You were strong. A sigil of Azgeda’s strength, it’s intelligence as a spy—An assassin. You weren’t a gentle person, you were a warrior who infiltrated any enemy’s clan to destroy them from the inside. Queen Nia demanded of it. Who were you to deny orders?

Growing up with grit and brute force, it’s all you knew. Battle and grueling training was your entire childhood, and yet, this should be no different. It shouldn’t be this difficult to march in an army and destroy Arkadia, it’s what everyone else wants. Even if Roan has been lenient towards Skaikru. Others have opinions, and you weren’t sure which to side with. The rest of Azgeda, who wants a war, or King Roan, who’s trying to keep an alliance?

In Polis, with Clarke and Bellamy present—Arkadia’s two leaders, it’d be so easy for you to wipe them and their guards out. You have the terrain advantage, the numbers. You’re torn in following the rules of war, or the King.

You stand at the edge of the tower, taking in the view, the second coalition held to dedicate Skaikru as an ally—And Bellamy’s footsteps are heard, he stands beside you at a cautious distance.

“Thinking of betraying me again?” Bellamy opens up, the palm of his hands against the rugged edge of the railing, and you look towards him. You remember, how you helped each other in Mount Weather, but Lexa had made a deal to save the Grounders and leave Skaikru up to the Mountain Men.

And then months after, Bellamy vouched for you even when you lead him and his people into a trap. You weren’t sure he moved past that, and maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’ll never trust you again.