It was late at night and Alexandria sat on the grass under the cover of an apple tree. Birdsong filtered through the air around her. In the distance she could hear the quiet murmur of the few servants who had dedicated their lives to a servitude, to isolation, to caring for her and those like her. At times long ago she had wondered why they would do such a thing, at times long since faded to memory she had considered asking. And yet she never did. She didn't know why.

The moon sat in the sky and as Alexandria looked up into the heavens above she wondered, she dreamt, pondered and wished for answers that she knew wouldn't come. Her mind had been unable to calm itself, her thoughts unable to move past Athena's visit. Too many questions, too many unknowns had been introduced into her life and she detested it. She hated it. She wished they had never returned.

Alexandria had long since put her life's unknowns behind her. She had accepted things, had moved on, had even embraced and found comfort in the life she now lived. But Athena's words had done something. They had woken that old friend. But this time, she thought it less friend and more shadow that never seemed kind enough to introduce themselves.

Brutus snuffed quietly from his place by her side. One of his paws lay atop her legs she had stretched out in front of her in the grass. She always enjoyed his company. It was simple, without any more expectation than a scratch or a pat, perhaps a slice of apple or a thrown stick. But never more than that. She appreciated it.

"What do you think, Brutus?" Alexandria asked quietly as she looked down at him to find his dark eyes looking up at her with such curiosity that she knew he must understand more than she could ever imagine.

Brutus yawned widely, his teeth glinted in the subtle moonlight and she couldn't help but to recoil just a little as saliva dripped from his lips. But all in all, Alexandria didn't mind. Saliva, sharp teeth and at times a too heavy weight upon her chest were all things she was happy to put up with if it meant Brutus was in her life. Brutus twitched an ear as she began scratching his head softly, the motion perhaps unconscious as she let her thoughts sift through things that had happened.

Alexandria looked up into the sky overhead and she marvelled at the moonlight that dappled through the apple tree's leaves. It seemed gentle, kind, something almost tangible, something she could reach out and take hold of if she so desired.

For some reason Alexandria couldn't shake an odd sense of something that lingered in the back of her mind. She wasn't entirely sure what it was, she wasn't even sure she sensed anything at all. But that couldn't be. Not when Athena had said words to her that had seemed so sincere, so full of emotion that Alexandria had just known there was something deeper beneath the surface.

And it was simple. So very simple if she let herself remember.

Love

That had been what Athena had said. That had been the thing she had whispered out to her with such an intensity it had set Alexandria's skin on fire. She had expected Agamemnon's wisdom to guide Athena, she had been a nightblood in training and had learnt stories, fables, lessons about each and every Commander. And so wisdom wasn't something she had thought unexpected. Neither was Violence. Eamon had been a Commander quick to deal with uprising, quick to meet challenge head on without worry. She remembered studying his tactics, his skirmishes with the Reapers, with the Mountain Men. And yet she couldn't remember her own reign. But that wasn't unique to her. None of them remembered their time as Commander. It was something seldom brought up, seldom spoken of. If only because it had been drilled into each and every one of them from the very beginning.

And yet it shook her to her core that her love, something that seemed so foreign to her now, had been the thing to guide Athena. It didn't help that her mind was now unable to focus, unable to ignore the questions she had and the answers beyond her reach.

But Alexandria yawned. Fatigue began to claw at her mind and she knew it foolish to stay out too long, she knew it foolish to waste away in the heat of the night under a barely comfortable tree trunk when a bed she had lived in for a decade was ready and waiting for her.

And so, "come, Brutus," Alexandria whispered quietly as she stood, as she stretched and as she scratched Brutus atop his head.

And with that Alexandria silenced the questions within her mind as she smiled at the large wolf dog.

She had so many questions. Some, perhaps, she would ask Athena at a later time. But they could wait. If only because she had had a lot of practice waiting in her new life.


Clarke remembered the moment her heart had stopped. She remembered what it had felt like realising her world would change forever. She remembered being as happy as could be expected on the ground. She remembered thinking that things could be different, that things would be different.

She remembered entering Lexa's quarters, she remembered the beauty of the sunlight as it dappled through the intricate latticework that cast shadows of beautiful ferocity upon every surface it touched. She remembered a gesture held in parting, full of want, of promise, of expectations and hopes.

And Clarke remembered a kiss, something kind, something soft, something that had made her heart flutter and her breath falter.

But she remembered the pain, too, the way it had torn through her so abruptly that it had felt more dream, more nightmare, more hallucination or psychotic break.

And yet Clarke had grown with it, she had dealt with it, learnt to accept her life had taken a path she never would have chosen. She had dealt with ALIE, she had dealt with Roan, with Azgeda, with the Coalition and with Pike.

She had taken each day as they had come, she had lived and done what was expected of her until she had felt happy— No. Not happy. Satisfied? Perhaps not even that. Maybe, just maybe she could think it content. Content that her people had been given the best chance to survive.

Once she had thought had been about more than just surviving. Once she had done nothing but survive. And she had survived so much, so many things, countless days and nights of terror. Countless moments of loss, countless lonely nights where she had hugged herself asleep, where she had tried not to let guilts consume her, pains guide her and angers drive her.

And she had come out stronger, she truly, truly, believed that. She didn't think anyone could come out the other side of whatever dark tunnel she had travelled without being stronger. She was sure some would have lost themselves in the dark, she was sure some would never embraced it, used it to torment and twist and trap themselves in an endless cycle of dark nothingness. But she had found the metaphorical light.

And so she had thought, she had believed and she had known herself stronger.

But in that very moment, as Athena whispered words of ruin, Clarke didn't think she knew anything.

"What?"

A frown found its way upon her forehead, Clarke could feel her muscles tighten, deepen her pains across her face and she didn't think she heard properly. She knew she heard wrong.

Athena refused to look her in the eyes from where she had collapsed to her knees on the ground. Athena refused to make a sound for so long that Clarke thought she had some how retreated into her mind, had come undone with something unknown, something unintelligible and incomprehensible. But Athena took in a breath so quiet, so broken, so full of emotion that it made Clarke's heart constrict.

Athena's eyes closed, the motion enough to send a tear down her cheek. Her eyes remained closed for long enough that Clarke almost thought she had retreated somewhere deep into her subconscious. But just before Clarke made to speak Athena's eyes snapped open.

"I—" Athena's voice broke quietly, the sound seemingly trapped and unable or unwilling to be let free.

Clarke couldn't help but to have Athena's words echo out within her mind. At first, as she continued to look at Athena, she thought that maybe she had misheard, maybe it had all been a trick of the mind. But the longer she stared at Athena, and the longer the silence lasted, the more Clarke knew what Athena had said had truly been said.

Lexa is alive

Clarke didn't know what that meant. Was it her memory that Athena spoke of? Was it her soul in some way? Was her spirit still in the flame? Her thoughts?

"I love you, Clarke," Athena whispered and that sound brought Clarke's attention back to the present with such ferocity that it made her heart spasm.

Clarke looked Athena in the eyes and all she saw was devastation. There was an openness, something so bare, so vulnerable in the green of her eyes that Clarke wanted to scream. For the first time in so long Clarke saw Athena as the young woman she truly was, who had been thrust into a position of responsibility without warning, without explanation or preparation.

But that admission of Athena's made Clarke consider, made her pause, made her try to understand. She had always felt a connection with Athena, she had always known something was there. But she had always assumed, she had always known that it was simply because Athena had had Lexa's memories. But there had to be more. Especially now.

Athena took in a steadier breath then. It seemed stronger, more certain. Clarke watched as the tears in her eyes fell, as they graced her cheeks and said more than Athena may ever say aloud.

"Lexa is alive," Athena said again, and this time her voice was calm, it had seemingly forced itself back into unwavering certainty.

And yet, as Clarke looked at Athena, she found the woman looking past her shoulder, her vision focused on something in the distance, focused on something that Clarke knew not there.

"Lexa is alive, Clarke," Athena whispered as her vision came back to hers.

"Don't say that," and Clarke didn't know why Athena said what she said. She didn't know what had made Athena break, what had made her want to torment her the way she now did. "Why?" and Clarke found that it was time for her own voice to now break. "Why are you saying these things?"

Athena looked back past Clarke's shoulder, and this time Clarke knew Athena had retreated back into her mind. She remembered a time so long ago when Lexa had been sitting at the foot of her bed, when she had been meditating, eyes closed with her mind with the Commanders in the flame. And Clarke knew. She knew that was what Athena did now.

"Athena," Clarke whispered as she reached out and let her hand guide Athena's face back to face hers fully. "Athena, look at me," and Clarke fought to keep her breath steady.

Part of her didn't blame Athena for feeling guilty. She had, in some way, always known Athena would have shared Lexa's memories. And she had always know that connection she had had with Lexa could grow into something with Athena. Perhaps the skirmishes had made Athena face her mortality in a way she had never been forced to do so before.

Athena's gaze snapped back to her again and Clarke saw something in her eyes, she saw something in the depths that spoke of knowledge so old, memories so cherished and emotions so deep that she may never understand them.

"I know you're feeling guilty," Clarke whispered, and she saw pain flash across Athena's face. "I know you feel like you're betraying Lexa's memory," and Clarke couldn't blame Athena. She felt the same, at least partly.

Maybe the honey mead had sullied both their minds. Perhaps it had been far stronger than she had expected. But Clarke could see Athena needed comforting, she could see a guilt so plainly across her face that Clarke didn't know what else to do but to embrace her.

And so she did.

Clarke cradled Athena's face in her hands as softly as she dared, she made sure Athena looked her in the eyes and she smiled something sad, something bittersweet, something full of loss that Clarke couldn't think it really a smile at all.

But Athena shook her head, she closed her eyes once more and her hands came up and pulled Clarke's hands from her face.

"No, Clarke," Athena whispered once her eyes opened. "You do not understand," and Athena squeezed her hands, pulled one to her lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "Lexa," and Athena yet again looked past her shoulder for the briefest of moments before she seemingly forced her gaze back to her. "She is alive."

It was odd. There wasn't anything inherently different in what Athena said. But as Clarke looked Athena in the eyes, as she listened to the tone of her voice and as she let the words sink in, she found herself knowing somehow, that the meaning was different.

"What do you mean?" maybe it was a stupid question. But Clarke needed an explanation. "What do you mean, Athena?" Clarke found tears beginning to fill her vision. She didn't know if this was a cruel joke, if she had passed out drunk, if Athena had had a mental breakdown or if something else entirely incomprehensible was happening.

Athena took in a shuddering breath, her lips quivered and Clarke grimaced as Athena's hands gripped hers even more tightly than before.

"Memories are passed down from Commander to Commander," Athena said quietly.

Clarke already knew that. She was sure she actually knew more about how the flame worked then perhaps even Athena. In some ways at least. But she found herself staying quiet for she knew Athena had more to say.

"Clarke," and Athena's eyes watered as she looked her in the eyes. "It is so hard to ignore the things you and Lexa shared," and she shook her head as if to clear whatever thoughts must have been filling her mind. "I remember everything, I remember every feeling, every thought."

Clarke didn't think she liked hearing the things Athena said. It wasn't that she hadn't moved on. Or at least she thought she had for it hadbeen a decade since Lexa's death. But right then, in that very moment, she found herself remembering more than she had in years.

"When we take the flame," Athena continued. "When we are joined with the spirit of the Commander, our lives are forfeit," and Athena swallowed heavily. "I am not the Athena who lived before she was given the flame," there was a pause, perhaps one long enough that Clarke could say something if she wanted. "No nightblood is the same person once they take the flame," this time Athena's eyes hardened, this time there was a difference in the way she looked at her. "The Commander's spirit becomes one with them, their spirit becomes part of the Commander's spirit."

Clarke took a long moment to process what Athena had said. Or perhaps it was only seconds. But the time seemed to stand still, it seemed to move too quickly, too slowly, too heavily for her to sift through without feeling confused, without feeling unsure and uncertain.

Clarke didn't know what Athena meant. Not entirely.

"Are—" Clarke grimaced as she fought to control her breathing. "Are you saying that Lexa wasn't really Lexa?" she didn't know what she asked. She didn't know what she said. "That I never knew Lexa?"

Clarke didn't know if her heart could break anymore than it had years ago. She didn't know if her mind could comprehend more than it had already. Clarke didn't know so many things that it made her want to scream out, to cry, to break every single thing she could get her hands on.

"Are you not Athena?" Clarke asked, her voice so small, so uncertain. "Is Athena dead? Is that what you mean?" the questions sounded so strange once Clarke heard herself say them.

Athena shook her head again, but this time Clarke wasn't sure if it was to refute what she had asked, or to yet again clear her mind from whatever turmoils had clearly come to the forefront of her thoughts. But Athena's head began to shake back and forth with more and more force until it became haphazard, full of despair and guilt and Clarke couldn't do anything but lean back, try to put space between them.

"No," Athena said her voice now cold, her voice now desperate, somewhere between detached and barely hanging on. "No," Athena's voice broke and Clarke thought she more read Athena's lips than heard her speak. "No—"

Clarke reached out, she gripped Athena's face in her hands and she tried to ease whatever suffering she saw before her.

"Athena," and Clarke winced as Athena tried to shake her heads free. "Athena look—" Clarke pushed forced enough that she could invade Athena's space, enough that she could control the frantic jerk of her body. "Look at me, Athena."

"I—" Athena's vision seemed unclear, uncertain, and yet again Clarke watched as Athena stared off into the distance for a moment, for barely a second, but enough that she could see it.

But there was a change. It was sudden, it was swift, it was all encompassing and it made Clarke recoil.

She couldn't explain it. She couldn't really understand what had happened. But as she looked at Athena's eyes, she saw them take in something, she saw her disappear somewhere so very recessed into her mind that she all but faded from existence. And it happened in barely a second. But then Athena returned. She returned and her gaze snapped back to Clarke's with a clarity, with a strength and a conviction that seemed so sure, so confident that Clarke, for just a moment, thought that the flame lodged into the base of Athena's skull must have malfunctioned, that whatever programming had created it had begun to glitch, begun to breakdown after more than a century of constant use—

"Clarke," Athena whispered and her voice was steady, perhaps just a little breathless from whatever distressed her body had been through.

But there was a difference. There was a curse. There was a prayer, something buried so deep within Clarke that it was ruled by nothing but primal instinct. And it made Clarke's skin crawl and her blood freeze.

"Lexa?"