The doors close with a thud, the deepness of it filling the large room Clarke finds herself now standing inside. She hears Lexa move behind her carefully until she sees the brunette come to a quiet step besides her. But despite the other woman's presence, Clarke can't help but to stare at what she sees. Latticeworks of wood carvings line the far wall to her right, it spans the length of a wall draped in furs and pelts before it bends at the room's corner to stand before what Clarke thinks must be an open balcony or window, the sun's light shearing into the room with the intensity and warmth of a tired day. Candles in sconces hang from the ceiling, some dot the edges of the room, some hang high. Clarke begins to move around the room carefully, her fingers trailing over the edge of a large, worn wooden table, the depth of its hue enriching. She peers through the latticework as she comes besides it to find Polis stretching out below her, buildings fading into the distance, torches slowly being lit catching her gaze as their flames prickle her sight.
Her eyes fall onto a low couch, its length enough for her to sleep on and its colour more muted, less forest, she eyes the smaller table by its side, this one she thinks for decoration as much as for utility. Her gaze lands on the bed though, the furs atop it lush, the size of it far larger than she remembers ever having on the Ark, and far larger than what she has had in Ronto and in the last few months at the Mountain.
Clarke turns carefully to Lexa, the other woman still standing by the door, her own gaze following Clarke in her searching ministrations.
"Do you live like this when you aren't travelling?" Clarke asks quietly, fingers brushing against the furs draped over the bed, a crimson red and a blinding white mixing together in a lazy dance.
"Yes," Lexa answers evenly, her shoulder lifting ever so slightly. "The Commander's quarters are at the other end of this level," and she gestures behind her with a lifting of a finger.
"I've never had anything like this," Clarke says, "on the Ark everything was rationed, everyone shared. We'd even cut mattresses in half for children," and she pauses to find herself staring at the edge of the bed. "The Mountain doesn't even have stuff like this."
"You are on the ground now, Clarke," and Lexa's eyes soften only a bit, and Clarke thinks the woman's gaze lingers over her face for a long moment. "Do not feel guilty at what you have earned."
"It's not guilt," Clarke says. "It's just—" she bites her lip once, thoughts turning uneasy. "It's just that the ground's not like I thought it would be," she finishes lamely.
Lexa nods just once, her hands now clasped behind her back as she approaches carefully. Clarke follows the motion with her eyes, her own hands coming to tug at the furs and pelt draped over her shoulder, and a sigh escapes her lips as the weight lifts and as she feels them slip to the ground. She breathes in deeply then, the past few days having wearied her mind and so she finds herself reclining on the bed, fingers carding through the soft furs she can feel
"I will leave you, Clarke," Lexa begins quietly, "you are tired. The ambassadors will wai—"
"—Wait," and Clarke lifts her head from the bed. "Can you stay? Just for a bit?"
"Only for a moment," and Lexa looks at the door.
"I know we should be careful," Clarke smiles quietly, thoughts turning to the guards she had seen at what she thinks must be Lexa's quarters.
"They will not speak of what they see," Lexa says, her mind having read Clarke's thoughts. "But I wish not to risk anything with Nia so close."
"I understand," Clarke says quietly as she watches Lexa sit on the edge of the bed. "We aren't going to get a break are we?" and she sits up as the words leave her lips, a hand rubbing across her face for a moment.
"The Commander is not afforded the luxury of a break, Clarke," Lexa answers, eyes following Clarke's hand as it rubs ruefully across her eyes.
"Does the Commander often refer to herself in third person?"
"Only for special occasions," and Lexa smiles slightly, her cheek twitching for a moment.
"I see," and Clarke finds herself bumping Lexa's shoulder with her own, both women now sitting on the edge of the bed.
They fall into a quiet then, Clarke's eyes happy to drift over the room, over the parchment she spies on the table, she eyes the wax that dries and drips from candles, and she eyes the intricacies of the latticework that casts shadows and warmth through the room.
"Nia will begin to turn the ambassadors against the Coalition," Lexa says quietly, mournfully.
"She can do that?" Clarke says, her gaze peering at Lexa's profile for a long moment.
"She will have plans to do so," and Lexa turns to face her.
"What are you going to do?"
"For now nothing," and Lexa smirks quietly as Clarke's eyes roll.
"You've got to have a plan though, right?"
"I can not make a move against Nia until she makes hers," Lexa answers. "To do so would require evidence of Nia's treachery."
"But you have none yet," Clarke guesses. "What do you need?"
"To confront her? To accuse her?" and Clarke nods at Lexa's words. "I would need evidence that she sides with the last of the Mountain Men."
"That's it?"
"That is all someone not of Azgeda can do," and Lexa's peers cautiously at her for a moment, and Clarke thinks she doesn't quite like the way Lexa's gaze hardens.
"You want me to do something, don't you," and it comes out less question than intended.
"We have not heard from Prince Roan," Lexa begins.
"I know. I have someone looking for him right now," Clarke gives.
"Echo," Lexa guesses and Clarke thinks Lexa looks away briefly at the assassin's name.
"Yes," and Clarke reaches out quietly, her hand squeezing Lexa's for a moment. "You can trust her. She wants what's best for Azgeda, and in her eyes Roan as King is best," and Clarke lets her own voice firm, "she won't betray me."
"You are sure?"
"As sure as I can be," and Clarke shrugs and laughs quietly as Lexa's eyes narrow and as her brow furrows, but conversations past come to her, and she recognises the worry that must live in Lexa's mind, and so she reaches out, grips her hand once. "Nothing bad will happen," she whispers, and she knows Lexa thinks of old friends, of old losses and pain.
"I do not trust her," Lexa says simply. And so Clarke hums to herself, thoughts turning to Nia, to Lexa and to what she knows will be frightful, worried days yet to come.
"Why can't you do anything about Nia if she's involved in Roan's disappearance?" Clarke asks and Lexa looks away at her words again, thoughts warring in her mind and so Clarke lets her thoughts sift too. She lets them linger and drift through her mind as she sorts through what she knows. "It's an internal Azgeda matter," and Clarke thinks she knows she has spoken truth when Lexa doesn't quite meet her eyes. "You can't do anything without upsetting the other clans because an internal dispute doesn't concern the Coalition unless it turns bloody," and Clarke thinks she knows where her thoughts will take her. "So if Nia's killed Roan you can't do anything," and Lexa nods slightly. "But someone from Azgeda could," and Clarke knows she has found what Lexa doesn't wish to voice. "I could."
"Yes," is all Lexa says, her voice coming out quiet, gentle, but Clarke thinks a firmness lingers on the timber of her words.
"You want me to challenge Nia to the throne? To take control of Azgeda?"
"Yes," and Lexa meets her eyes. "Without Roan then Azgeda has no heir other than who Nia wishes it to be."
Clarke falls quiet for a moment, and she finds herself thinking over what Lexa asks of her, the difficulties and the risks.
"No," Clarke says, her gaze hardening as she looks at Lexa. "I won't do that," and she sees Lexa's eyes narrow, she sees Lexa chin lift slightly. "We agreed that we work together, that we do things together, I'd even do things that needed to be done," and Clarke pauses for just a moment. "But I won't let you tell me what do to. Not that."
"You are a leader, Clarke. Azgeda look to you for guidance at the Mountain. They looked to you for guidance during the Mountain's fall and they will continue to look to you in the future," and Lexa stands, paces a few steps from Clarke and then rounds on her, chin now lifting fully and her hands clasped behind her back. "You are Wanheda. The clans respect you, they fear you."
"No," and Clarke finds herself standing too, hands coming to rest on her hips.
"No?"
"No," and Clarke clenches her jaw, gaze narrowing as she sees Lexa's eyes roll slightly. "We can find another way to deal with Nia," Clarke continues.
"Roan? Echo?" and Lexa's own voice comes firmer, not quite in anger, not quite in comfort. "Roan is dead, Clarke. Nia has had him killed or he is rotting in a prison."
"You don't know that," Clarke challenges. "Echo will find the evidence we need to accuse Nia. Not challenge her but accuse," and Clarke steps forward.
"And what benefit does accusing her achieve?" Lexa says. "To merely discuss her wrong doings? To discuss her poor leadership in front of the ambassadors?"
"I—" but Clarke pauses, her mouth shutting quickly as Lexa's words wind their way through her mind.
"Do you understand, Clarke?" Lexa asks more gently once more. "It is the only way to avoid bloodshed. Nia will attempt to throw the Coalition into war once more. She will use the Mountain's tech to gain an advantage in battle, those who fled the Mountain continue to attack our villages, she even makes moves to threaten Skaikru by sending her warriors to Arkadia and the Mountain."
"We just need evidence that Nia sides with the Mountain Men, that she has had Roan killed," Clarke says as she worries her lip. "That's all we need."
"And if you can not get any of those things?" Lexa challenges quietly once more. "What will you do then?"
And Clarke thinks Lexa has talked her into a corner, has backed her into a wall, her arguments too sound, too logical.
"We can't just assassinate her tonight, can we?" and Clarke smiles quietly as Lexa's eyes take on a far away gaze for just a moment.
"No, we can not," and Lexa sighs mournfully.
A knock echoes through the room then, the thump loud enough for Clarke's head to snap up and turn to the sound. There's a pause, Clarke looking at the door for a long moment before she turns to find Lexa holding her gaze, a quiet mirth hiding behind her eyes.
"There is someone at your door, Clarke," she says.
And so Clarke thinks her cheeks twitch slightly as she moves from Lexa before calling out a quiet come in. The doors open smoothly, and Clarke eyes Torvun staring firmly at a young girl who stands in the doorway, arms holding Clarke's travelling bag and another pack over her shoulder that Clarke recognises as her own, too. Clarke eyes the girl for a moment as she steps forward, the warmth of the candle light quickly casting a low shadow across the angle of her jaw and the curve of her cheeks.
"Your things, Wanheda," the girl says carefully, her gaze smiling once at Lexa before bowing her head as Clarke begins to move towards her.
"You should be with Aden, Jani," Lexa reprimands as she moves towards the girl, and Clarke sees the girl's back and shoulders straighten, her eyes looking up at Lexa who approaches quietly.
"Aden says we can have a break and that we must pay our respects to Azgeda, Heda," the girl answers, her chin lifting in defiance despite the strain Clarke thinks she sees in the girl's arms from the weight she carries, and Clarke watches as Lexa lifts her own chin, too. "Would it not be disrespectful to not greet Wanheda?" and the girl smiles just slightly at Clarke once more.
"Aden said these things?" Lexa says lowly, her feet having carried her mere paces from the girl now.
"Yes," and the girl huffs a lock of dark hair from the green of her eyes.
"Very well," and Lexa stops just before the girl, eyes peering down at her. "You may leave."
And so the girl flashes a barely there smile before she places Clarke's bags at her feet, bowing with the motion before ducking out of the room, Torvun's eyes carefully following her as Gustus closes the doors once more.
"Jani," Lexa says into the silence, Clarke's gaze confused and unsure of the interaction she had just seen. "She is training to one day take her place as the Commander should the flame choose her."
"What?" and Clarke thinks she finds herself cringing at her poor choice of words.
"A story for another day," Lexa says instead, gaze falling to Clarke's bags briefly. "I will leave you, Clar—"
"Wait," and Clarke steps forward quickly, "firstly, you're going to have to explain why there's a little you walking around, and secondly," and Clarke rummages through her bag quickly, "take this," she says, pushing one of the radios into Lexa's hands. "It's a radio. We can use it to talk if we're ever away from each other."
"A wise decision," Lexa says, and Clarke thinks she hears the jest in Lexa's voice just briefly.
"It's for discussing important things," Clarke says, eyes rolling. "Not just because I want to talk to you."
"I see," and Lexa tucks the small radio into a pocket of her coat. "I will leave you for now, Clarke. The ambassadors will meet with you in the morning," she finishes, already halfway to the doors.
"You're going to have to explain Jani," Clarke calls after her.
Sleep comes oddly, the sun now long since dipped below the horizon, the dark of the sky now the domain of the moon and the stars. Clarke wakes to the frightful tearing at her mind and she feels the gasp that rips from her lips. The furs are flung from her as she sits, her eyes bleary and her mind tumultuous in the night. Her hand comes to rest against her chest and she feels the beat of her heart and the sweat that clings to her brow. It surprises her too, when her other hand fumbles for a moment, the motion unconscious as she searches for the warmth of Entani, ever restless in sleep, or even Ontari, the other woman often waking to Clarke's ravaged thoughts.
There's a quiet knock on her door though, a gentle thud that breathes into her room and she thinks she already knows who it is and so she slips from the bed and furs, the cool of the night prickling her skin, and she finds her way through the still unfamiliar quarters until she comes to the door.
"Clarke?" and she hears the gruffness and the deep of Torvun's voice through the door. "Are you ok?"
"I'm ok, Torvun," she answers through the door, her forehead resting against the warmth of the wood for a moment.
"Do you wish to talk?" he asks, and she knows he won't find sleep again, not until he knows her mind resting once more.
And so Clarke finds herself opening the door to find Torvun standing ever present at the entrance, his gaze a constant, careful roaming down the hallway before it settles on her once more.
"Come in," she says quietly, her eyes landing on two guards who stand at the far end of the hallway, a large door between them.
Torvun quirks his head only once before a sigh leaves his lips, his eyes glancing behind him as he steps over the threshold, Clarke closing the door behind him as she follows him further into the room.
"It is large," he says, his eyes roaming over the large bed, the dining table and the couch and smaller table that don't quite fill the room.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs, her mind tired, her thoughts awake. Torvun follows her carefully now, Clarke's feet taking her past the latticework until she stands on the balcony and until she finds herself leaning agains the railing of stone, smoothed from years of use and rising above her waist. "What do you do for fun, Torvun?" and Clarke smiles quietly at the man, his own body coming to stand close by her as he peers down into the lights that dot the depths of Polis below them.
"My duty," he answers, and she thinks she can hear the smile in his voice.
"No family back home?" Clarke asks, her eyes catching the sailing of a bird as it dips past a cloud.
"No," Torvun answers, his hands coming to rest against the railing as he settles himself by her side. "The ground is a harsh place," he says simply.
"Yeah," and Clarke smiles sadly up at him for a moment. "It is."
They fall into a quiet for a long moment, Torvun content to let the silence linger between them, and Clarke finds herself happy to lose herself to the moment she has, but perhaps she can't quite help but to let her thoughts drift to the conversation she had had with Lexa, to the problems she faces and the worries she knows drift quietly in the back of her mind.
"She wants me to challenge Nia to the throne," she says, her voice dropping in volume, the wind ever constant as it carries sounds from the streets of Polis.
Torvun goes quiet at her words, or more quiet, and she knows he considers the actions that would lead her to make such a move.
"Azgeda would follow you," he says, and she feels him peer at her. "Most could not challenge the Kwin without causing chaos," and he pauses in thought. "Prince Roan could challenge her and you could," and a hand scratches through his beard, "or perhaps a general of her armies."
"But no one else could do it without large portions of Azgeda revolting," Clarke says, her gaze tracing the scars on Torvun's forehead briefly. "I don't want to do it," Clarke whispers, her gaze turning from Torvun as she looks up into the skies. "I never wanted to rule anything, I never wanted to be in charge of anything. I never even wanted to be responsible for the Azgeda at the Mountain."
"There are many things we do not wish to happen that do happen," he says.
"What should I do, Torvun?" and she isn't quite so sure she wishes to hear the words he may say.
"I do not know," and he offers her a small smile, something quiet and careful. "You should not take such a burden if you are not prepared to live with the consequences," and he pauses for a moment, and Clarke knows he thinks of the Mountain, of how she had dealt one final blow to the Mountain Men and ended their reign.
"We must make sacrifices for our people," and she smiles sadly at the echo of words she finds herself voicing.
Clarke wakes to daybreak and a knock on the door. Her eyes open slowly, the furs wrapped around her warm to the touch. It only takes her a moment to remember where exactly she now finds herself and so she sits, gaze turning to the door as a knock comes once more.
"Wanheda," she hears the voice come muffled through the door. "Heda has sent a bath for you, may we enter?" and Clarke thinks she hears Torvun's muffled words through the door too.
"Come in," she says, hand carding through her hair as she watches the door open easily and three servants walk through, a large basin held between them.
Who Clarke assumes to be the leader smiles at her respectfully, gaze only once flickering to her face and the scars before turning back to the large basin as it's placed down in the centre of her room. One of the servants, a young girl, her face showing the signs of an adulthood that still chases away her youthful roundness, ducks out of the room quickly, only to return with two large buckets, steam wafting from them, scents of soaps, spices and salts slowly filling the room.
"Do you wish for us to help?" the first woman says as the young girl begins filling the bath, the third servant, another girl who appears only slightly older already helping. "Your braids?" and the first woman gestures once to her own hair that is braided out of her eyes, and Clarke can't help but to notice the similarity to Lexa's own style.
"Sure," and Clarke shrugs, "just let me…" and she trials off as she looks away for a moment, an awkwardness that she thinks foreign to her settling over her shoulders.
"Call us when you are ready," the first servant says with an understanding smile and then she rises, gesturing for the two others to follow her out the room.
And so Clarke watches, her eyes finding the braids all three servants have through their hair, and she thinks her eyes narrow briefly as she recognises the careful curve of a sheathed blade tucked into the small of the first woman's back, her clothing firmer, less for comfort and more for protection. And perhaps it doesn't surprise Clarke that even servants must be prepared to protect themselves, even at the capital.
And so Clarke strips quickly, her sleep shirt and small shorts falling to the ground and her skin prickling at the cold of the still early morning. She eyes the large basin that lies in the centre of the room, the steam fogging the air before her eyes and the scents of soaps waking her mind. It's large, too, the basin's surface burnished and bronzed, her muddy reflection peering back at her as she eyes it for a long moment, and she finds herself smiling, she even thinks she will enjoy having a bath, her thoughts turning back the months to when she had lived in Ronto and had shared the bathhouse with others, a common thing for all Azgeda.
A gasp leaves her lips as her toes touch the water, the heat enough to give her pause for just a moment before she steps in fully, and so she sinks down, a sigh leaving her lips and a breath filling her lungs as she finds the heat of the water burning away what she is sure is the last of her sleepless night. Her head rests against the edge of the basin, the water lapping at her chin, and so she calls out a careful come in only to wince at what she must think sounds rude, if only because she doesn't even know the names of the three servants who wait for her.
The door opens quickly, and to Clarke's surprise she only finds the oldest servant enters her room through the small opening, the other servants standing besides Torvun.
"They aren't helping?" Clarke asks awkwardly, unsure of what is expected of her in this moment.
"Only one is needed for braiding hair," the woman answers with a soft smile as she comes to kneel besides the basin, hands already pulling small vials and a comb out from a bag left behind.
"Oh," and Clarke follows the woman's motions for a moment. "Thanks," and Clarke finds her voice trailing off once more.
"Shana," the woman says in answer.
"Thanks Shana," Clarke finishes.
And so Shana moves to kneel behind Clarke, fingers already carding through her hair, the comb running through it.
"You have a knife," Clarke says into the silence.
"Yes," Shana replies, "all handmaidens are trained to serve Heda."
"The other two didn't have a weapon," Clarke says, voice lifting at the end as she thinks of the two other girls.
"No," and Shana pauses once as she frees a knot from Clarke's hair. "They are tower servants only."
"Oh," and Clarke thinks of what she knows of Lexa. "So you're a guard?"
"Perhaps," and Clarke thinks she feels Shana shrug. "There are guards whose duty is to protect Heda, and there are handmaidens whose duty is to serve her, but it is important for us to protect her if it is needed."
"I'm surprised you'd tell me all this," and Clarke shrugs, fingers happy to splash through the water as Shana continues to bring the comb through her hair.
"Because you are Azgeda?" and Clarke thinks she feels Shana smiles through her words.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs.
"Heda has instructed that you are to be trusted, but you are also Wanheda," Shana pauses for a moment. "It would not be respectful to ignore such a direct question.
"It's that easy, huh?" and Clarke peers out through the latticework to see the sun now painting the sky a crimson yellow orange, and the wisps of early clouds streaking through the sky.
"It is that easy," Shana echoes.
It doesn't take Shana long to braid Clarke's hair, and so Clarke finds herself alone, with time to laze in the basin as she watches the sun slowly rise over the horizon. Her thoughts drift for a moment longer, and she finds herself wondering where Entani might be, or what Ontari might be doing at this moment, and she is sure Ontari is already awake. But a knock echoes through her room once more and so she turns to the door just briefly before scanning the room for a towel.
"Hold on," she calls out as she rises from the basin, the water more cool to the touch now, her hair combed and braided, barely damp.
Clarke dries herself quickly, her leathers and furs quickly donned as she runs a hand over her braids once to settle them as she walks to the door. She opens it to find Lexa standing outside, pauldron on her shoulder and the red of her sash flowing down her body.
"Hey," Clarke says as she peers past Lexa and down the hallway briefly.
"Clarke," Lexa says in answer, her cheeks twitching up just a bit. "Shana says you are well."
"Yeah," and Clarke beckons Lexa inside, her gaze catching Torvun's who still remains quietly outside by the door. "She seemed nice," and Clarke takes a moment to consider what she knows of Shana, the handmaiden's age not much younger than her own. "How many other you's are there?" she says lightly, her mind recalling the way Shana had lifted her chin slightly in conversation, or how an eyebrow had quirked up evenly.
"Shana has served me since I ascended," Lexa says simply as she eyes the basin and the now lukewarm water that sits in the centre of the room. "I did not interrupt?"
"No," and Clarke follows Lexa's gaze. "I was just finishing. It was nice," and Clarke smiles more openly now as her lip begins a smirk. "It'd be nicer with someone else, though," and she sees Lexa's eyes widen before a cough escapes her lips.
"The ambassadors are waiting, Clarke," and Lexa turns brusquely.
And so Clarke thinks she chuckles as she settles the knife against her thigh, as she dons the last of her furs and as she follows Lexa through the door and into the hallway. And as the doors to her quarters shut, as Torvun falls into step besides her and as she follows Lexa, Clarke finds herself thinking of the soon to be had meeting with the ambassadors with bated breath.
It's quiet, the sounds of trees rustling all she hears, but she creeps forward, the snow underfoot less soft, an ice to it that tells her she is close to the Azgeda border. She looks up into the night's sky again, her eyes finding a constellation and then she pauses. She waits for long enough that she is sure the wind picks up once more and then she slips from the shadows, her gaze moving from tree to tree as she nears the camp she scouts, the fires that burn chasing away only the closest of shadows.
She slips behind a tree once more, her eyes following the path of another Azgeda guard who walks the perimeter of the camp that the warriors returning to Azgeda have set up. She sees him finish his patrol, the end of it putting him besides a larger tent. She feels her skin crawl slightly, she feels her heart beat evenly and slowly, and she thinks whoever is inside that tent is important.
But she feels it.
She feels the prickle on the back of her neck and she knows it for what it is. Her eyes dart left then right, her gaze peers up into the branches overhead and she knows there is another who hides. Her hand drops to her knife quietly, her feet already taking her further from the light, her furs muffling the quiet thud of her feet as she begins to move more quickly.
But she feels it.
She feels the presence move with her, she feels it follow her steps and she feels it close in on her.
Echo knows she is hunted.