It's quiet, just the barely there breathing of others filling the tent as her fingers rub against the wood of her throne, her mind turning quietly, her thoughts warring within her head as she eyes Anya who stands before her. Gustus sighs once, a hand scratching his cheek briefly before he rolls his shoulders, his back straightening.
Anya grunts out a curse quietly though, the silence stretching too long and so she moves from where she stands, pulls out a chair and brings herself into it roughly, Indra merely raising an eyebrow at the movements from where she stands by the tent's entrance.
"Nia is nothing more than a curse," Anya growls out, the day's frustrations leaving her frayed and ill tempered.
But Lexa ignores Anya's words, her gaze turning to Indra. "I wish for you to watch the Azgeda at the Mountain," she says, Indra bowing her head once.
"I can station Trikru warriors that have experience fighting Azgeda, Heda," Indra answers. "You think they will attack?"
"I do not wish to leave it to chance," Lexa replies.
"And Arkadia, Heda?" and Indra jerks her chin towards the direction of Skaikru. "The forces there will stretch the number at the Mountain."
"The other clans at the Mountain will make up for the lack of warriors," Lexa says in answer. "But I have sent for Tobias and his rangers to come from the south. They will add to Tristan's rangers already here."
Indra nods her head in approval, the new rangers a much welcomed bolster of forces, but Lexa's thoughts turn to the new Azgeda warriors that now camp a birdcall away.
"What is your opinion of the northern Azgeda, Indra?" Lexa asks, her own assumptions, her own experiences filling her mind.
"They are experienced," Indra says quickly. "They have survived the harshest of Azgeda winters, and you will find them at every battle Azgeda is involved in, no matter where it may take place," Indra finishes.
"And Nia brings them to the Mountain," Anya spits.
Lexa ignores Anya's outburst though, her fingers tracing the worn edge of her armrest before she meets Indra's gaze once more. "Thank you, Indra," and Lexa dismisses the general with a raising of her hand.
Lexa waits until the tent flaps close behind the general, and until Indra's footfalls fade into the faint murmurs that exist ever present around her tent.
"Speak your mind, Anya," and it comes out weary and a sigh.
"I do not trust Azgeda. I do not trust Nia. I do not like Wanheda and I do not like this situation," Anya says, gaze moving to Gustus only once before meeting Lexa's.
"You do not like Wanheda?" and Lexa leans forward. "Or you do not like Clarke?"
"I do not like Clarke," and Anya leans forward too.
"You think I am blinded?"
"No," and Anya is quick with her words, her thumb tapping her thigh briefly. "But I do not like Nia. What if Clarke is nothing more than a chess piece? What if Clarke uses you? To distract, to weaken?"
"I do not think Clarke uses me," Lexa counters evenly, but despite the words that leave her mouth she knows she has already considered the possibilities.
"Perhaps Clarke does not use you, but what of Nia? You must know that Nia would consider all options."
"You think Nia allows Clarke to remain to weaken me?" and Lexa looks away for a moment, her gaze falling onto Gustus who stands ever quietly by her side. "No one knows," Lexa finishes quietly.
Anya stands though, her steps come carefully as she approaches.
"No one should have known of Costia," Anya says, her gaze darkening, and Lexa thinks she sees a guilt live in Anya's mind. "But it was known," and Anya's fists clench tightly, and Lexa is sure memories of Anya's time with Echo must linger in her former mentors mind.
"It was not your fault," Lexa says, but she thinks the words only half a truth.
"It was," is all Anya replies with.
"I do not think Clarke uses you, Heda," Gustus says in the silence.
"You do not?" and Lexa looks up at the large man.
"She speaks ill of Nia and I have never heard an Azgeda speak ill of her before."
"You think her more loyal to the clan than to Nia?" Anya asks.
"I do," Gustus says. "All she has done would suggest that," and Gustus steps forward so that he now stands besides Anya. "All she has done has provided Azgeda with options, with opportunities, she has not taken action to weaken Azgeda, but her actions could weaken Nia."
"We still do not know why Nia has come with these forces," Anya says.
"I believe she wishes to see things for herself," Lexa answers. "Clarke is special—" and Anya's eyes roll, "— controlling Wanheda is the key to whatever game Nia plays."
"And she is the key to what?" Anya pushes. "Skaikru loyalty? Most clans did not know of Skaikru until after you had ensured they were not a threat."
"Perhaps Nia wishes to use the knowledge that you kept them hidden to destabilise the Coalition, Heda," Gustus says.
"That is why Skaikru travel to polis with us now. They will prove their worth to the coalition," Lexa answers. She falls quiet once more though, her mind quickly sifting through the things she knows of Nia, the actions Nia has taken and the warriors that move across borders currently, vast numbers all under the guise of protection. "I can not remove Nia from power without destabilising all of Azgeda," Lexa begins once more, "the only person to do that would be Roan or Clarke," and Lexa grimaces briefly at Roan's name.
"But we have not heard from Roan," Anya says.
"We have not," Lexa continues. "Nia must know that Clarke did not follow her orders."
"So that is why she has come to Arkadia? To threaten?"
"It would make sense to have warriors near enough to Arkadia to strike if Wanheda was to disobey orders," Gustus adds.
"But what excuse will she give the clans?" and Anya glowers even harder, "they will not tolerate such large numbers of Azgeda warriors outside their borders."
"I am almost certain Nia has sided with those that fled the Mountain," and Lexa nods to herself before continuing, "she will argue that her warriors are at Arkadia to help protect should the last of the Mountain Men attack."
"But what does she wish to achieve?" Anya continues.
"What she has always wished to achieve," Lexa says, "to remove me from the throne and to destroy the coalition."
"You think she will challenge you even now? After the defeat of the Mountain?" Anya says.
"She would not be doing the things she does now unless she believes she has an advantage," and Lexa reclines in her throne once more, thoughts carefully taking shape within her mind. "She has an advantage," and Lexa nods to herself just once. "She has the aid of those that fled the Mountain, and Nia believes she controls Azgeda and the power of Wanheda."
"But you trust Clarke?"
"I do," and Lexa's brows furrow briefly. "Nia will threaten Clarke somehow, perhaps by holding Arkadia hostage—"
"Our warriors at Arkadia will protect Skaikru," Gustus adds.
"—Yes, but we can not know how much damage Nia could cause with Mountain Tech."
"But what of you, Lexa?" Anya says.
"Nia will challenge me to the throne," Lexa says, conviction finding its way into her voice. "She will do it to obscure her other moves."
"To destabilise the Coalition?" Gustus asks.
"And gain the power of the Mountain and its tech," and Anya nods to herself, lips grimacing slightly. "With the Mountain's power Nia could sway the outcome of any conflict between Azgeda and the other clans."
"If Nia challenges you, Heda, then Teril would fight for her," Gustus says, thoughts clearly turning to the Azgeda guard who accompanies Nia and the fight that looms over their shoulders.
"What of her other guards? Ones who are older, more experienced?" Anya counters.
"I do not believe they would be the ones fighting," Gustus says gruffly. "Teril is old enough to have fought during the Coalition's forming, but young enough so as not to have spent more time guarding than fighting. He would be experienced enough to counter any clan's style of combat."
"Teril will be the one I will—"
"—I will fight in your stead, Heda," Gustus cuts in.
"—No," and Lexa pins Gustus with a stern look. "I am the Commander. No one fights for me," and she sees Gustus clench his jaw tightly, "When Nia issues the challenge she will have swayed enough of the other clans. I must meet her challenge," she finishes.
"Then what can we do?" and Anya looks to Gustus for a moment in question merely to look back to Lexa after Gustus gives nothing, his fingers simply gripping his knife fiercely.
And so Lexa takes a steadying breath, her chest aching slightly at the words she knows she must voice.
"We must convince Clarke to challenge Nia to the throne."
Daybreak comes quickly. The sound of a horn echoes out over the camp and Clarke's eyes open with a yawn upon her lips. Ontari sits ruefully, her hand rubbing at her eyes and her hair messed and knotted. Entani wakes just a touch more slowly, the woman whimpering to the cold of the air as Ontari jerks the furs from them with a tired smile as she swings her legs over the side of the bed.
"There's baths in Polis, right?" Clarke asks as she sits, fingers tugging through her hair briefly.
"We will find out," Ontari answers as she stands, her back stretching and her arms reaching up to brush against the low hanging tent furs overhead.
Ontari pads her way over to the small table in the corner of their tent, her skin prickling to the cold, her toes wriggling into the furs underfoot as she begins sorting through the furs and leathers that each woman wears. Clarke watches her for a moment longer, her gaze carefully eyeing the soreness to Ontari's shoulder, to the reddened flesh and the scarring from the bullet's exit wound. But as Ontari raises her arm up, as she rolls her shoulder and as she begins separating the furs with her free hand, Clarke thinks Ontari will be fine.
Entani rises then, fingers pulling her sleep clothes off roughly as she treads her way to Ontari, the other woman handing the healer furs already. Clarke follows suit, her own clothes passed to her as she begins to dress quickly, the early morning routine now thoughtless and easy to fall into.
Ontari strips her chest binding, the morning light curving over her chest as she slides a small sheathed dagger into place before tying on a fresh binding, hands settling the foreign object. Clarke finds herself following the actions too, fingers automatically placing her own small dagger into place as she eyes Entani bringing a hairbrush through her hair quickly.
Clarke's undershirt comes next, then her heavier leathers and then finally her furs, the familiar weight settling over her shoulders as she sits on the edge of the bed, Ontari's fingers quickly working the blonde of her hair into braids, Clarke's own fingers finishing the final knots in Entani's hair before the healer rises, already moving behind Ontari.
It doesn't take the three women long to finish, perhaps not even ten minutes, and as Clarke bends down, fingers snagging the straps of her bag, she runs a hand over the small pocket on its side to find only two hard objects remain, Echo having taken a radio in the time between their meeting and her waking. And so Clarke exits the tent, bag over her shoulder and furs and leathers bundled in her arms as Ontari begins packing their small table and supplies. Torvun stands to greet them with a nod before he begins helping Entani take down their small tent.
And so Clarke looks out over the camp to find many already moving about, some taking down tents, others packing carts full of supplies and others guiding and readying horses for theirs journeys to the Mountain, to Polis or perhaps even back to Arkadia.
To Clarke's dismay she finds out the trip to Polis will take the entire day, even edging into the night, and so she finds herself riding atop her horse, eyes slowly counting the many Trikru warriors that ride with them, that flank the Azgeda party as they move along the beaten path that winds through the trees. Nia rides at the forefront of the Azgeda forces, her guards following close behind her, their gazes ever careful of those that follow. Clarke lets her gaze wander to Teril though, and she eyes the scar that peeks out of the collar of his furs and begins to race up his throat. He must sense her gaze though, because his head turns and his eyes land on hers quickly, and as they share a glance Clarke thinks she sees a quiet mirth, a humour only for him to understand, that lives within his eyes. And so she nods her head once before turning her attention elsewhere, Entani and Torvun's conversation slowly drifting through her mind.
"—not saying we should do it," and Torvun's eyebrows furrow carefully as Entani continues voicing her thoughts, "but I think Lake Clan could be conquered within a season if all of Azgeda attacked."
"Lake Clan would not even be a challenge," Ontari adds, an Azgeda warriors who rides close by laughing quietly at her words.
"And how would you invade them so it would not be a challenge?" Entani asks.
"Wait until winter," Ontari says. "When their lakes are frozen we attack. They share our border so we wait until their lands are as close to Azgeda climate then we win," she finishes.
"You make it sound easy," Clarke adds.
"We would have defeated them if the Coalition did not happen," Ontari scoffs.
"But it did," Torvun says.
"If you think Lake Clan is so easy to conquer then how would you take Rock Line?" Entani questions, head now cocked to the side as she considers her own question.
And so Ontari begins outlining her thoughts, the intricacies and plans she voices perhaps worryingly illuminating just how much thought she has put into conquering the neighbouring clans. But Clarke finds a smile spreading across her lips as she listens to Entani's exasperation at one of Ontari's far too violent plans of taking the Rock Line's capital, even Torvun seems perplexed for a moment as Ontari merely shrugs once before her thoughts shift to a different strategy.
Clarke looks around then, her thoughts lazing through her mind, but she feels the quiet prickle and she senses the gaze trained on her and so she shifts in her saddle to find Wells looking at her awkwardly, a smile spreading across his lips as their eyes meet. Clarke only looks once at Ontari who follows her gaze to Wells before Clarke guides her horse back towards Wells and the other Skaikru, a number of Azgeda shifting around her horse as she comes to ride amongst the few Skaikru taking the journey to Polis.
"Hi," Clarke waves awkwardly to Wells before smiling briefly at Raven. "You can ride a horse," and Clarke finds herself unsure of what else to say in this moment.
"Yeah," and Wells shrugs once, "not very well, but we're on the ground now. We have to adapt."
Clarke nods at his words, a smile of her own beginning to spread as she recalls times past when they had been children, when they had dreamt of what the ground would be like.
"It's nothing like we'd imagined, is it," and she finds Wells smiling at her words, but she thinks the smile just a little less happy than her mind remembers.
"No, it isn't" Wells answers.
"Why'd you not say anything?" and Clarke finds herself cutting through the awkward that lingers with the bluntness of her words. "Why? After all this time?"
"I already told you," Wells says, eyes snapping to the ground just once as his horse lurches slightly.
"You were going to let me hate you forever?"
"It was complicated," and Wells worries his lip, brows furrowing.
"We've got time," Clarke challenges.
"Things are different," he says, "more than it should be," he counters at the way Clarke's eyes roll.
"How?"
"If you'd never been sent down first, if you'd stayed with us at Arkadia maybe I would have told you one day," and he shrugs. "But you didn't, you found a place, a people. I thought it'd be easier if things just drifted apart," and he gazes at her cautiously.
"Drifted apart?" and Clarke thinks a gentle scowl forms on her face. "You'd give up our friendship? You'd let things just fizzle out?" but as the last of her words leave her she thinks she already knows his answer.
"They already had," Wells said. "You hated me, but at least you still had Abby."
"You're an idiot," Clarke finds herself saying, but she knows her words don't come out biting when she finds a smile spreading across his face once more.
"Yeah," and Wells shrugs. "I guess I am," and he sighs, "it's because things are so different, are too different, isn't it?" and he gestures around them both. "The grounders, the clans, the Mountain. It puts things into perspective," and Clarke thinks she knows Wells talks of Thelonious who remains imprisoned at Ton DC.
"It does," Clarke agrees. And she knows it does. After the things she's done, the things she is sure she will continue to do. What seems like senseless childhood grudges seem petty. "I was petty," and she finds herself worrying the strap of her fathers watch.
"You weren't," Wells counters. "You lost Jake. You had every right to hold onto the only parent you had left."
"Even if it meant hating an innocent man?" Clarke says.
"What are friends for?"
And so Clarke finds her horse moving closer to Wells' and she finds her hand reaching out to squeeze his once as their eyes meet.
"Thank you," she says.
"You're welcome, Clarke," Wells answers.
There's a bite to the air that Clarke finds herself embracing. Her feet strum across the forest floor, the furs of her boots dulling the crunch of leaves and sticks underfoot. Her gaze moves to the left, the rustle of a bush catching her eye and so she changes course, gaze glimpsing the splash of red that bread crumbs the trail for her. She feels Ontari spring forward too, the woman's hand snapping to the left as an Azgeda warrior peels off. And so Clarke slows her steps, Ontari coming to a rest by her side.
"We have it cornered," is all Ontari says as she meets Raven's gaze, the mechanic's breaths coming out frantic and pained.
"How—" and Raven gulps largely, "how are you guys not out of breath," and she winces as a hand clutches at her ribs.
"We are not weak," Ontari answers simply, ignoring Raven's snort.
"Just get out of the way if it decides to charge, ok?" and Clarke eyes the breathless mess Raven has become in the short run after the deer.
"You got it," and Raven coughs once, Ontari winces as the sound carries out into the forest around them.
"Be quiet," Ontari hisses as she clamps a hand over Raven's mouth.
"I got it," Raven growls out as she begins pulling away Ontari's fingers, a glare on her face.
"Behave," Clarke whispers, her eyes snapping to movement not far from them, her own hands pulling both women apart.
"Why have you even come?" Ontari snaps quietly to Raven.
"Why are you such a bitch?" Raven counters, her thumb brushing over the bow held awkwardly in her hands.
And so Clarke sighs and her eyes roll, and she is sure this hunting trip will end in them returning empty handed. A hoot echoes out quietly though, Ontari's head snapping up at the sound as she draws her bow, eyes peering out into the bushes. And then there's a blast of commotion. Ontari lets out a yell, Clarke's eyes widen and Raven releases a yelp of surprise.
The stag bursts from the undergrowth, its horns levelled at Ontari as it charges, the wounded beast desperate and violent. Ontari dives to the ground, her arrow glancing off the stag's shoulder, leaving behind a jagged gash. Clarke curses out too, her own arrow only just finding flesh. The other hunter calls out a warning before a third arrow finds its mark in the stag's side.
But its momentum carries it forward, Raven's eyes widen for only a moment and then Clarke dives for her, hands grasping for the mechanic as she drags her out of the way just in time before the beast crashes into the ground where the three women had been just moments ago.
Clarke struggles to her feet, gaze meeting the other hunter's worried look for only a moment before she turns to Raven who lies sprawled out on the ground, a small smile on her face.
"Yeah," and Raven sits up, "I'm not going hunting with you again."
And Clarke laughs as she helps Raven up, the mechanic patting herself off as she eyes the broken branches and trampled bushes.
"I swear animals are bigger now than they were," Raven says.
"You've never seen what they were like before," Clarke laughs as she bends to pick her bow up.
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do," and Clarke eyes the now dead deer, blood already pooling out around the arrow that sticks out its side. "Where's Ontari?" and Clarke looks around only to find the other Azgeda hunter shrugging.
But Clarke's eyes find movement, they snap to the deer and she finds it moving barely. And Clarke's eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before she curses and runs forward. Her hands tug at the animal's antlers desperately, its weight crushing Ontari who lies underneath it.
"Get this thing off me," Ontari growls, her face contorting as the weight shifts on her chest, her nose bloodied and her arms trapped by her side.
Raven curses as she scrambles on hands and feet towards Ontari, the other hunter dropping down by Clarke's side as they all begin pulling the dead beast off Ontari. Clarke thinks it only takes them a few strained seconds, but she is sure it must feel a lifetime for Ontari. As soon as the weight lifts from her chest Ontari breathes in deeply only to splutter and curse as she pulls herself free, a hand wiping the blood from her mouth before she spits out a mouthful of it.
"Shit man, are you ok?" Raven asks, eyes still wide as she takes in Ontari's ruffled state.
"I am fine," Ontari hisses once more before she comes to her feet shakily.
Clarke steadies Ontari, hand gripping the wounded woman's shoulder as she wobbles slightly, hand clutching her ribs and a scowl on her face.
"Let—"
"They are not broken," Ontari cuts Clarke off, hand still resting on her ribs.
"You're sure?" Clarke asks, worry furrowing her brow.
"Yes," Ontari shrugs slightly before she bends and picks up the bow she dropped. Ontari stands back up quickly, a sharp glare sent to Raven who holds her hands up, palm forward as Ontari begins moving back in the direction of the warriors that travel to Polis.
"I guess we're the ones carrying this?" Raven says in the silence, her foot coming to scuff at one of the large legs of the beast.
"Yeah, I guess so," and Clarke nods to the other hunter as they both begin binding the animal's legs in preparation for the heavy journey back.
"Do you always hunt for food?" Raven asks from where she walks besides Clarke.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs awkwardly under the weight of the deer, one end of a branch threaded through the deer's legs resting upon her shoulders.
"You don't farm?" Raven says, her head cocking to the side.
"No," and Clarke takes a moment to think. "Azgeda fish, and we hunt and there's roots we eat," she says. "But if you're thinking of crops and farm animals and stuff then no, Azgeda doesn't do that."
"But other clans do, I'm guessing?" and Raven gestures around them. "Trikru farm I'm pretty sure."
"Their climate's better suited to it, yeah," Clarke answers.
"We do not need warmer winds to survive," the hunter who walks with them says, her voice lilting off the wind as they walk quietly, the faint sounds of Ontari's rough steps reaching their ears from further ahead.
"Clearly," Raven says, eyes rolling.
"You're from the north?" Clarke says over her shoulder as she meets the other hunter's gaze .
"Yes," she answers, "from Cambri," and she huffs a string of hair from her eyes, the red brown of it tickling her nose as they walk. "I am Jenma," she says after a moment. And Clarke smiles, and she is sure Jenma sees the lifting of her cheeks by the quiet huff of breath that the redheaded huntress lets loose. "You should try the Northern hunts," Jenma says after a moment though, and Clarke is sure she eyes the dark pelt and the skull behind her head.
"I've been told they are a worthy challenge," and Clarke laughs quietly, the terse conversation had with Teril coming to mind.
"All who wish to prove themselves in pain and suffering would attempt them," Jenma says seriously, "Prince Roan of Azgeda suffered them, Kwin Nia suffered them. You should suffer them, too, Wanheda."
"You guys are super into suffering," Raven cuts in, her gaze clearly travelling over the scars that adorn Clarke's face before landing on Jenma's own. Clarke finds herself taking a moment to take in Jenma's scars too, and she finds them similar to Teril's, arcs slashed from her temples to behind her ears. And she thinks the scars fitting, she thinks they suit the woman's round face, and accent the strength of her cheekbones.
"All Azgeda know suffering, sky girl—"
"— it's Raven."
"it is our birthright to conquer it," Jenma finishes with a shrug.
"The northern Azgeda live in harsher environments, even by Azgeda standards, Raven," Clarke says in elaboration. "Where's teril from?" Clarke adds, curiosity piquing. "Cambri, too?"
"No," and Jenma looks up for a moment in thought. "From Tehorse," and she sighs before hefting the deer further up onto her shoulders. "He comes from Tehorse, it is where all who attempt the Northern Hunts begin their travels," and she smiles firmly as a memory takes hold. "I was there when Prince Roan attempted his," and she laughs quietly, the green of her eyes sparkling happily in the sunlight. "He did not return for many nights. But when he returned he came back victorious."
"Someone's smitten," Raven laughs, thumbs hooked into the straps of the ever constant bag on her back.
And so Jenma merely shrugs once more.
"He is Prince Roan."
Clarke finds herself riding at the forefront of the Azgeda forces, Torvun by her side, Entani and Ontari riding behind them. She doesn't notice it at first, but the trees this far from Ton DC change, they shift ever so slightly, the trees barely a shade lighter, the trunks just slightly thinner than in the heart of Trikru lands. Clarke looks up into the sky for a moment, the drifting of clouds chasing the setting sun as it bleeds orange through the sky. She peers behind her briefly, her eyes quickly counting the Azgeda warriors who ride with her, their numbers swarmed by Trikru on either side.
She turns back to the front of the large war party, her gaze falling on Nia's back who rides just in front of her, Teril and the other guards close by her side. Clarke's gaze then moves to Lexa further in the distance, the red of her sash glowing in the warmth of the sun's light.
The horses come to a pause though, the large convoy of warriors slowing their steps as they near a thinning of trees. A warrior by Lexa's side brings a horn to his lips, the sound echoing out around them. It lasts for a long moment before ending, its sound reverberating off the trees that huddle together. And there's a pause, enough time for the chatter of birds to calm and the neighing of horses to weaken, but a response comes, a long echo and a deep rumble that shakes her bones.
"Polis responds," Torvun says quietly as Clarke's eyes peer out through the trees. "It is not wise to ride on the capital with such large warriors unannounced, even if you are expected."
And so the warriors begin moving forward slowly at the raising of Lexa's hand, Gustus and Anya flanking her as the large warhorse she rides atop takes her forward. Clarke even feels it in the air too, the Trikru around them watch the Azgeda more carefully, the proximity to the capital of all the clans bringing a tension to the air.
The trees begin to thin slowly, the spaces between them expanding, the ground beneath her hardening, and the leaves and sticks and branches that litter the ground lessening until all that remains is the firm packed dirt that Clarke thinks not quite pavement, not quite worn stone, but somewhere between that and the looseness of the forest ground.
She doesn't notice it at first, but as they continue along quietly she finds that the birdsong is met by the quiet lilting of noise on the air. She thinks she hears the occasional voice that breaks through the quiet breeze, she thinks she hears the subtle clanging of steel on steel, and she knows she hears the sounds of life as the trees finally part for her.
And it's an awed expression she is sure, it's something she had never quite thought she'd see again, or ever.
The trees end abruptly and the land dips below her gaze and into a valley. To the left rises mountains covered in the grand trees she is used to. the mountains fade into the distance, rolling into the clouds overhead. She sees the flashes of blue as the sun touches water's surface to illuminate the lakes and rivers that wind and thread their way through the valley. In the distance she thinks she even sees the quietly snowcapped peaks of mountains, ones that bring a longing of ice and snow to her mind. But what steals her attention the most in the valley is Polis. Buildings, large and small spread out, she can even see the winding trails of streets and roads and pathways that wind through the buildings, some she sees are built of wood, some of stone, metal and cloth and furs.
But what brings her attention into focus the most is Polis tower. It sits in the centre of the sprawling city, its shadow cutting a swath of dark over a sliver of the cities dwellings. It must rise many, many stories into the sky, the sun cutting into it and setting the stone ablaze with the riches of oranges and reds and yellows that bleed through the cracks of a facade that has weathered the fierceness that is the ground.
Clarke eyes it for a long moment, and she finds pieces missing, some cracks opening into large spaces, jagged edges and broken stone and metal. But she sees it stand firm, she sees the flickering of flames in windows, and she sees the flame that burns at the very top of the tower, and she is sure it must be fierce in its intensity, she thinks it must warm the city on the coldest nights if only because she feels it, even now, if only in its brightness.
The warriors begin the march forward though, their horses beginning to follow a large trail that winds its way down into the valley, that disappears back into the trees and that will lead them to the gates of Polis. There's a stiffness to Nia now, her back straightens and her shoulders square, her gaze hardens too, it flickers over the trees, it meets the occasional glare of a Trikru warrior and it smirks as they move ever closer to Polis.
It only takes them a few long moments before they near Polis, the tower looming overhead, even in the distance. They pass people now, from all the clans, she recognises the reds and browns of Rock Line, the blues of the Lake People and the muted ochre of Desert clan. The people they pass make way for the many warriors, their gazes awed as they look up as Lexa passes, her own body tense, her gaze hardened, but Clarke thinks she feels the glint of content that hides beneath the mask Lexa so often wears.
The sounds of life reach her ears more clearly now, and she can hear the chatter of a market, even at this late an hour, when the sun begins its descent. But the gates of Polis break into her vision as the trees fade from around her. Clarke spares one last look behind her and she peers at the warriors who ride quietly, some who gaze up at Polis tower in their first visit to the capital, some more familiar with its scale merely sparing it one quick glance.
"It is big," Entani whispers quietly, her gaze trailing over the tower.
"It is ugly," Ontari says in turn. "It is not even complete," and Clarke is sure Ontari eyes the crumbling facade that somehow remains firm.
"It is strong," Torvun says. "It has served all commanders, past and present and will serve future commanders."
They ride through the gates, and Clarke finds even greater numbers of warriors milling about at what she thinks must be the main entrance to Polis. But she finds these warriors to be a mix of clans, of Rock Line, of Trikru, Glowing Forest, Broadleaf and the others.
"How many people live here?" Clarke whispers, eyes following a number of archers, hands on their bows as they eye the Azgeda forces.
"Many times more than at our capital," Torvun says in answer. "All people are welcome, but each clan must have no more than a thousand warriors within the capital at any given time."
"They don't seem too happy about Azgeda," Clarke whispers, her gaze meeting the scorn of a Lake Clan warrior.
"Azgeda will have almost a thousand within the capital now," Torvun says easily. "It is not often that a clan brings all that they are allowed."
"So they watch us and expect us to not take offence?" Ontari sneers as she passes a warrior, their leathers greens and soft yellows.
"Yes," Torvun says simply, his past experience of visiting the capital tempering his unease.
The many warriors come to a stop in a large city square, on one end lies the mouth to Polis tower, the other sides boxed by buildings, some large, some small, all showing signs of life and clan allegiances.
"The Azgeda forces may take their place in their sector," Lexa calls out, her voice carrying over the many warriors. "Honoured guests will be given quarters in Polis tower," Lexa finishes.
And so Clarke dismounts with the other Azgeda, and warriors begin directing their horses away, some to what Clarke assumes to be the stables, others in the direction of a clearing on the outskirts of Polis that Clarke had spied on their approach from the ridgeline of the valley.
"I guess we're this way?" Clarke gestures awkwardly, her gaze following the many warriors who begin moving away from the tower.
"Clarke," and she feels herself stiffen just slightly as she turns. "Wanheda is an honoured guest. You will be given quarters in Polis," Nia smiles warmly from where she stands not far from Clarke.
And so Clarke sends an apologetic look to Entani and Ontari, both women looking awkwardly at her as she walks behind Nia and her guards. Torvun closes in on Clarke though, his shadow joining hers for only a moment before they step under the shadow cast by Polis.
Clarke finds Lexa standing by the entrance to the tower, and it's an arch that looms overhead, furs and cloths draping down, each one carrying the sigil of the twelve clans. More warriors stand guard too, but Clarke finds these ones to share in the lack of distinctiveness of colours.
"Polis guards must surrender allegiance to their birth clan," Torvun whispers before falling quiet as Lexa casts her gaze over the few Azgeda that stand before her and the Skaikru who stand awkwardly near Anya.
"Kwin Nia will be shown to her usual quarters," Lexa calls out, her gaze meeting Nia's only briefly as the Kwin bows her head. "Your guards may find their quarters amongst the ambassadors and their guards," and Nia smiles warmly, her gaze flickering over the guards by her side before settling on Teril who peers cautiously around them. "Wanheda will be given her own quarters." And Nia's gaze snaps back to Lexa's for only a moment before finding a space somewhere past her, but Clarke thinks Lexa senses the shift in Nia's posture. "Wanheda is an honoured guest, Kwin Nia," and Lexa inclines her head evenly. "She will be given the same respect as any other leader of a clan as her status demands."
"Of course," Nia says, already beginning a familiar walk past Lexa, her guards still close by her side as she disappears into the depths of the tower.
And so Lexa watches Nia's retreating back, her gaze hard as she follows the Kwin's furs that swish with her movements before a bend in a hallway steals her away.
"Skaikru, you have been given quarters," and Lexa gestures to a servant, a woman who bows her head briefly as she steps forward, eyes counting the few Skaikru present.
And so the Skaikru follow the woman, and Clarke finds herself standing in the entrance to the tower, the fires that burn in sconces nearby bringing flickering shadows around her, the warmth of the furs and tapestries that hang overhead warming her thoughts and catching her eye, the sigils of the clans all glowing distinctly in the light.
"Come, Clarke," Lexa says then, her gaze shifting to Torvun's for only a moment, and Clarke realises that they stand surrounded by Trikru and other guards, Anya and Gustus ever present, the other Trikru more apprehensive in Wanheda's presence.
Clarke falls into step behind Lexa as Anya and Gustus follow closely as Torvun shadows Clarke's movements. Guards that Lexa passes bow their heads quietly, servants press their backs to walls as Lexa passes and words of Heda fall from murmured lips.
It's quiet now, there's noise to the air, footsteps echo around her, but Clarke feels the prickling of her skin and the proximity of others. They come to a set of doors though, the wooden frame old, scratched and worn. Lexa pauses, hand reaching out to pull on a lever that extends from the side of the wall.
Clarke's brows furrow, uncertainty taking her thoughts as the five of them stand awkwardly in front of the doors. But Clarke's ears pick up the creaking and the groaning. And it must last a while, for long enough that her eyes peer around her briefly, and her lips begin to part, her thoughts begin to voice themselves, but the groaning stops, Lexa's hand reaches out and the doors slide open to reveal a small room.
And it takes Clarke a moment to register what it is, her eyebrows furrow once more as Lexa steps inside, followed by Anya and Gustus. But then Clarke lets a quiet laugh leave her lips as she too steps into the small space.
"I guess this explains how you get up and down the tower," Clarke says quietly, a person's breath brushing against the back of her neck, Torvun and Gustus both taking up much of the enclosed space.
"There are stairs, Clarke," Lexa says evenly. "We use them when it breaks down," and she gestures around her.
"It doesn't break down often, though?" and Clarke looks over her shoulder to find Lexa standing close. "Right?"
"There has not been a death in two seasons," Lexa replies, her lips twitching up just slightly as Clarke's eyes widen and as she grips Torvun's arm in support.
Anya scoffs once though, and Clarke is sure she hears the woman mutter curses under her breath. But then the elevator comes to a pause, the doors slide open and Anya steps out with a relieved sigh.
"I will see you soon, Heda," Anya calls over her shoulder as she begins moving through a brightly lit hallway.
"This level is for Trikru quarters," Lexa says in the quiet, the doors sliding shut with a thud as the elevator once more begins its ascent.
"Where am I staying?" Clarke questions.
"Near the topmost levels," Lexa says. "You are an honoured guest so you will be given quarters suitable for your standing, Clarke."
"Oh, well," and Clarke finds herself trailing off, unsure of how to respond exactly. "Thanks," she gives to the silence.
"You are welcome, Clarke."
They fall into a tense silence then, the sounds of creaking ropes all Clarke can focus on. But the sounds cut off abruptly, the small space giving a slight lurch as the upwards motion ceases.
"Follow me," Lexa says as she slides the doors open and steps out into another brightly lit hallway.
Clarke peers down the other end to find guards standing by doors, their gazes meeting hers for a moment as recognition dawns on their faces, her scars showing her as Azgeda, her presence by Lexa's side marking her as Wanheda. But she turns back to Lexa's swaying coat, and she follows her down the hallway until they come to another set of doors. These ones are heavy, the wood carved and etched into, images depicting battles, victories and defeats that sprawl across the richness of its colour.
"Your quarters, Clarke," Lexa says, her gaze meeting Gustus' for a moment as he steps aside, his back coming to rest against the wall by the door. And so Clarke squeezes Torvun's arm briefly, his own back coming to face the wall as he takes position besides Gustus.
And then Lexa opens the doors and both women step inside.