Clarke took in a deep breath as the morning air seemed to swirl and dance around her. Her lungs filled with the cold and she tried to clear her mind as much as she could. She sat atop her horse as she looked down the rolling land and to Arkadia, and she wondered how it would seem to them, how it would look for her to appear after so long being hidden away. But she thought herself not willing to turn back, not after everything she had survived, not after every day and night she had lived and experienced.

And so Clarke squared her shoulders, she sat upright upon the horse and she grit her teeth as she beat her resolve into something more than the anxious beast she knew it to be.

"Are you ready?" Clarke asked Jessa, and she turned to see the girl worrying her lip, the motion speaking of uncertainty, apprehension, curiosity and eagerness.

"Yes," Jessa nodded, one hand resting atop her small plaything tucked into her belt, its fabric worn and beaten to the motion.

"Stay close to me," Clarke said as she turned back to Arkadia, as she peered into the only guard tower that was occupied by two small shadows of people. "Ok?"

"Ok," Jessa said, and Clarke couldn't help but to feel the slightest spark of fear as memories of Anya took place somewhere in her mind.

And so Clarke urged her horse forward carefully, one hand clutching the reins tightly, the other hovering close to her bow strapped to the side of her saddle, eyes ever cautious of the remains of the Ark that began to grow out across the lands.

Perhaps it was a new day, perhaps it was the fact that she now approached Arkadia's opened gates, but Clarke thought each detail she took in seemed clearer, seemed to stand out and sear into her mind with a renewed strength she thought at odds with the trepidation she knew herself to be feeling.

Their horses slowly made their way down the rolling landscape, each little push they passed or each small rock and boulder seemed to mark another milestone in their journey. The grass under hoof was green, too, its shade brilliant, each blade crisp in the morning light. Stick and dirt and the smallest puddles of mud scattered about, even signs of small animals seemed obvious to Clarke.

She turned to Jessa for a moment and she found that the girl continued to look upon Arkadia with wide eyes and wonderment, and Clarke couldn't blame her for the way she seemed awed for she, herself, felt awed at what she saw.

The passed the first sign of life, of civilisation then, and it was a weathered barn, a beaten building of wood and rope that must have stored tools or equipment or any other thing that would be needed to care for the lands outside of Arkadia's walls.

And passing that small weathered building must have been a sign of change for the land seemed to grow firmer with each pace their horses took, and as Clarke looked down she saw that the dirt seemed to turn to firm packed pathways that wended and flowed over the lands, that crisscrossed and snaked their way through grass and between rock, each one emanating from a point somewhere between where they were and where Arkadia stood.

Clarke looked ahead then, and she took in the other buildings that spread out before them, some whose pasts seemed more steeped in that of the Earth, others whose life had began drifting through the skies. But Clarke thought it charming in an odd way, she thought it comforting that two cultures could find a way to bleed together, to exist, to live side by side despite such stark differences.

Or maybe she simply hoped that to be the case.

"This is where you lived?" Jessa asked quietly, and Clarke looked to the girl to find her eyes peering up into the peaks of what was once the Ark, where twisted metal still stretched up into the skies, where antennas and bent beams seemed to scream out in silent agony from the impact during their return to the ground.

"Yeah," Clarke said, and she found that thought seemed to leave her mind blank, seemed to not let her settle on something for long enough to really grasp.

"It's," but Jessa trailed off as she tried to find words to describe whatever things she looked upon. "I don't know," and the girl smiled just a little bashfully as she shifted in her saddle and cast her gaze down and to the guard towers that seemed to be increasing in size with each pace they continued to take.

"Yeah," and Clarke couldn't blame the girl for not quite knowing how to explain what she saw.

But Clarke's eyes snapped to movement in the distance, and she couldn't help but to feel her stomach tighten and her fingers trail to her bow as she saw one of the guards raise a weapon and look through the scope. The motion lasted just mere moments before the weapon lowered, and, despite the fact that Clarke knew the person had done so only to better see them, she couldn't help but to feel unsettled more than she already did.

But as if the lowering of the weapon was a sign of things to come, Clarke found that the feeling of uncertainty and unease faded, and in its place came an odd sense of calm, and it wasn't sudden nor was it profound, but Clarke thought the sensation at odds with what she knew soon to come.

She took in the way the guards, two women whose faces now seemed known to her, appeared to watch and take in each step their horses took.

And so, after Clarke and Jessa passed scattered rock and boulder, blade of grass and strewn about stick, they found herself coming to a careful halt before the open gates of Arkadia, its walls grand as they reached up into the sky, their metal glinting in the rising sun.

Clarke took a moment to look to Jessa who remained quiet and uncertain now of what to do, her gaze moving from one of the guards still in the tower, to one who began to descend, gaze cautious but friendly in the morning light.

Clarke turned her attention to the guard then, and she couldn't help but to feel a twinge of regret and guilt as she recognised the way the woman's hair was pulled back in a single braid that cascaded down her back in a fiery twisted mess. Clarke couldn't help but to smile just a slight amount as she found her gaze drawn to the dirty red jumper that peaked out from beneath the guard uniform, and she couldn't help but to feel lost for words, lost for thought.

"We don't normally get visitors this early," Monroe said cautiously as she came to a stop a careful distance from them as Jessa's horse seemed happy to nip and snort quietly at the new presence. "Did you want to medical care?" and Monroe looked to Jessa for a moment. "For your daughter or yourself?" and Clarke found her own lips parting to say something, or at least to try to, "Normally we send people to the Mountain though," Monroe continued. "But if its urgent we can have our healer here take a look," and she trailed off as Clarke remained quiet and as Jessa's uncertainty began to appear more clear.

"I—" but Clarke found that her voice broke, she found that her nerves seemed far too rattled and fearful. "No," and she shook her head, "we don't need medical care," but she couldn't think of what else to say, for she was sure there was a better way of reintroducing herself to those she had once known, there was a better way of asking for forgiveness, for acceptance, for understanding.

As the last of her words seemed to die in the space between them Clarke was sure she saw uncertainty and caution turn to realisation and suspicion upon Monroe's face, in the way her eyes narrowed and the way her hand fell to her rifle. But Clarke's attention was drawn to the other guard then, and she saw the woman ending the short descent from the guard tower, she saw the woman's gaze drilling into her and Clarke knew she saw the recognition, she knew she saw the realisation and surprise.

And so, "Hey Harper," and Clarke tried not to let her voice fray too far, she tried not to let her fingers shake too much.

Monroe's eyes widened then, her jaw slackened and her lips parted, and Harper's gaze seemed unfocused, seemed unbelieving, unsure of what was in front of them.

But perhaps their momentary shock was enough to break Clarke from her own turmoil and so she dismounted her horse, her feet came to meet the hard packed dirt with a thud and she heard Jessa echo her motions.

"It's me," Clarke found herself saying as she came to face Harper and Monroe.

"Clarke?" Monroe's voice came quiet and breathless.

"It's me," and what else was Clarke to say? "It's me," she repeated as she let her hand raise in an awkward wave that hung somewhere by her side, her fingers not quite sure how to do more than twitch haplessly in the morning air.

Harper took a step forward then, and Clarke watched as the woman's gaze moved from her face and then to the horses before settling on Jessa for a long moment.

"Clarke?" and perhaps it would have been funny, perhaps it would have been humorous, and perhaps it would be in time to come, but for now Clarke found each breathless echoing of her name to be full of pain and hurt, surprise and shock and relief and a myriad of other emotions she couldn't quite grasp.

"I—" but yet again Clarke found her words dying upon her lips, but she tried to think of what to say, she tried to think of how best to begin whatever explanation she thought was owed. "I'm sorry," and it was simple, it was honest, and it was the truth. "I'm sorry I left," Clarke whispered, and she watched as Monroe's eyes seemed to focus, she watched as Harper's knuckles seemed to lessen their hold around the strap that kept her rifle to her side, and she watched as both woman seemed to accept what it was that stood before them.

"Clarke," and Monroe's voice came breathless, came full of wonder, came full of laughter and relief.

Monroe rushed forward then, any semblance of uncertainty gone as the woman crashed into her and wrapped arms around Clarke and squeezed tightly. And perhaps Clarke had expected animosity, perhaps she had expected tears and anger, fury and heartbreak. But she found herself sinking into Monroe's embrace as much as she could, and she found a relief beginning to break, she found it beginning to take hold, beginning to ferment and grow heady as she found a smile breaking upon her lips, as she felt her heart beat and as she felt the trembling in her fingers.

But before long Monroe pulled away, she took a step back and she took a moment to take in what stood before them once more.

And Clarke tried to imagine what the other woman saw, and she wondered if Monroe saw the girl she had once been, if she recognised the naivety and youth that had once clung to her, and Clarke wondered if both women saw someone who had lived years on the ground, who now wore the flowing reds of the plains, whose clothes were cloth, thick and thin, leather supple and beaten, whose hair was braided back and out of her eyes, whose face carried a scar across the left side of her temple.

Harper's gaze moved to Jessa then, and Clarke watched as the woman's gaze took in the girl before snapping back to Clarke, and she knew what must have gone through Harper's mind, she knew what both women must have been thinking, must have been trying to comprehend.

"Jessa," and Clarke reached out carefully for Jessa to take a step forward. "This is Harper," and Clarke looked to Harper to see the woman wave carefully. "And Monroe," and she sensed Monroe acknowledge the introduction.

"Is she—" but Monroe's words cut off quickly as she seemed to register the difference in ages between Clarke and Jessa, and so Clarke simply shook her head and smiled for a moment.

"We're family," and it was a truth Clarke thought the most fitting for what they had both become. "It's complicated," and it was, just a bit, just enough that the conversation should exist somewhere more comfortable than the chill of a quiet morning.

"Where'd you go, Clarke?" Harper asked.

And so Clarke tried thinking of how to explain, how to say and how to answer.

"Anywhere life took me," and it had been the truth for she hadn't known where she would end up, she hadn't known where her life would end. "Until I found the Plains Riders," and Clarke gestured to the horses and her clothes. "They took me in," and she thought that explanation enough, and she thought she saw an understanding in Harper's eyes.

"For years?" Monroe's voice seemed to come just a little more biting, just a little more full of confusion. "It's been years, Clarke," and she watched as Monroe counted back the days and nights. "Five years," and Monroe's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Almost everyone thinks your dead."

"I know," and Clarke couldn't help but to wince and look away, she couldn't help but to grit her teeth and try to damper whatever emotions seemed to be returning. "I know," she shook her head and she waited for long enough that her eyes cleared and that her voice steadied. "I know and I'm sorry," and she met Monroe's gaze. "I know," and Clarke didn't think making excuses, she didn't think avoiding whatever confrontations she was to have would help. "I'm not making excuses," Clarke shook her head as she looked from Monroe to Harper. "I know I've got more explaining to do then I can imagine," and she found a relief settling within her at the fact that her voice came out firm. "But I'm here, now," and she paused for a moment as she let both women take in what she said.

"I missed you," Harper said simply, and Clarke saw the woman shrug.

"We missed you," Monroe added. "A lot of people missed you, Clarke," and Monroe looked around them for a moment. "We could have helped," and Clarke heard the hurt in the woman's voice, she heard the pain.

"I know," and Clarke didn't think saying anymore would help, she didn't think trying to say anything else could help.

And so an awkward silence seemed to settle upon them, and Clarke couldn't help but to grimace at the way she seemed unsure of how to broach what she wished to, and she couldn't blame Jessa for scuffing a boot against the ground, nor could she blame Monroe for biting her lip and taking a moment to look upon the two horses that continued to nip and neigh quietly at each other.

"Let's get you inside," Harper said and Clarke found herself sending a silent thank you to the woman. "I'm sure you want to meet everyone else," and perhaps simply ripping off whatever bandaid existed was what Clarke needed.

And so Clarke found herself falling into step behind Harper and Monroe as both women began to move further past the walls of Arkadia, and through it all a silence seemed to hang over them, but Clarke found herself drawn to Jessa who seemed too quiet, who seemed too unsure of things around her.

"Are you ok?" Clarke asked her quietly, and she was sure she sensed Monroe and Harper trying not to listen too closely.

"Yes," Jessa said, but Clarke watched as the girl kicked at a stick across the ground as she continued leading her horse forward.

"Are you?"

Jessa met her gaze then, and Clarke couldn't help but to sense an slight discomfort that seemed to exist within the girl's gaze.

"Yes," Jessa said once more.

"Hey," and Clarke paused, she ignored the slightest nip of her hair from her own horse at the sudden stop and she knelt down before Jessa. "We can leave," and Clarke meant it. "As soon as you want. Right now," and Clarke made sure her gaze remained steady. "We're in this together."

"No," and Jessa shook her head and looked away for a long moment. "It's just bad memories," she said after a pause.

And so Clarke made sure to look into Jessa's gaze for another moment longer before she found herself nodding, "as soon as you want, Jessa," she said once more.

They fell into step with Harper and Monroe again, and Clarke found that both women lead them to a large stable of metal and wood where horses lined the walls, each one in their own enclosed stall.

"Our horses are here," Monroe began as she gestured down the rows of stalls. "We've got plenty of space," she said. "We've even got some horses from the Plains," she continued. "But none really as big as yours."

"Thank you," Clarke said as she eyed the nearest horse whose head had turned to eye the newcomers.

"Take whichever stalls you want," Monroe continued. "We'll wait for you here."

Clarke nodded a thank before moving inwards, and it only took them a few short minutes before their horses were stabled, their bags untied and slung over shoulders. And so Clarke came to a stop at the stable's entrance once more, Jessa closer to her side now, a bag over both their shoulders, and Monroe and Harper quietly unsure of what to do.

"So," and Monroe looked from Harper than back to Clarke and Jessa. "I'm guessing you want to see Abby?" and the question came out simple, with far less fanfare than Clarke had anticipated, but perhaps being blunt, perhaps being straightforward was the best.

"Is she here?" and for the first time Clarke realised that her mother could have been elsewhere, could have been at the Mountain, at Ton DC, another village or even the capital.

"Yeah," Monroe said. "She's here."

Walking through towards what had once been the Ark was strange. More buildings had sprung up behind the walls, their construction an assortment of tech and wood, metal both twisted and blackened, even the people Clarke began to see seemed to exist somewhere between the ground and the sky. Many of the women she passed kept hair longer now, braided and not unfamiliar to her, yet their clothes remained much the same as they had been on the Ark, where woven fibres, and stitched patchwork of cloth clung to bodies, but the bodies that wore those clothes seemed stronger, seemed less like the fragile ones that had been sent to the ground.

And Clarke was sure the contrast in hair, in clothes, in the way people seemed to border between grounder and skaikru was purposeful, was because they longed to hold onto whatever identity they had once had when breathing real air was nothing more than a dream.

She passed a group of guards who ran by, their morning training a routine she had grown to recognise with her time spent amongst the Plains Riders, and she was sure some of those faces were familiar, she was sure some of those she eyed were once known to her, had been people she would have once called friend.

But those faces passed as quickly as they appeared, and in their wake was simply their footprints that seemed to linger upon the dirt beneath her feet.

"We've been expanding a lot," Harper said as they passed another large building, this one, Clarke was sure, was for communal gatherings, for festivities and nights of jovial courtship. "With the help of the Trikru," she continued. "We've been trading a lot, too, providing medical aid, teaching grounders how to use some tech," and she trailed off for a moment as she waved to a group of workers who sat on the roof of a building under construction. "We're trying to live as best we can," Harper said. "Especially now that we've had peace for a while," and Clarke found herself wondering if Harper and Monroe had been involved in the war with Azgeda, if they had almost crossed paths when she had been healing, had been caring for those who had been injured.

"How is everyone?" Clarke asked, but she glanced down briefly to find Jessa's gaze a little wider as the girl continued to take in the way tech seemed to breathe through every dwelling they saw as they continued walking further and further through Arkadia to to the remains of the Ark.

"Ok," Monroe answered, and Clarke looked up to see Monroe worrying her lip. "Jasper had a hard time for years," and Monroe looked to Harper for a moment.

"Monty, too," and Clarke didn't miss the annoyance in Harper's voice. "Jasper dragged him down a lot," and Clarke was sure there was more to the story. "But Jasper's better, and Monty's…" Harper shrugged, "Monty. He's good."

"What about Raven?" Clarke asked, and she side stepped a puddle and couldn't suppress the faintest smile as Jessa stepped in it and cursed quietly.

"Raven's good," Monroe answered. "Her leg hurts. She won't admit it. Doesn't even ask for help, but she's busy, has always been busy," and she paused as she thought for a second. "I think she uses it to keep her mind off what happened," and Clarke didn't miss the way Monroe's voice tightened at the end.

"I saw Murphy," Clarke said then, and she heard Harper snort once, she saw Monroe shrug.

"Trust him to be the one to find you wherever it was you went," and Clarke didn't think she heard malice in the way Harper's words seemed to bite. At least not much, anyway. "He comes and goes when he wants," she continued. "Trades then disappears for months," and Clarke was sure she still heard animosity in Harper's voice. "Sometimes he disappears for long enough that we think he got himself killed."

And perhaps Clarke couldn't quite understand why she thought it necessary to defend, to protect and speak up for the man, but she thought the person she had met had been too different to the boy she had once known for her to leave things unsaid.

"He seemed different," and he had. "Not so selfish."

"Yeah," Monroe said. "He's changed," she shrugged and kicked at a pebble in their way. "I think seeing how hard Raven's suffered really put things in perspective for him," and Clarke wondered just how much life she had missed between those she had left behind.

"What about Octavia?" Clarke asked. "Lincoln?" and she couldn't help but to look around in search of the girl she had known with fire in her eyes, and the man who had been there to temper the flame. "How are th—"

A shadow fell across the ground in front of her then, and Clarke couldn't help but to come to a halt as a presence made itself known to her. And perhaps she had expected that this, too, would have been a gran spectacle, something to remember, a scene, a rage filled argument or a heartbroken meeting. But to be like this, to be so sudden, so unexpected, was perhaps to be expected.

And so Clarke looked once to Harper and Monroe who had also come to a stop, both their gazes uncertain, she looked once to Jessa who remained close and quiet by her side, one hand clutching her plaything tucked into her belt, the other closed in an uncertain fist and eyebrows furrowed together as she looked up at the man who stood before her.

But Clarke let her eyes raise, she let her breath try to steady, and she tried not to let herself break more than she should as her eyes met a gaze she had left at the gates of Camp Jaha years ago.

"Clarke?" his voice came out quiet and calm, not so believing that Clarke thought it full of relief, not so disbelieving that Clarke thought it broken.

And she wondered what he saw.

She wondered who he saw.

"It's me, Bellamy."