Athena stood at the very top of the Mountain. The wind swept through her hair and the last of the day's heat did little to break through into her thoughts. After her visit with Abby she had wandered the Mountain, she had spoken to those she met and she had made note of every little thing that needed to be fixed, changed, altered in some way to make her people more comfortable than they had been before.
She didn't mind that task, it was her duty after all. Perhaps she could even say she enjoyed it. If only because it took her mind off things for a while. But it was the quiet moments that brought uncertainties to her. Ones she couldn't hide away from forever.
Athena took in a deep and steadying breath and she imagined it a calming presence, something to guide her, to ground her in the present lest she fall victim to old worries and wounds never hers to have felt.
In the distance she could see the Arkadia, the once broken station now a small yet sprawling village full of life. Most of Skaikru lived in the forests between the Mountain and Arkadia, or in one of the two themselves. The whole area had become its own self contained area that was home to an ever increasing amount of traffic, of those clans-people who wished to trade, who wished to seek knowledge, or those in search of aid that only Skaikru could provide. Skaikru had tech only they could control, not because they didn't share, not because they didn't trust. But simply because they understood it best. It wasn't that Athena hadn't made already begun ensuring her people could use tech themselves, in fact they already had. But still, they needed guidance, a Skaikru member ever present lest something go a little too wrong.
And that was where her problem lay.
She had a problem only Skaikru could solve. Something only they could fix. And yet of all the clans of the Coalition, she thought them the least capable of understanding the nuances of her secret.
She sighed, made a noise in the back of the throat that sounded somewhere between the disgusted and the tired and she shook her head lest her mind sour further than it already had.
"Heda?" Axios' voice broke the silence, his tone careful in the quiet of the dusk that settled around them.
"It is nothing, Axios," Athena answered, her voice apologetic. "I am merely thinking."
But that was a lie. At least partly.
Despite everything that had happened, everything that she had slowly changed over the last decade, she found herself still unsure. She wondered if that feeling would ever go away. It didn't help that she had no one she could turn to — or at least no one alive. She couldn't turn to axios for guidance, if only because he knew only what he needed. Of course she knew him to have been sworn to secrecy, she knew him smart enough to have an understanding of what took place at the homestead. But just as she knew him smart enough to infer, she knew him smart enough to know it was simply not his place to pry. She wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable, she wouldn't make him delve too deeply into the turmoils of her life. She didn't think it would be fair.
And so, "will you give me some solitude, Axios," though she needn't phrase it like a question, Athena did so, perhaps because she didn't know what she wanted herself.
From the corner of her vision she saw Axios bow his head before he turned to leave, and though she knew he wouldn't stray too far, she knew he'd be far enough away that he wouldn't hear whatever conversation she was to have.
Athena took in another breath, this one tinged with a sadness that lingered somewhere in her heart as she came to sit on the grass covered ground beneath her. She let her legs stretch out in front of her and she leant back on her hands and she tried to let herself believe she was a child, that she was someone without worry, without care, without responsibilities that weighed her down more than she could ever have imagined.
"Did you ever feel like this?" Athena asked quietly, her gaze settling onto the horizon where the last of the sun's light began to disappear.
"At times," the voice said just as quietly. "Perhaps I was never able to so openly feel it. But yes. I did," it was said with sadness, with understanding and acceptance.
"I do not know what to do," Athena said and it was truthful. There was no point lying.
"Perhaps you give our people less credit than they are due," came the answer.
"How can you say that?" Athena challenged, her voice light though, for she didn't mean question, to insult, to make it seem like the words said were not full of lived experience.
"How long has it been since the last war?"
"You know," Athena answered.
"When I ruled," there was a pause. "The Commander before me died in a war. I fought a war throughout my reign. Whether it be one clan against another, three against four. All against one."
"And then there was Skaikru," and Athena looked from the horizon and back to the hazed shape of Arkadia in the greatest of distances. "And the Mountain."
"Yes," again a pause. "I believed our people deserved peace with all my heart," she said. "Some did not understand," and she shrugged. "Perhaps I did poorly in explaining myself and my actions. Perhaps some were simply too entrenched in old ideas, too afraid to find different solutions — a better solution."
"But you wished it to be different," Athena asked.
"Yes," she smiled sadly. "So very much so."
"So you did so," and Athena turned to face the woman who sat beside her.
Green eyes looked back at her with such understanding that it made Athena want to turn away, to break from whatever bonds kept her steady in times of uncertainty. She hated it, she didn't want to feel the things she felt, she didn't want to know the things she knew. She thought it unfair, she thought it unkind. But most of all, she thought herself undeserving of everything that had been bestowed upon her.
She never wanted it. She was never trained for it.
"Do not doubt that you have the strength to do what you wish to do, Athena," Lexa said quietly, her words seemingly answering every single thought that had crashed through her mind.
But Athena looked away then, perhaps to shield herself from memories, perhaps because she was simply too afraid to see the reaction she feared the most in Lexa's eyes.
"I live in a world that was built for someone else," Athena said quietly. "I feel as though I do not deserve the peace that has lasted," she felt her voice quiver ever so slightly as if it were to break."
"No, Athena," Lexa challenged, her voice full of reprimand, yet tone soft and kind. "I believed long ago that victory stood on the back of sacrifice," she continued. "I believed that as much as I believed anything else."
Athena knew what Lexa would say, not because she had heard it before, but because she had the memories, because she had the emotions and the feelings, the love and the hate.
"And you believed that until the end," Athena said it. But she knew it was a lie. And yet she lied, perhaps in an attempt to will her words into reality, perhaps to hide away from the pain.
"No, Athena," Lexa's voice admonished her just as kindly as it had done before. "I—" she looked away, and this time it was Lexa's turn to go quiet for a moment. "I believed it until it was almost too late," Lexa's gaze snapped back to her. "Not everyone is given second chances," Lexa continued. "Not everyone is given the opportunity to live in a world with another by their side or a world without war.
"You built that world for everyone," Athena said quietly. "And yet I am the one ruling over what I feel I do not deserve."
"You know that it not true," Lexa said.
Athena took in a deep breath, the motion partly an attempt to ground herself, partly to give herself time to think and to reorder her thoughts.
"I will do it," Athena said eventually. "But I am afraid."
She felt Lexa's hand reach out and grab hers, fingers warm against her own.
"That is merely a sign that what you do is a worthy cause."
There was silence for a long while, the only thing Athena was aware of what the comforting grasp of Lexa's hand in hers, and she cherished it as much as she could. She thought it grounded her, she thought it settled her and gave her the courage to do whatever it was that she needed to do.
But if she really thought about it, if she really analysed why she felt that way, she thought it simply because she felt alone, she felt at odds with the world around her and perhaps all she really needed was someone else who had felt what she felt.
"I feel alone in this," Athena said after a moment, her eyes ever closed lest she break what ever calm had settled around her.
"You're not alone, Athena," another voice said quietly. "You never will be."
And with that Athena's eyes opened to find herself alone on the Mountain top, the sun settled below the horizon and the stars already taking their rightful place in the night's sky.
The Mountain was quiet as Athena walked its halls. The few warriors she passed greeted her with bowed heads and whispered words. Her Mountain-top conversation had in some way given her comfort and the determination that her decision was the right one to make. She wasn't so foolish as to think it would be without risks, but perhaps introducing one other person into the world of the flame would be a little step in the direction of opening her people to new ways.
Part of her wondered if it would really even lead to something different. Perhaps all it would do is cause her more stress than she was already under. Perhaps no one would ever find out, and perhaps there would never be another opportunity to let others know more than they already did.
She didn't have the answers. She didn't have the ability to see into the future. All she could do is take one small step at a time and do what she thought was right in that moment. And in that moment she knew she wanted and needed Abby's help.
And so Athena came to a pause outside the woman's office doors. She knew Abby slept there when she visited the Mountain, the excuse always given that she could see to the injured more quickly if she was always close by. Part of Athena respected Abby for her dedication, part of her pitied the woman for she didn't seem able to take the time to stand back from her duty and relax.
That thought pulled a wry smile to the corner of her lips. Didn't she have exactly the same problem?
Athena knocked twice, the sound echoed out around them quietly and the door opened to find Abby standing before her.
Abby's eyes widened a fraction in surprise, the doctor clearly not expecting a second visit from her.
"Commander," and Abby gestured for her to enter.
"I am not interrupting, am I?" Athena asked as she stepped into Abby's office to find a single cup of hot drink steaming where it was placed on the desk, a half eaten tray of food by its side.
"No, not really," Abby answered with a shrug as she turned to face her.
Athena wouldn't push the topic, she knew she was interrupting what little time Abby had found for herself in the middle of seeing to the always injured.
"I have a request," Athena wouldn't command Abby to come with her, even though she had every right to tell the woman what to do. But she respected her in some way, perhaps it was because she was a capable healer, a leader at times. Perhaps it was because she was simply Clarke's mother — Wanheda's mother — and that came with some privileges most could only dream of.
"Is this about your visit earlier?" Abby asked
"Yes," for now Athena would keep it simple. She thought that the safest course of action. She took in another steadying breath as she felt her heart begin to beat a little more quickly in her chest as the unfamiliar feeling of adrenaline began to pump through her veins. There was no turning back though. She had come too far. And so, "when you are able I would like for you to accompany me."
Alexandria stood outside, her toes dipped into the still warm sand and her face turned up into the last rays of the sun. It was still warm, almost too warm to be comfortable. The scent of apples drifted on the wind and she wondered for a long moment just how far the wind carried it. Perhaps a wandering traveller had at times noticed it and grown confused and unsure of where the scent had come from. Or perhaps the homestead was so well hidden that no one ever noticed it at all.
She didn't dwell on that question for long. She never did.
But her thoughts turned to earlier in the day, to waking and of thinking of Costia, of someone she had once known. It was funny, in a way. She had felt more confident in the morning about asking something more than she should. And yet she had avoided Clarke, she had avoided questioning anything. And now, as the last of the day disappeared over the horizon she found herself unwilling to go inside and ask anything at all. Part of it was because she felt guilty even thinking about asking, part of it was because she didn't think she wanted to know the answers to any of her questions. And part of it was simply because she wa—
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts and Alexandria turned to find Eamon walking to her, hands tucked into his pockets and his brow sweaty from whatever he had been doing.
"Brutus was not happy with the bath," Eamon said with a sigh. "I forget he is much stronger than he is at times."
Alexandria smiled, the expression helping to chase away some of her darker thoughts.
"He is smarter than most would expect," she said. "Too smart for his own good."
"Yes," Eamon came to stand beside her, gaze turned towards the horizon. Though he didn't speak, though he didn't even look at her, Alexandria knew Eamon wanted to say something more. She had known him long enough to be able to read the slightest twitches of a muscle or the way he stood with more weight on one foot than the other.
"Speak, Eamon," she turned to the horizon herself as if not looking him in the eyes would give her some measure of privacy for whatever was to come next.
"Clarke," he began before trailing off, and Alexandria thought him more thinking of how best to word his thoughts than convincing himself not to voice them at all. "She is seeing Agamemnon at the moment," it wasn't what Alexandria knew he was going to say. She didn't blame him for putting it off for a moment or two. She'd do the same. Perhaps she had been doing just that for weeks already. "Agamemnon is ill," there was another pause.
"I know," Alexandria didn't want to hear whatever came next. Maybe because she was weak, maybe because she wanted to live in whatever little bubble she had made for herself.
They both shared a moment's silence as they looked out over the homestead, to the rows of apple trees that vanished into the distance and to the few birds that flew in the darkening sky.
"Clarke has unsettled you," Eamon said eventually. Perhaps Alexandria expected him to push more, to say more. But instead he let his voice trail off and she knew him giving her the option of changing topics, of turning away, of walking inside and of ignoring his words. But perhaps she needed a gentle push, perhaps she needed something to tell her it was ok. Perhaps she needed him to tell her that the desire of wanting to know more was ok.
"She has," her response was simple but she knew Eamon would know he hadn't crossed a line.
"You once knew each other," it was as much a guess as it was statement, that much was certain from the way she sensed him looking at her carefully.
"We were close," Alexandria added. "I do not know how close," and she looked away as if to find a reason to run, to flee. But Alexandria wanted to be brave. "She knows more of my past than I do."
"That is a fact I have grown accustomed to over my time here," Eamon said quietly. "You know more of my life as Heda than I do. Just as I know more of Agamemnon's life as Heda than he does."
"But this feels different," Alexandria said just as quietly. "It is different."
"How?" Eamon asked. "Because you were once lovers?"
She felt her cheeks flush just a little at that. But Eamon had a way of being blunt when he needed, of jumping head first into confrontation or problem without worry of consequences until they reared their heads in repercussion.
Eamon remained quiet for a moment while he clearly thought over what he was going to say next, his thoughtfulness contrasting with the words he had just spoken. In that time Alexandria found herself resting her head against his shoulder they leant into each other, perhaps in comfort, perhaps to tell one another that the words they were to say weren't meant to harm, to insult, to cause injury. But to help, to force emotion and thought into words and action lest they fester.
"We never ask of our reign," Eamon said eventually. "It would do us no good should we know we did things that were harmful, that were evil. We are not who we once were as Heda," he trailed off in thought then. "I do not know if I could reconcile what I may have done with who I am now," he said. "It would not be fair to Heda Eamon's legacy. It would not be fair to the life I have since lived to judge him for things I could not comprehend. How could I?"
"I wish so terribly to know more about us," Alexandria said. "About Clarke, about Lexa," the name sounded odd upon her tongue. "But how can I when everything you say is as true to you as it is to me?" she paused, looked down at her stomach and to where the wound had ripped into her body. "I was killed by tech," she said eventually. "That much is obvious. I would be a fool not to recognise it. And Clarke— she is Wanheda. She is Skaikru. How else would she have been bestowed the title?"
Alexandria took in a shuddering breath as if to fight back old pains, as if to hold back blood that had once spilled free from her wound.
And it hadn't been a sudden realisation. It hadn't been one considered day after day. It had been something insidious. It had been something horrid, something slowly cemented into the corners of her mind. But it made sense. Clarke looked at her with horror and pain and guilt. She looked at her with love and sadness. And Clarke was Wanheda when she had been Heda.
Alexandria blinked back tears as her mind, for the first time in days, settled on something she hadn't let herself thinking about for too long lest it throw her into turmoil from which she could never recover.
For truthfully, what better way was there of being bestowed the title of Wanheda than by killing Heda herself?
And so Alexandria let her fears free.
"What if I am here because of Clarke?"