Azgeda!Calrke II (T)
Lexa hated Azgeda.
A necessary headache, Titus would say, to preserve the Coalition. Lexa understood the logic: Azgeda was the largest northern clan, with thousands of seasoned warriors and an established mining operation and wool production. A useful and important ally.
It didn't change the fact that Lexa despised them.
"Heda," mumbled a short boy serving her wine, her personal server for the night's celebration. Her drink was bitter, and she hid her grimace with another gulp.
With Azgeda, the Coalition—Lexa's dream—was complete. There would be sleepless nights to argue about treaties and new alliances to form, but tonight, under the heavy and humid skies of Polis summer, Lexa's Coalition celebrated the integration of their last, most stubborn, and one of their most powerful members.
Fucking Azgeda.
Lexa stared at Nia and her pitiful entourage. Nia gorged herself on wine and salted meats, berry juices running down her pale chin as she called for her son to bring her more wine. Nia was everything Lexa despised in an alpha: public debauchery, loud threats that other people would have to fill for her; a sickening air of forced superiority, as if the world needed to know about her cock.
Lexa hated her.
"Behave," Anya warned from her side, and Lexa could swear her old mentor was teasing her.
"I'm not doing anything," Lexa complained into her cup, adjusting her seat on her throne.
"So you were not about to challenge Nia to some stupid party game simply to publicly humiliate her?" Anya eyed the knife on Lexa's hand, knowing her commander had a penchant for throwing it at parties. Mostly for fun.
"In any case, she'd name a champion. The woman never does anything herself."
"She's their chosen leader, Heda."
Chosen. An old-fashioned way to select a leader. A true leader had intelligence and strength, like Lexa. A true leader proved their way with a blade.
Lexa would never name a champion if challenged by that pitiful woman.
Spirits, how she hated them.
When wine was low in cups and laughter was high on cheeks, Lexa knew it was the moment she could escape the celebration. She waited for that moment and not a second longer, with Anya like a shadow behind her as they headed to her tower. The festivities spilled from the central market to the tower, with most ambassadors hosted on the first floor. Lexa refused the requests for liquor and dancing, thanking Floukru's representative and trying not to laugh at Sankru’s joke about Nia's dick, or lack thereof.
She made her way around the main lobby, aiming to reach her private elevator, but stopped at the sharp sound of a slap. It came from a dark corridor that led to the ambassador's quarters. Anya touched her knife, but Lexa raised a hand. There would be no bloodshed tonight to honor their new Coalition member. Instead, Lexa headed to the corridor, the unmistakable sound of whimpering filling the air.
Nia's hand was red from the slap, and she shook it ungracefully. On her knees, the woman Lexa knew to be the Azgeda general shook her head, a trickle of blood brimming on her cheek. Nia's ring had left it there.
"Don't you ever question me," Nia hissed, inebriated and angry. Her crow was crooked on her pale curls, and she looked like everything Lexa thought of her: a small, scared woman.
"My queen, she's to be your ambassador. You asked me to appoint her, and she deserves respect," the wounded general said, eyes cast down.
Between them, still whimpering, another woman kneeled, tears overflowing from her lowered chin. Her dress was torn, carelessly so, and the omega in Lexa snarled with recognition.
"Is there anything you need, Queen Nia?" Lexa's voice boomed in the corridor, not matching her serene, small smile. Nia startled, her fury melting in surprise. She stood taller, shaking her head.
"I appreciate your hospitality, Heda, but my general and ambassador were simply lost. If you may direct them," she said with the easy pride of someone used to giving orders, but her speech was slurred and she was not in a position to give orders to Heda Lexa.
Anya growled from the shadows, but Lexa stopped it with a flick of her wrist. "A guard will assign them a room. Have a good night, Queen Nia."
That was as much as a dismissal would be, and Nia slammed her doors once inside, like the pup she was.
The general stood up and helped the distressed omega, exchanging short and sharp words. The omega bowed her head to Lexa and disappeared at the end of the hallway.
"I appreciate your kindness, Heda Lexa," the general said, as if her cheek wasn't still bleeding, "but please refrain from interviewing in Azgeda's internal politics."
Anya took a full step out of the shadows to threaten the other woman, who lowered her head and continued, "I mean no disrespect. But Nia is a proud leader and will not take kindly to looking weak."
"You talking to your queen doesn't make her look weak." Lexa pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket, extending it between them as a peace offering. "Your queen trying to rape her newly appointed ambassador, on the contrary, does make her look weak."
The general, all hard lines on pale skin marked by scars and weather, looked Lexa up and down before accepting the cloth. She placed it on her cheek, and it slowly turned scarlet. It made her eyes darker in that dim hallway.
"I appreciate your concern," the general said, tilting her head in half a bow, her voice clipped.
"I haven't seen you at the festivities," Lexa found herself saying, her mind intent on deciphering the puzzle that seemed to be the Azgeda woman.
"There are other priorities besides celebration."
A hard worker. Maybe Nia had half a brain to have someone like that at her side.
"Will the ambassador need any more assistance? Or will you be with her through the night?"
Lexa felt the confused look Anya shot at her back.
The general's eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she shook her head. "The ambassador will be taken care of," she said, her hand covering half her face with a bloody cloth, but Lexa saw the beginning of a smile. "Even if not by me."
Lexa nodded and continued on her way to the elevator.
Anya's smirk showed her teeth as the doors closed in front of them.
"Oh, shut up," Lexa said in their native tongue.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"Maybe you are the one with a vivid imagination."
There might be something good in Azgeda after all.
Her name was Clarke.
Unlike Nia, she acquired her position by personal merit while leading Azgeda's army against invasions from the frozen north.
She was also an unmated alpha, but not like Lexa was paying any attention.
On their month-long visit to Polis, Clarke was the only Azgeda warrior who visited the training grounds every single sunrise. It simply happened that Lexa did the same. And it was because of this coincidence that Lexa found herself able to act on her hatred for Azgeda in her daily combat training with their most revered general. It was almost an even battle.
Clarke's back lifted dust in the training grounds as she fell. She grunted with the effort to roll out of Lexa's wooden spear, jumping to her feet to avoid another blow from the commander's weapon. Her blood mixed with the orange and copper dust as she spit on the ground.
"Again," she asked, and Lexa nodded, her spear fast and accurate.
When they stopped, the sun had risen completely—a new summer morning in the capital of the Coalition. They drank water in silence, with Clarke perched on the training fence while Lexa rested her hips against it.
"Why do you insist on fighting unarmed?" Lexa voiced the question that had been nagging her since the general had inquired if they could train together.
"It's what I need to develop." Clarke's voice was always low and gravely in the mornings. Not that Lexa talked to her at any other time of the day, but she liked to imagine that voice was for her ears only.
"But you carry a weapon. The Azgeda sling."
Clarke chucked. "Azcaretha. Please don't call it a sling."
"What is it, then?"
"A traditional weapon crafted by Azgeda specialists."
"In the format of a sling," Lexa completed, and Clarke snorted into her cup.
Watching them, Anya squinted her eyes. Lexa was getting very good at ignoring her pointed looks.
Clarke picked up her azcaretha from the side of the training grounds, crossed the dusty arena, leaving her empty cup on a post, and walked back to Lexa. Lexa raised an eyebrow in challenge, and the other woman smirked. Clarke looked at her target, took a deep breath, and raised her left arm in an arch, twisting the soft leather of her weapon in a continuous flow until it spun once, twice, and three times, and a rock Lexa had not even noticed was there flew with surgical precision and hit the metallic cup across the arena. It fell with a loud ring.
For the first time, Lexa saw a side of smug alpha in the general. She was able to control her face with nonchalant approval, but when Clarke smiled triumphantly at Lexa’s silent praise, there was no stopping the heat surging low in her belly. Just a little.
The Azgueda entourage had a lightness to them without their queen. Laughter bubbled easier and mead went down faster, scarred faces broken into grins around their blonde circle.
Polis welcomed the start of the fall harvest with a festival, which coincided with the Azgeda general's last days in Polis. Lexa would miss their morning training, though she would never admit that. She saw the general put her hand around the Azgeda ambassador's shoulders, the two of them a perfect pair of scars and wheat hair, and whatever she felt about it, it wasn't good. Lexa would not admit to that either.
"Heda."
Lexa straightened her shoulders and took another sip of her mulled wine. It tasted sharp and sweet, with a touch of spice that overwhelmed her tongue. It came from Azgeda, and she wondered if everything from there tasted sweet. And that was another thought for the secret box. "What, Anya?" Her own general stared at the Azgeda group with a tilt to her chin that Lexa immediately disliked.
"It’s the Azgeda general’s last night in Polis," Anya said casually, in a way she didn’t say anything. Anya was not casual; she was purposeful and direct.
"Speak your mind." Lexa took another sip from her cup. Sweet, sweet Azgeda wine.
"You won’t see her again. It won’t be a problem for the coalition."
"Spirits, Anya, what are you—"
"Spend the night with her." Anya shrugged at Lexa’s frown. "It will do you good."
Clarke chose that moment to turn and find Lexa’s eyes, waving from the other side of the Polis Tower room. The candles made her eyes flash darker, giving Lexa a steely focus. Lexa’s cheeks warmed, and she hoped it was the Azgeda wine and not the Azgeda alpha.
"Do you approve of her?" Lexa challenged, aware of Anya’s overprotectiveness.
"I said spend the night with her, not join her under the Spirits," Anya mumbled, crossing her arms. That was as close to an approval as Lexa was ever going to get. What had the general done to convince Anya?
Lexa rose from her honorable table, nodding to the Floukru Ambassador, who had too much of the mulled wine. She glanced back at Clarke and held her gaze. Clarke raised a pale eyebrow, and Lexa nodded. The way the alpha licked her lips was satisfying. Lexa’s commander emblem itched on her forehead as she excused herself to the kitchens, apparently in search of wine. Anya stopped by the door and didn't follow.
Thin layers of dust covered the caskets in the tower's wine cellar, an underground room accessible by a simple hatch with a single window to the lower gardens. The hatch was left unlocked, and no servant would follow the commander. New, clean casks with Azgeda-burned symbols rested next to the entrance, and Lexa lifted a lid to smell the richness of what was becoming her favorite beverage.
A minute passed, then two. Five. Ten.
Maybe the general wasn't as sagacious as she had expected, or maybe that wasn’t a good idea at all, because flirting on the training grounds was one thing, but acting on her impulses was another. She should, as Heda—
"Bloody chicken hell!" The exclamation was accompanied by a loud thud in the quiet room, the small garden window shaking in its rusty frame. Lexa, a glass of wine in hand, walked to the lump of a warrior on the ground: a mess of blonde tresses and swears.
"There is a door," Lexa pointed to the hatch above them, her lips curling in unsuppressed amusement.
Clarke dusted herself off and stood up with what was left of her dignity. Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, a stark contrast to the scars that painted her face. "I was under the impression you wanted me to be discreet."
"Did you accomplish that?" Lexa raised an eyebrow at the ajar window, music and laughter from the celebration invading the cellar.
Clarke made a small noise at the back of her throat, the pink in her cheeks turning a shade of burgundy. "Well enough."
"And what do you plan to do now that you're here?" Lexa abandoned her glass on top of a forgotten cask. She took a couple steps further into the room, away from the few candles and the only door.
Clarke seemed to know an invitation when offered one.
The cold from the stone room vanished when the Azgeda warrior—fully recovered from her window stunt—stepped into Lexa's personal space, close enough for them to share heat.
"I have an idea or two," Clarke whispered as she took in Lexa's scent, her nose dangerously close to a pulsing neck. Lexa placed her forearms on the general's shoulders, liking how comfortable they felt there. Clarke leaned in, their hips meeting, sharp Azgeda leather and the commander's sash entwining. Lexa's forefinger followed the line of a long scar, a silver drawing that curled on Clarke's temple and climbed down a pink cheek to meet her chin. Lexa shared a breath with Clarke, who closed her eyes and sighed under Lexa’s touch.
"So at least two?" Lexa challenged, and her stomach filled with butterflies at being lifted, a playful growl leaving Clarke’s lips.
"That’s a promise."
Lexa nodded, their noses meeting in a feathery touch. "Show me, then. General." It was whispered with reverence.
The kiss was not what Lexa expected. Azgeda was hard ice, cold, fierce, and unforgiving. But all she found on Clarke's lips was warmth and softness. Lexa welcomed Clarke closer, her legs spreading to allow more heat, more access, and more Clarke.
And who would know that wine wasn’t the only sweet Azgedian export.