wakes quickly, sounds of commotion echoing out through the tent and the surrounding campsite. Ontari sits up quickly too, her eyes squinting only briefly as she rubs a hand across her face before prodding Entani behind Clarke's back.
Clarke hears a shout of warning then, and so it only takes them a moment before they roll out of the furs, grab the closest weapons they can find and then they burst out of the tent, Torvun already standing, his eyes casting the three women just a brief look before they start moving in the direction of the Azgeda warriors that run from their tents, some wearing furs, some half dressed, all with weapons in their hands.
"What's going on, Torvun?" Clarke asks as they make their way forward.
"Trikru come in numbers," he replies gruffly.
And so Clarke finds herself at the forefront of the Azgeda forces, many of the group coming to stand before the Trikru warriors that gather not far from their campsite. Clarke finds perhaps triple their number, Trikru warriors all staring angrily at the Azgeda gathered before them, and Clarke thinks she hears the shouts of Bellamy carry over the wind, the Skaikru guards clearly taken aback by the large number of warriors who have now gathered outside their gates.
Clarke's attention is drawn to the leader of the Trikru who approaches to find Anya atop her horse. Anya's gaze moves across the Azgeda for a moment, a sneer upon her lips, and then she dismounts, feet landing with a thud as she begins walking forward, a few Trikru coming up besides her.
Clarke finds that Ontari steps forward, too, her eyes glaring at Anya, both women gripping the hilts of their swords, and so Clarke moves with Ontari, Torvun and Entani close behind, a few other Azgeda stepping forward until their numbers match, the small Trikru and Azgeda group now standing in front of one another.
"Do Azgeda always meet a potential threat half dressed?" Anya snorts as she eyes Clarke and Ontari, both women in simple shirts and small shorts.
"Do Trikru meet a friendly Azgeda force, that was requested by the Commander, with such large numbers?" Teril answers evenly, himself stepping forward so that he meets Anya's gaze.
"You were expected at Ton DC," Anya snaps back. "Yet we find you here," and she meets Clarke's gaze briefly before meeting Teril's once more. "You will forgive us for not appreciating your lack of informing us of your actions," she says. "Where is Kwin Nia?"
"She is busy," Teril answers.
"I wish to meet with her," Anya snaps. "The Commander wishes to know what her excuse is for not obeying an order."
And at Anya's words a few Azgeda growl out quietly, hands gripping swords more tightly.
"You will meet with her when she wishes for you to," Teril answers curtly. "Now move your forces away and into the trees or we will defend ourselves."
"Not even going to lie, Clarke," Raven says, "I seriously thought you guys were about to throw down in your underwear," she says with a nervous laugh. "I don't think I've ever seen so many people go from asleep to awake and ready to fight in such a short amount of time."
"Trikru snuck up on us on purpose," Clarke grumbles, fingers pulling the rest of her furs on as Raven takes a seat on a small stool. "They wanted to catch us off guard, make an example, give a warning."
"Yeah, we got their message alright, Bellamy almost lost his mind when the Trikru stormed out from the trees," Raven says. "I get that both clans don't really like each other, but is it really worth getting killed over? Can't you guys talk it out?"
"It's not that easy," Clarke answers tiredly, a yawn escaping her lips as she stands and slips her knife into its place. "You know that," and she raises an eyebrow at Raven, the brunette nodding quietly to herself, boot kicking at the ground, memories of the Mountain clear in her mind.
"Yeah, I guess I do," she says. "The radios are in the bag, too," she whispers. "There's extra batteries, and I even hooked you up with a small solar generator, so you can recharge them when they go dead, but they should last a while."
"Thanks, Raven," and Clarke reaches out and squeezes her upper arm briefly.
Perhaps ironically, or perhaps stupidly, Clarke finds that the agreed upon meeting between Azgeda and Trikru is taking place within Arkadia, the closest to neutral ground that they have access to. And so Clarke thumbs her knife worriedly as Kane introduces the Skaikru present. And so Clarke eyes Bellamy and Finn who stand awkwardly behind Kane, weapons slung over their shoulders, and she eyes Abby whose head turns from face to face she sees, eyes taking in the scars of the Azgeda warriors and the Trikru tattoos.
Nia steps forward, her hands clasped in front of her as she smiles briefly at Anya.
"What is it that you wish to know?" Nia begins.
"Why did Azgeda not arrive at Ton DC?" Anya begins, glare firmly in place. "You would purposely keep the Commander waiting? You would defy her rule?" and she jabs an angry finger towards Nia only to be met with a growl from Teril who steps forward.
"Azgeda does no such thing," Nia says cooly, "we heard that Wanheda was visiting her old people," and Nia inclines her head towards Kane and the other Skaikru who watch the exchange of words, "Azgeda saw it prudent to pay its respects," she finishes.
And so Anya glares for a long moment, her jaw clenching and her fingers twitching by her side.
"Very well," Anya says eventually. "You and your forces will be escorted to Ton DC and then to Polis, we will not allow you to move through Trikru lands unaccompanied for the remainder of your journey."
"I would expect nothing less," Nia finishes easily before she smirks just once before turning to the door, her guards quickly circling her as she moves out of the room.
Clarke makes to follow Nia too, her gaze meeting Abby's for a moment before she slips from the room. But she pauses at Anya's words, the older woman calling out angrily.
"Wanheda, remain," and Clarke looks to Nia who nods just once to her. And so she turns to face Anya staring angrily her way. "Everyone else but Wanheda leave," and she glares at Ontari who remains close by Clarke's side.
"What do you want?" Clarke says after the door slides shut to leave her and Anya alone in the room.
"The Commander," and Clarke sees Anya's jaw clench even more tightly, and she thinks she even hears the growl that breathes past the Trikru general's lips. "The Commander wishes for you to know that Arkadia and Skaikru will be protected while Azgeda remains within striking distance."
"I," and Clarke's chin raises defiantly, "am Azgeda, too."
"But you are not Nia," Anya retorts. "She will have plans, you know that, Lexa knows that and you are not stupid," Anya finishes.
"So what?"
"The Trikru here will remain at Arkadia until Nia takes her forces away or until Roan takes control of Azgeda," Anya answers.
"And what am I supposed to tell Nia?" Clarke says, arms coming to fold in front of her.
"Tell her that Trikru protect Skaikru from attacks from those that fled the Mountain, and that Trikru healers and craftsmen wish to learn more from Skaikru," Anya says. "Are you content with these arrangements?" Anya finishes.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs, "I guess so."
"Good," Anya says as she begins moving to the door, "pack your things. We leave for Polis soon."