It was so late at night that Alexandria wondered if it was closer to a rising sun than it was to the rising moon. She didn't know what had drawn her to the countless weapons that hung from the wall. She had tried to understand, she had tried to grasp that shifting reasoning only for it to slip through her mind's grasp like the errants wisps of smoke that would laze through the air with a gentle breeze.

She wondered why her thoughts so lyrical at such a time. She wondered why she had become so prone to second guessing. She wondered so many things that were so far away that she thought herself never one to grasp, to mould it to her will, to understand and to conquer.

Her gaze came to rest against two swords at the furthest end of the wall. Part of her screamed out not to approach, part of her told her to turn her attention to another weapon, perhaps the battle axe in front of her, the spear to her left, even the small dagger that hung higher up on the wall.

And yet she knew what decision she had made before her feet even began to move.

Alexandria's bare feet padded their way over the warm wood of the floor. Each step she took was greeted by weathered wooden floorboards, each pace she took was followed by the gentle swishing of the loose clothes she wore. Before she even really understood what she was doing she found herself standing before the last of the weapons.

The two swords were simple in some ways, intricate in others. They were a juxtaposition, a contrast, something dull and something sharp. There were small grooves formed into the handles of each sword. She knew them to be worn through years of use, and she knew them to fit a hand so perfectly that it would feel like a master sword-smith had created them. The hilts were simple, small, elegant enough that each blade could be swung with speed, large enough to provide at least some protection should an enemies blade try to slip past the owners defences. There were other details, too. She couldn't quite figure out their purpose, their presence upon the weapons perhaps more sentimental than functional.

But Alexandria startled when she sensed a presence, something quiet, something close by that wished not to intrude or to disturb more than it already had. And so she turned. Agamemnon stood beside her quietly, his appearance unexpected, his own gaze settled on a weapon further along the wall neither remembered ever holding.

"I did not mean to startle you," Agamemnon said quietly, his voice just a little hoarse, his breathing a bit more laboured than it had been only days earlier.

"I did not hear you Agamemnon," Alexandria said equally as quiet as her old friend.

"You were lost in thought," and he looked at her for a moment.

Though their eyes met for only a second or two, Alexandria felt a conversation of forgotten memories pass between them. She wondered what could have once been said that was perhaps never to be heard, she wondered what words of wisdom would have once given her frantic mind reprieve from the uncertainties of her life. She wondered more than she ever had.

"I was," Alexandria said and she turned back to look at the swords she had once held in her hands.

"Do you remember holding them?" Agamemnon asked.

She didn't. Not quite. She had held a sword similar to them long ago, whose blade had looked like them, whose hilt had been as weathered as the hilts she now looked upon. But she thought that a weapon of a forgotten time.

"No," Alexandria said. "I do not."

Agamemnon coughed, the sound deep, ragged, a little too full of pain for Alexandria to ignore.

"Come," she said as she reached for his elbow, perhaps to help ground him lest he fall. Perhaps to help ground herself lest she forget more than she already had.

A smile crept its way upon the elderly man's lips and Alexandria found her heart aching more than she wanted it to when she saw the speckles of blood that just barely graced his lips, that he tried to wipe away without her noticing.

"Sit, Agamemnon," she said as she guided him towards a nearby chair. "I will make you a warm drink."

He whispered something between thanks and refusal, but Alexandria paid it little notice. She waited only a moment longer, enough that she was sure he wouldn't try to rise without her aid and then she moved to the kitchen, her mind worried, her heart pained.

Agamemnon was sick, that much was obvious. She didn't know when she had noticed but she had. At times she would find blood on a handkerchief he had coughed into, at times she noticed him short of breath despite the lack of exercise. She had never been a healer. She had only known enough to stitch a wound or to change a dressing, but she had never thought herself capable of healing the sick, caring for the injured more than to try to stem the bleeding. But she knew enough to know Agamemnon sicker than he would admit.

And that hurt. What little family she had ever had was long gone, perhaps a cousin, an aunt, an uncle could still be alive. But they thought her dead as much as she thought them not for her to have. But she still had Eamon, perhaps the closest thing to a friend, and she still had Agamemnon, perhaps the only thing she could call a father-figure in her life.

He had been there when she had woken, just as much as Eamon had been there. But his wisdom, his age, his words had been what she had looked for in her times of uncertainty. She knew it would end one day, though. And yet she had always hoped it would always be something for tomorrow. Forever.

But she was foolish, she was childish, she needed to accept what was to await her in the future, just as much as she had already accepted what had happened in her past.

And so Alexandria took in a steadying breath and forced the worries from her face as she finished bringing the water to boil before she poured a small cup of tea from places far away.


Time passed Alexandria by as she sat next to Agamemnon. His breathing had somewhat settled, perhaps due to the how tea, perhaps because he spoke little now that he was preoccupied. Whatever the reason Alexandria was thankful, if only because she thought it couldn't hurt for him to rest his voice.

She took a moment to look out through a crack in a shuttered window to find that the night was still king, the stars still vibrant and the moon ever present in the sky. A gentle fire crackled in the fireplace, and Alexandria fought the yawn that threatened to escape past her lips.

Agamemnon took in a breath, the sound ragged and she looked up to find his head beginning to droop just a little as fatigue began to claw its way back into his mind. He seemed peaceful in half sleep, whatever aches in his body forgotten for the moment, whatever ailed him pushed away for the time being. She thought she enjoyed looking at him like this, in part because it made her feel normal, it made her feel like this experience she was living was something countless people found themselves in. Perhaps it helped her to forget where she was, it helped her to forget just how isolated they were. Maybe it was simply because it gave her something to do, someone to care for and to distract from her own self doubts.

Agamemnon grunted quietly and she looked over to find his head drooped a little more as sleep took hold. The cup clasped in his hands sat precariously atop his stomach as it rose with each passing breath. Ever quiet and ever gentle lest she disturb the quiet, Alexandria rose from her chair. She winced just a little at the creak and she took the few short steps over to Agamemnon before she reached out and lifted the cup out of his hand.

The ceramic of the cup was still warm to the touch, the tea half drunk with just a few leaves settled at the bottom. She didn't mind caring for Agamemnon. She didn't mind looking after him in his old age. She thought that the least she could do. And so Alexandria made her way back to the kitchen as quietly as she could.

It didn't take her long to clean up, the two cups rinsed and left to drip-dry over night. But as she turned back to look at Agamemnon she found herself thinking he looked cold. Both arms had been pulled around himself in his sleep, the scruff of his beard doing little to keep even his face warm in the gentle of the night.

A sigh came then, and it was subtle, not really even conscious, but Alexandria found herself walking past the sleeping man and down the hallway to his room. She passed door after door, all closed, all ready and waiting should someone else one day find themselves surrounded by ghosts. She paused as she passed Eamon's door only to smile when she heard the distinct snuffing of Brutus who had clearly seen fit to sleep with Eamon for the night. She didn't even know how Eamon managed not to overheat with Brutus laying atop him as he had done since he was a pup.

Alexandria shook those thoughts from herm mind as she came to Agamemnon's room. It only took her a second to duck inside and scoop up a large fur blanket in her arms before she made her way back to the main room and to Agamemnon's side.

As she wrapped the blanket around him as gently as she could she found her thoughts continuing to think, to ponder, to consider things she had no answers to. She was tired of the unknowns though. She was tired of the questions that had so recently been ravaging her mind and so she made a decision in that moment. As she tucked Agamemnon into the furs more comfortably she decided she would ask. She would ask Athena what she had meant, she would voice all her doubts. She didn't care that it was against everything she had been taught from first being taken to Polis. She didn't care that it wasn't for her to question the Commander. And she didn't care th—

Agamemnon coughed in his sleep, his face pulled into a grimace and Alexandria almost moved back to his side, she almost reached out in an attempt to ease his pain. But instead she paused, she waited and she felt her heart ache as he seemed to fight his body back under control.

She didn't think Agamemnon would ever admit to being in pain. She knew he'd cover it as long as he could. She'd probably do the same. But she'd help. And so, as Alexandria took just another moment to worry over Agamemnon she decided that she'd ask Athena if a Skaikru healer could be brought to them, she'd even hide away, not let herself be seen so as to keep secret their existence. But she wouldn't sit by and watch Agamemnon suffer if she could help it.


Before too long Alexandria found herself in her bed, her day's clothes replaced with a looser undergarment that helped ease her mind. It wasn't that she was surprised that something was frustrating her. That much was obvious. But still, as she continued thinking about the things Athena had said and as she continued reliving the expression on her face, she found herself knowing something was missing. It wasn't so apparent that she could look at whatever spot in her mind's library that was so ostensibly missing a book or two, but it was that she knew she needed to look, she knew she needed to uncover something that had once existed.

And it was frustrating.

But perhaps it was a problem for another day.

Alexandria yawned, she rolled onto her side, tucked an arm under her pillow and she pulled her knees up a little closer to her body, if only because she thought it nice to at least feel like she had a comforting presence by her side.

And so, as sleep slowly began to take hold of her mind, Alexandria smiled at the thought that maybe Brutus would come keep her company should he grow tired with Eamon sometime in the earliest of the mornings.


There was so much confusion raging through Clarke's mind that she didn't know what to do, or how to process the feeling that had consumed her completely. She didn't know why she had said that name, she didn't know why she had felt the need to say that name. But something in Athena's eyes had been different, something in the way she had looked at her had been different.

Something was different.

"Clarke," Athena said quietly, but it wasn't Athena. Not quite. Though her voice sounded the same there was a subtle, barely noticeable difference in the way her name was pronounced.

"Lexa?" Clarke didn't want to hope, she didn't want be given any false sense of anything.

"I do not have much time, Clarke," Athena said gently, her hands now coming up to pull her hands from her face slowly.

"Lexa?" Clarke's mind tried understanding what was happening.

She thought of the flame, of the chip that had housed Lexa's consciousness, she remembered seeing Lexa in the city of light, she remembered ALIE, Becca, so many things that made no sense to her. And maybe, somehow, some way, Lexa was still alive. Wasn't that what Athena had been saying? Was Lexa somehow in control of Athena's body? Was she somehow abl—

"Clarke."

Her vision snapped back to the woman who was in front of her.

And she broke.

Clarke felt tears beginning to well in her eyes, she rushed forward and she threw her arms around Lexa's shoulders with as much strength, as much fury and hope, loss and pain as she could muster.

She didn't mean to sob, she didn't mean to break down and gaps Lexa's name over and over and over again. But she did. She did and she didn't care, she didn't worry for how it might look or sound or appear to anyone who could be near. There were so many questions Clarke had, so many things she needed answering. But they could wait, they could be pushed back somewhere deep within her for they weren't important in that moment. She didn't think anything could be more important.

And yet somehow Lexa untangled herself from the mess of limbs and came to rest half an arm's length away. Far enough that Clarke couldn't hold her as tightly as she wanted, close enough that Clarke could feel her breath against her face.

"Clarke," Lexa whispered again, and this time there was pain in her eyes, there was sadness, acceptance and so many other emotions she couldn't even begin to decipher.

"Lexa—" Clarke swallowed, she choked on a broken sob and she shook her head in an attempt to clear the haze of emotions and honey mead. "How?" Clarke asked. "How is this possible?"

Lexa smiled again, the expression small, but full of emotion.

"My spirit is part of the Commander, Clarke," Lexa said so quietly that it hurt.

"I—" Clarke choked, "I thought I'd never see you again," she felt new tears beginning to spring into her eyes as she remembered seeing Lexa charge the army in the city of light.

"Clarke," and Lexa smiled again, but this time it seemed sadder, it seemed a little less warm. "I promised I would always be with you, Clarke," and Lexa's hand reached out, it came to rest against her heart and it felt so warm, so real.

"How, Lexa?" and Clarke shook her head in disbelief, in raw emotion. "How is this possible?"

Lexa paused for a moment as she seemed to think, to consider, to analyse the question.

"Each Commander's spirit is in the flame," Lexa said after a moment. "We speak to the Commander, guide them, give counsel, ask questions or even answer them if they are needed."

Clarke smiled something so full of emotion that it made her cheeks hurt.

"But we do not control the Commander," Lexa said. "Our duty is to guide," and Lexa grimaced at something she had said.

"How is this possible?" Clarke whispered as she gestured between them. "How are you here?"

Lexa took in a breath that seemed as equally shaky as it was steady.

"Athena asked for help," Lexa said eventually.

"I—" again Clarke found herself unsure of what to say. "What help?"

Lexa looked away again, and this time there was an uncertainty, a fruitlessness, something uncomfortable in the way she looked off into the distance.

"Hey," Clarke hissed, she reached out and squeezed Lexa's arm lest she fade away just as Athena had seemingly done. "Don't go. Please."

"No," and Lexa shook her head. "I was only thinking, Clarke," and Lexa looked back at her with that same sadness again. There was a silence then, it lingered, it sat in the space between them and Clarke found herself taking in every little twitch of Lexa's face, every single movement, expression, muscle spasm and breath in the hopes of memorising them, searing them back into her mind with renewed intensi— "I am so proud of what you have accomplished, Clarke."

Clarke reached up and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, her tears so frustratingly getting in the way of what was in front of her.

"I tried," Clarke choked out. "I tried so hard to live up to the legacy you left behind, Lexa," and she shook her head yet again to try to clear her mind. "I fought for our people, I fought for peace. For everything we wanted," and she felt new tears forming.

"I know, Clarke."

That was all Lexa needed to say for Clarke to almost break apart yet again. But somehow she fought to keep herself together.

"How long can you stay?" Clarke wouldn't dare think that Lexa could stay forever. Part of her thought she might even have drunk so much that everything that was currently happening was merely a drunken dream.

"Not long," and Lexa smiled sadly. "It is not good for the body to have a second spirit in control," Lexa said.

"I understand," and Clarke didn't know if she actually did. But it was a better explanation than anything she could have come up with. And if Lexa could only stay for another moment, another second, she wouldn't waste it questioning her.

Lexa took in another steadying breath and this time it seemed to be full of composure, full of something she didn't understand.

And then she spoke.

"My full name is Alexandria," Lexa said, voice somewhere between breath and whisper.

"Alexandria," Clarke echoed, her voice wet, her vision hazed, yet she found herself smiling at the name.

Lexa took hold of her hands then, she brought them up to her lips and placed a kiss atop her fingers with a delicateness that Clarke had never seen in her before.

"I can only exist in here, Clarke," Lexa continued, one of her hands coming to rest against the back of her neck.

"I know," and Clarke thought Lexa told her to make sure she didn't grow attached in some way, to make sure she didn't forget, didn't lose sight of what was happening. "I understand," she whispered. "I understand you can't be anywhere else."

But then Lexa continued.

"No, Clarke," Lexa shook her head. "Alexandria," there was a pause, an emphasis, a revelation to be heard. "She is alive, Clarke."

It shouldn't have been difficult for her to understand. The words Lexa said were so simple, were so easy to comprehend. But for some reason, the more Clarke replayed them in her mind, the more she found herself unable to make sense of them.

"I—" again Clarke found herself at a loss for words. "I don't understand, Lexa."

"When Commanders are injured," Lexa said. "When they are wounded so severely that they will never again have the confidence of the clans the flame is removed forcibly," and she looked away. "It rarely happens," and it was Lexa's turn to swallow painfully. "Most Commanders die outright," and Clarke flinched at the words Lexa said for she remembered the blood and the pain. "But if they are unlucky enough to survive their wounds the flame is taken from them," Lexa looked her in the eyes so intensely Clarke almost looked away. "The clans must never know this. They would revolt, they would call for all past Commanders to die," Lexa paused again as if to give Clarke time to digest the things she said.

"What—" Clarke paused, she tried to piece together the words, the thoughts, the ideas and the things Lexa said. "What are you saying, Lexa?"

Lexa smiled a sad expression that lifted the corner of her lips just barely.

"Alexandria is alive, Clarke," she said. "I am not her, and she is not me," and so much hope, so much loss, so much emotion could be read in Lexa's eyes that Clarke could have drowned in it. "But Alexandria survived. She survived Titus. She survived Ontari. The body you saw was not hers being burnt."

"No," it was said with such resistance, such disbelief, such something that Clarke didn't know what else to do.

"I can not be real for you, Clarke," Lexa said, and Clarke hated the words she heard, she hated the things Lexa told her. "Alexandria is alive."

She didn't know how to react, she didn't know how to cope with whatever it was that was being revealed. Part of her couldn't comprehend, part of her felt an immediate and an intense sense of guilt, of loss, of regret and frustration at whatever time had been lost, if only because Lexa would never lie to her, she believed that so very deeply. But she couldn't come to terms with it, she couldn't accept it. She couldn't.

"Don't say that, Lexa," Clarke choked out. "Please," she didn't know what else to say as her heart broke, as her shoulders began to shake. "Please don't say that," and Clarke tried to pull Lexa to her, she tried to embrace her for she fears Lexa would slip through her fingers. "You. You are real, Lexa, don't tell me you don't exist, don't tell me you aren't you."

Lexa shook her head, the motion spoke of finality, of acceptance and it crushed Clarke more than any thing had before.

"Alexandria is real," Lexa said. "She is real, she is alive," Lexa reached out and grasped her face in her hands. "She needs you, Clarke," and Clarke leant into the touch, she couldn't help it. "She needs you, Clarke," Lexa repeated more firmly. "You must understand," and Lexa squeezed her face just a little more firmly.

"I—" Clarke blinked once, twice, thrice, each time in an attempt to clear her vision as much as it was an attempt to clear her thoughts.

"When the flame is forcibly taken," Lexa continued, this time with a little more urgency, "it breaks their minds, Clarke," Lexa said. "It takes with it everything that it learnt, everything that it experienced so that the next Commander can learn, so that they will have the knowledge and the guidance of the Commanders," and Lexa grimaced, her face contorted for a fraction of a second and Clarke's blood froze as she saw black blood beginning to drip from Lexa's nose. "You must understand, Clarke," and Lexa shook her head, her fingers beginning to twitch against her cheeks. "Alexandria is alive, she needs you. She does not rememb—" Lexa winced as her face twitched. "I can not stay much longer," and Clarke didn't know what to say or what to do. "Listen to Athena, Clarke," Lexa said and she smiled, the expression now full of love, full of pride, full of so many emotions that Clarke thought them so very tangible. "Alexandria is alive, Clarke," there was one last smile. "Alexandria will grow to love you as I have loved you, Clarke."

And with that Lexa's eyes rolled into the back of her skull, she twitched and then she collapsed onto the floor.