Clarke's monthly trip to the trading post seemed to sneak up on her faster than it had in pervious years. Even time moved by her more quickly as the years went by. It was a routine that kept her life interesting, it gave her the opportunity to meet with others, to experience new things and to keep tabs on the life she had decided to let slip her mind.
And so wind rustling the trees and birdsong being carried upon the air echoed out around Clarke. River's muscles rippled and shimmered in the early morning light, and Clarke let one of her hands scratch along River's mighty neck to soothe whatever her friend must be feeling.
There was no danger though, no large predators to fear, no reapers, nor acid fog, Mountain Men or Azgeda assassins. But it was a hard feeling to shake, a hard habit to break when at one time the sounds of a twig snappy could have meant more than the lazy happenings of a wild bird.
A large pack was tied to River's side. Within it was packed the hides of animals Clarke had hunted, bones and sinew she had fastened into useful trinkets, and any number of pickled foods that would keep for the long journeys many took from clan to clan.
She never knew what she would find, and sometimes she would simply part with her supplies with a receipt and the promise of being able to take whatever she needed come her next visit.
Clarke looked up into the sky as the shadow of a bird passed by. She smiled at the flittering of its wings and she laughed as River snorted, huffed and threw her head ever so slightly as another bird swooped down at her in passing.
"Hush," Clarke said quietly as she tried to settle River beneath her.
But River seemed to settle on her own as she continued to wend her way through the forests at whatever lazy pace met her fancy.
Before too long Clarke began to hear the telltale sounds of people in the distance. At first it was the barely there whisper of word carried on the wind, the barest hints of it being swept past tree and through bush until it only just managed to be heard. The next things she began to hear were the quiet thump of metal against wood, of someone testing weapon, or of chopping wood.
And so, as Clarke rode atop River, and as the forest of dappled light and mighty moss spread out she came upon a thinning of forest, where bush and tree were scattered about, where sunlight could stream down onto the ground without interruption and where the blue of the sky chased away the shadows cast by the canopy overhead.
A large wooden building lay in the centre of the forest clearing. The clearing was covered in small flowers that at night seemed as if they were a reflection of the heavens above. Small saplings stood proudly throughout the clearing, their presence as brave as they were alone. A small stable sat beside the main wood building. Some horses could be seen inside and others were left free to wander around the clearing.
Movement caught Clarke's gaze and she turned to find a young child standing in front of a straw target, a bow in hand and a scowl upon his face as he looked at where his arrow had landed off-centre. A woman, probably his first stood beside him, her arms crossed and her face tattooed as she seemed to consider something before reaching for another bow that lay at her feet, this one smaller than the one in the child's hands, but its string thicker.
It wasn't an uncommon scene before her. Clarke had often seen many warriors testing weapons, trying differences and weights and balances until they found one that best suited their need. It also wasn't uncommon for her to see young seconds trying, and more often than not, failing to live up to whatever lofty expectations their firsts had.
And so Clarke smiled to herself as she looked past them and to a man, large, broad shouldered and hefting an axe over his shoulder as he prepared to bring it down onto a log in front of him as a woman stood behind, a pile of other gleaming battle axes at her feet.
These trips were the few times Clarke interacted with others. Her once a month journeys always brought with it new experiences and things to see. She hadn't noticed at first, but after the first few years she had begun to notice that other clans would be at the trading post, the lack of reaper and Mountain and Azgeda troubles opening up trading routes none could have predicted.
Though those thoughts were happy, they always seemed to be tinged with the barest hints of bitter longing if she thought too long, if only because the things Clarke saw had been another's dream so very long ago. Clarke shook her head for she knew dwelling on the past would do nothing but sour her mood and so she let River find her way through the clearing and to the stables before dismounting.
"I won't be long," Clarke whispered to River with a smile as she pressed a kiss to her neck. "I know," and she laughed as River nudged her as if to shoo her away, River's attention already turning to a black stallion that seemed to be eyeing her with a little too much curiosity for Clarke's approval.
And so in one familiar motion Clarke snared her pack from River's side, hefted it onto her shoulder and she began to walk towards the main entrance to the trading post, her mind already cataloguing the things she would be willing to trade.
The young second must have recognised her for who she was because the next shot Clarke saw from the corner of her eye missed the target and whizzed into the wooden fence set behind it with a loud thud.
Clarke smiled at the child, she ignored the pang of regret that darkened her memories and she nodded enough that the boy saw before she turned her attention forward. But still, from the corner of her eye she saw his second slap him across the back of the head and push him forward to fetch the arrow.
Clarke pushed open the main door and was greeted by a familiar sight. The interior of the trading post was grand. Aisles of shelves spread out before her, each one stocked with all sorts of supplies any would need. Some aisles were filled with jars of pickled fruits and vegetables and meats. Some full of furs, clothing and fabrics. Other aisles held supplies, weapons, armour, anything one would need on their travels. Even playthings and trinkets for children, or to decorate and to keep company could be seen.
A handful of people moved about, two young warriors from Glowing Forest, perhaps scouts from their dark clothing, perused an aisle full of arrows forged with expert attention to detail; a man, old but with a keen glint to his eye sorted through jars of pickled foods in search of something and a young family sorted through furs for their daughter who seemed no older than five.
Clarke caught the attention of the young teen at the trading post counter, one hand splayed out across a large ledger, the other with quill in hand.
"Petra," Clarke said as she made her way through the aisles before she came to stand in front of the girl, cheeks round and eyes eager. "Where's your dad?" Clarke let her bag settle on the countertop as she looked around for Petra's father somewhere in the organised chaos of the trading post.
"Father is at the Mountain today," Petra said with a wide smile. "He left me in charge," and she seemed to inflate with pride at the responsibility.
"I see," Clarke said with her own slight smile, the girl's infectious eagerness to please always quick to rub off on her. "Been busy today?"
"Yes, Wanheda," Petra said as she finished scribbling a line into the ledger. "Takahepa," she called out and one of the Glowing Forest scouts turned at his name being called. "You can have your quiver of arrows. I will send your receipt to Tross Village by messenger."
Clarke smiled as she watched the man's face split into a smile before he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
"I told you Petra would see reason," he said as he quickly shrugged off the quiver strapped to his back and began stuffing arrows into it, the ones he and his friend had clearly been eyeing already pre-selected.
"Payment is due before this time next month," Petra called out to him, and Clarke liked the way the girl's voice hardened, the tone so very similar to the girl's own father who would scold too eager a weary traveller. "With interest."
"Yes, Heda," Takahepa said with a cheeky sarcasm as he waved at her as he and his friend began to move for the exit.
"You're a natural," Clarke said as she turned back to Petra.
"Father says I must be stern," and Petra scrunched her face into an exaggerated scowl that was as adorable as it was effective.
Clarke laughed as she opened her pack and began pulling out the jars of pickled foods she had gathered, each one labelled and preselected for trading. Petra began rifling back through the ledger laid across the countertop, tongue just barely poking out between pursed lips as she began searching for Clarke's last visit.
Clarke was happy to let the silence linger as she watched the youth. It hadn't been so obvious, perhaps even now it wasn't so seen, but Clarke was sure she had begun seeing more and more children throughout the forests. Years earlier the only children to be seen would be those selected as seconds. But now, after the Mountain's fall and after the coalition settled she had begun to see more children walking about.
The family in the corner of the trading post was prime example of that, and as Clarke turned and looked at them she found herself smiling at the image they painted. They seemed happy, content, perhaps never carefree for both parents were armed and Clarke knew them each perfectly capable of killing. But at least they felt comfortable enough taking their child out into the lands.
Even Petra's existence was something Clarke thought beautiful. It wasn't that children had never been given the responsibility, they had. But it had always been after disaster, where parent or first had been killed by enemy clan or roaming reaper, or taken by Mountain Men and bled. But now it was different. Petra was given responsibility to look after her families trading post simply because her father was making a trip to the Mountain.
And that, Clarke thought, was beautiful. She thought it worth the pain, the death, the guilt and the years it had taken her to come to terms with the things that had happened.
And so Clarke smiled, she let her contentedness fill her heart and she turned back to Petra to find her looking at her expectantly.
"Sorry," Clarke said as she tucked an errant braid behind her ear.
"I will gather your things, Wanheda," Petra said as she began to move out from behind the counter.
"I'll help," and Clarke fell into step beside Petra as they began walking down the aisles, one of Petra's hands holding a piece of paper with supplies written on it, the other quick to pass a basket into Clarke's arms.
"Did you hear?" Petra asked as she paused, looked up at a high shelf before she stepped on a lower one carefully and reached for a jar.
"Did I hear what?" Clarke said as she reached one hand out to steady the girl as she clambered down, the other holding out the basket for Petra to drop the jar into.
"Heda has returned," and Petra smiled a thanks as she began moving again. "They say her skirmishes with the bandits was full of many great feats," awe filled Petra's tone with each passing word.
"I did hear," Clarke said. She wouldn't mention their shared past and their experiences.
"Have you met with her yet?" Petra asked as she turned for a moment to look up at Clarke. "I have never spoken to her, but I hear she is kind. Is she?"
"I've met her," Clarke said and she didn't mind Petra's questions, she knew them borne from wonder and youthful curiosity.
"I have only seen her once," Petra continued with excitement. "From just before she left for the skirmishes."
"In Polis?" Clarke asked, and she remembered the convoy of warriors that had filed out, she remembered the people of the city gathering in the streets to wave goodbye and to cheers. And she remembered the fear that had spiked in her heart because she had, for some reason, hoped Athena would return safe. If only because she thought Athena the last thing to remain of Lexa.
"Yes," Petra said as she dropped another item into the basket. "We made the trip to Polis to see her," Petra continued. "Father says we might not see another war for a very long time, he says that it was important for me to see the warriors. To understand."
"Yes," Clarke said with a saddening smile as she tried to look away from Petra as memories began to take hold.
But Petra didn't seem to notice, and perhaps that was what Clarke needed.
"Father says I saw Heda Lexa, too," Petra continued. "When I was a newborn. That I had been taken to Polis because I was ill and we saw her march out to face Azgeda before the Coalition," and Petra smiled as she picked up one fur, eyed it carefully before putting it down and choosing another— "Father says you must get best quality," she said in way of explanation at Clarke's raised eyebrows.
"I see," and Clarke wouldn't say anything, if only because she knew it useless.
"I wish I saw the warriors attacking the Mountain," Petra said at last. "I hear stories," and she lowered her voice. "Grand stories," and Clarke knew Petra remembered the stories she had told the girl herself over the years.
"Some might be exaggerated," Clarke said with a laugh.
"Nonsense, Wanheda," Petra tutted. "You would not lie."
"Maybe I would," Clarke challenged.
"No," Petra said as she shook her head. "How many Hedas have you seen?" Petra asked then, and Clarke liked the way the girl's eyes squinted as she tried to calculate the years in her mind.
"Only two," Clarke said and she fought back the barest hints of sadness creeping into the corners of her eyes. "Just Lexa and Athena."
Petra sighed, and this time it seemed a little less full of energetic life.
"I would have liked to have met Heda Lexa," Petra said sadly. "Father says she united all clans. He says she fought when others couldn't, and she united when others wouldn't."
"Yeah," and Clarke reached out and let her fingers brush against a well embroidered tapestry that showed Polis tower with its flaming point. And Clarke thought she would always cherish the things Lexa's rule had accomplished, the peace she had forged and died for. And Clarke knew she would always miss her. Until the very end. And so, as Clarke looked upon Petra in all her youthful innocence, Clarke found herself smiling, the expression tinged with sadness, with pride. And with a long held love. "Lexa was special."
Brutus lay beside Alexandria's legs, the mighty dog's tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he somehow avoiding biting through it all the while chewing on a bone. Alexandria sat on the cool floor of her room beneath an open window. Wind barely felt was a welcomed relief from the rising temperature and she wondered how Brutus managed to survive during the summer heats. But perhaps Brutus didn't mind, if only because he seemed all too happy to lounge around in the shade and do nothing during the hottest parts of the day.
The quiet sounds of a weapon being sharpened continued to ring out through her home, Eamon's usual cleaning ritual a familiar and comforting sound to her ears. Despite the familiarity of her day, she found her thoughts unable to settle on the present for her mind seemed fit to turn back the few days it had been since Heda had arrived.
It wasn't that Athena never visited, it wasn't that she never stayed for a couple days. But something in the way she had looked at her had unsettled her, it had made her think there was more to the visit but she couldn't quite figure it out.
She wouldn't say anything to Eamon, he'd simply scoff. She wouldn't worry Agamemnon with her worries either, he had more important things to focus on. But still, Alexandria couldn't push aside the memory of the way Athena had looked at her with some emotion she couldn't quite discern.
"What do you think, Brutus?" Alexandria spoke quietly, her hand happy to scratch along his large snout.
Brutus looked up at her, and not for the first time she knew he understood more than most would realise. His head tilted to the side, it seemed to consider.
Maybe Alexandria was overthinking things though. Maybe it was just the fact that Athena had called her a name she thought herself undeserving of, and maybe it was the fact that she spoke of Wanheda, a woman who by all accounts she must have met, must have fought battles against and with and survived through the most volatile of times. But still, as Alexandria remembered, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more.
It had been so long since her separation from the flame that old questions didn't burn as brightly within her mind as they once did. But even then her duty to leave her past to the past had outweighed any sense of longing. She remembered the days, the weeks and even months spent in meditation to prepare her mind, to accept the possibility of an early death and the chance of a forceful removal of the flame. It was something every Commander had to be prepared for. And it was their duty to step aside if they were no longer able to command, if they were so gravely wounded that they would be incapable of carrying out their duties.
Of course Lexa had had questions. But that curiosity was tempered by her duty to live a life of solitude hidden away from most.
And yet, despite her training, despite her acceptance, when she had first woken in an unfamiliar room, when she had no memory of how she had got there and when the first face she had seen was a commander's face who all had thought perished years ago, she realised she had failed. She realised she had all but died.
And that had almost broken her.
But she survived. Just as she had survived her injury.
Brutus laid a paw across her thigh, the weight of it heavy enough to break her from whatever turmoil he must have sensed.
"I am ok," Alexandria said quietly as she reached out and scratched under his chin. "Thank you, Brutus," and she smiled as he seemed to look at her with an affection and a love she thought so very pure. "Perhaps I will take you to visit Azgeda," she said quietly as she felt the heat of the day prickle at her skin. "You would enjoy the cold, I think."
The late afternoon sun sat a little lower in the sky as Alexandria walked her way back to her home, a basket of apples under one arm, a hand casually flipping a knife in the other. The sounds of Eamon chasing after Brutus could be heard over the rustle of the wind and Alexandria fought the smile at the corners of her lips. She knew Brutus to be prone to stealing one or ten of Eamon's weapons, tools and things he cared for, and she knew Eamon more than capable enough of running after the wolf dog until both of them were exhausted.
Birdsong drifted over the wind and as Alexandria looked up into the sky she marvelled at the way they seemed to float without moving their wings. To her they seemed unburdened by the earth. They seemed so very carefree and unshackled to the worldly worries that had plagued her mind. She wondered what it would be like, she wondered what it must feel like to have the wind take her higher and higher into the skies until the only thing that surrounded her was an emptiness and a calm that held no reproach, no longing, no loss and no sense of uncertainties.
But Alexandria shook her head and tried to rid those thoughts and tried not to focus on Athena's presence somewhere nearby. She didn't quite blame Athena for her frustrations, but still, those kinds of thoughts hadn't plagued her mind in years. They hadn't cast doubt in her mind and they hadn't made her wonder for even a split second. But now she did. If only because she couldn't shake the way Athena had looked at her so very oddly.
Not for the first time Alexandria wandered what Athena saw in her. She needn't worry what Athena saw in Eamon though. Alexandria herself remembered Eamon's rule as Heda, she remembered his cunning, his brutality at times and his nihilistic sense of violence when needed. But now Eamon was a tempered soul, someone who seemed to cherish the quiet, and find the warmth and the happiness in life wherever he may look. And it was an odd separation of personalities, it was an odd contrast between her memories and what she now saw.
Alexandria wondered if she had been like that. She wondered if she had ruled with an iron fist or had ruled with kindness. She hoped she knew. Perhaps she could piece together how, if only because the coalition had formed some how.
And yet she felt none of that her doing. If only because she thought herself so very different now. She remembered not so many things. She remembered no bloodshed, no violence, no subterfuge and backstabbing and sleepless nights.
Perhaps that was for the best though.
Alexandria paused by a large tree, she leant her shoulder against its weathered bark and she took the quiet moments she had to compose herself and to kill her thoughts before they could consume her any further.
Alexandria didn't remember what it was like to rule as Heda. She didn't remember what it was like to form the Coalition, to war against Skaikru and to meet the Mountain in battle.
But she remembered her duty. And her duty was to her people, to her role — or lack thereof — and so she took in one last deep breath.
And with that she pushed off from the tree and left her thoughts behind as she began wending her way back through the apple trees.
The sun was beginning to settle upon the horizon by the time Alexandria broke past the threshold of her home. Nighttime cool began to settle over the lands and she found herself shrugging on a shawl as she set down the basket of apples in the kitchen.
Eamon must have still been outside hunting for Brutus for Alexandria found her home empty of Eamon's usual presence. But as Alexandria began to move further and further into her home she found a shadow standing by a window. Athena stood at a lone window, her back to Alexandria and her gaze turned outwards.
"I leave soon," Athena said quietly as she turned from the window and faced her.
"It is getting late," Alexandria said quietly as she came to stop in the centre of the living space, an awkward distance trapped between both women. "You can stay for the night if it is easier," Alexandria thought she knew the answer already, but she thought it polite to ask.
"No," and Athena turned back to look out the window for another long moment before she took a step away and closer to her. "My presence for these few days has intruded long enough, Lexa," she flinched at her old name being spoken.
Athena paused then, her lips parted in thought and Alexandria took the time to take in the woman who stood in front of her. Athena was only seven years younger than her, but there was a weight upon her shoulders and a depth to her eyes that she could see. Alexandria had seen it in all Commanders and she was sure that had once been present in her, too. But still, there was that same difference in the way Athena looked at her, there was that same intensity that was barely kept at bay within her green eyes.
"Agamemnon is ill," Athena said eventually, and it came out with such finality that Alexandria couldn't help but to close her eyes and try not to let her sadness become visible.
"Yes," she said, and she was happy that her lips didn't quiver.
But as Alexandria's eyes opened she found her curiosity slowly returning. She couldn't help it, not with how intense Athena's gaze drilled into her. And perhaps despite better judgement, perhaps despite all her years of acceptance, she broke. Didn't she deserve an answer? But for what, she didn't know.
"Why, Heda?" Alexandria asked, and she didn't quite know what she asked for.
"Why?" Athena echoed softly, an eyebrow raised in question.
"Why do you visit?" Alexandria said. "Do you wish to torment yourself with old memories?" and she gestured to the weapons that hung upon the wall. "Do you wish to see how feeble we become?" it didn't come out full of hatred and scorn, rather it seemed to be tinged with such uncertainty that even Athena didn't seem to mind the pointed question.
"No, Lexa," Athena said as she shook her head. "That is not why I visit," she paused then, perhaps to consider, perhaps to second guess. But then, "sit," and Athena gestured to a chair. "Please."
Alexandria sat in the further of the two chairs and she waited for Athena to speak first. But as the silence began to settle over them, and as Athena's eyes seemed to focus from point to point across her face, Alexandria couldn't help but to feel like a newly chosen second being judged for something they had no power over.
"You are lucky, Lexa," Athena said eventually.
Alexandria didn't respond, she didn't think she needed to, and she didn't think Athena expected one.
"Every Commander to hold the flame speaks to me," Athena said quietly. "In my sleep. When I close my eyes. When I talk to you or to others. When I try to find peace and quiet. They are always there."
Alexandria didn't know what she should say. If she remembered perhaps she could give advice. But for now she was impotent.
"I share every memory," Athena said. "Every love. Every hate. Every loss and every regret," and Athena seemed to soften for just a moment as she continued looking at her. "Agamemnon's wisdom guides me in times of uncertainty," Athena said with a sad smile. "Eamon's violence guides me when I face enemy on the battlefield," there was a long pause then, and as Alexandria continued to look Athena in the eyes she saw something she wouldn't dare accept. "And your love guides me when I am afraid."
Alexandria looked away. She didn't like the things Athena said, she didn't like reading the emotions in Athena's eyes. She didn't like thinking of memories she couldn't remember. She didn't like all those things. But she wouldn't voice any of those thoughts. It wasn't her place to do so. Not anymore.
"I am not that woman anymore," Alexandria said quietly. "Eamon is not that warrior anymore. Agamemnon is not that leader anymore."
"You are," Athena said, and this time her voice seemed full of conviction. "In here," and she lifted her hand and gestured to the back of her own neck. "In here," she moved her hand so that it rested atop her heart, her fingers splayed out as if they tried to hold back the very beating under her chest. "And in here," Athena finished as she let the pads of her fingers brush against her forehead. "You will always be with me. And I will always be with the next Commander. And the one after and the one after them."
Alexandria bit her lip as she tried not to let her uncertainties bubble to the surface. But still, she didn't like the way the conversation was going. If only because she felt like a child trying to play a game where half the rules were kept hidden from her.
And so?
"Why are you here, Athena?"
Athena smiled something between sadness and longing as she rose from her chair in a single elegant motion.
"To do the right thing," Athena said gently. "But I do not know if I have the strength to do it."
