Two weeks had seem to come and go both too slowly and far too quickly for Clarke to really take in what she would be faced with. Athena had hardly spoken to her save for a far too short dance of awkward conversation, whatever emotions that had once existed between them now so very twisted and bent out of shape. Clarke thought Athena knew not how to navigate the new something that existed between them and Clarke didn't blame her at all. She felt exactly the same.

She had so many questions that she wanted to ask, so many explanations that needed to be heard and she had far too much to think about before she could even really piece together what she was being told. Perhaps those answers would come some time in the future. Perhaps they never would.

And so Clarke tried to settle her breathing as she listened to the conversation that seemed so very awkward as it moved back and forth between Eamon and Athena. Clarke didn't even really know who Eamon was. She could guess, of course, but still she had so many questions that needed answering.

"How has Agamemnon been?" Athena asked.

Clarke turned her attention back to Athena to find her head tilted to the side ever so slightly as she looked at Eamon with yet another emotion she couldn't quite place.

Eamon shrugged one shoulder as he reclined back in his chair.

"He is the same," he said. "Still the stubborn old man he was when last you visited."

Though his words seemed unkind or uncaring Clarke could tell there was a worry in his voice. She took a moment to take in Eamon then, and what she saw was a man who seemed wiser than he looked, who seemed more weary of the world than he should. She couldn't quite place it and yet she knew all that to be true. Perhaps it was simply because she knew and suspected that Eamon was a former Commander, that he had once served his people only for the flame to be ripped from him without care nor worry for his future.

"He still sleeps?" Athena asked quietly.

"Yes," Eamon answered with another shrug. "More than usual these past few weeks."

Clarke didn't quite know what drove her to speak, she didn't know why she thought she could intrude on a conversation clearly not meant for her participation. But whatever drove her to speak seemed to do so without much care for any of those things.

"I'm a healer," Clarke said and she watched as Eamon's eyes snapped to her. "I could check him over if you wanted," and she winced at the way Eamon's eyes drilled into her more forcefully.

But Eamon sighed, he smiled and he shook his head, "that is not for me to decide," and he looked away in thought for a split second. "Agamemnon is a stubborn old man whose mind is rarely changed."

Clarke smiled if only because she could imagine the kind of man Agamemnon was. Eamon leant forward then and Clarke found herself yet again pinned with an intense gaze.

"It is not often that we have visitors," he said after a moment, his head inclined towards Athena. "In fact," and he gestured around himself and to the emptiness of the room. "There are rare few that even know of this place and its existence."

Clarke swallowed whatever lump had formed in her throat. She didn't quite know how best to respond. She knew enough to know that whatever this place was had been kept secret for generations. She could tell from the wall of weapons that past Commanders had lived and retired in peace and quiet.

But how could she explain? To anyone? To even herself?

It still seemed too sudden, too uncertain, too strange for her to truly grasp the enormity of the revelations.

"I—" Clarke paused as she began to recall years long since past. She found old memories coming to mind that she hadn't let herself dwell on lest they consume her, she felt old emotions long since tempered slowly begin to simmer and she found herself smiling, perhaps at an old memory, perhaps at the strangeness of her life, and perhaps simply because she didn't know what else to do. "I knew the previous Commander," Clarke said and she wouldn't elaborate. Not before she had a chance to try to confront her past.

Eamon's interest seemed to strengthen at the admission and Clarke wondered if he and Lexa were close. How could they not be? Hadn't Lexa seemingly lived together with Agamemnon for the last decade?

"Has it just been you three?" Clarke asked. She didn't know why she thought she could get away with asking such a question and yet behind Eamon's hard exterior she thought him a kind man, someone tempered by loss and experience.

"You are Wanheda," Eamon said in answer and Clarke found herself glancing at Athena to find her ever poised, though there was tension in the way she sat as if she forced herself to remain quiet and calm and silent amongst the storm of emotions Clarke felt within her own heart.

It also didn't slip her notice that Eamon didn't answer her question. Perhaps he didn't trust her, perhaps he didn't want to open up without knowing her intentions. Whatever the reason though, she didn't care. She wouldn't blame him for not answering.

"I was," and Clarke looked away as she remembered old nightmares. "I still am," and she smiled something wry and bitter.

Eamon seemed to find something a little humorous for he chuckled a gentle laugh before settling a little more comfortably in his chair.

"And I am no longer Heda," and he inclined his head towards Athena. "We all have secrets," Eamon continued. "Perhaps we will share ours together in times to come. Heda clearly has hers," he finished, an eyebrow raised and Clarke wondered just how comfortable they must have been around Athena after so many years.

"Agamemnon ," Athena said, voice slightly strained, intention clearly to change the subject. "He has been ill for some time, Clarke," and Athena turned her attention to her. "If you would be able to see to him I would be grateful."

"Yeah" Clarke said as she tried to meet Athena's gaze only to find Athena staring off somewhere into the distance, "I can do that. It's the lea—"

And then the door opened.

Clarke's gaze snapped to the front door, she blinked back the sudden influx of light and she thought herself moving in slow motion, she thought herself unable to think more quickly than the slowest of thoughts. Perhaps it hadn't really sunk in over the last two weeks that she was travelling to see someone she thought dead for a decade. It certainly hadn't sunk in as she conversed with Eamon as Athena remained quiet as ever. But perhaps as the door opened, as the light shone in from the outside and as a silhouette remained framed by memories now flooding her mind, Clarke thought she realised.

A woman stood just inside the doorway, her brow glistened with the slightest sheen of sweat from the day's heat and what appeared to be a large basket was slung over her shoulders.

Her hair, ever wild, was pulled back in a single messy braid that tumbled over one of her shoulder, and it seemed so very different to memories Clarke had once relived time after time. And everything was different. Clarke couldn't take it in enough, she couldn't juggle the image of what stood in front of her with who she had lost. This woman had kind eyes graced with crows feet, had the beginnings of laugh wrinkles etched across her face, and an uncertainty never seen before in her eyes. Her clothing was so starkly different, too. She wore clothes clearly meant to be comfortable in the heat of the summer, the pleated cloth that hung down from her waist was perhaps something between shorts and skirt, open enough to let her body breathe, loose enough to give her the ability to run, jump, dive, roll do anything she could desire. Even the sleeveless top she wore seemed too gentle, too soft, too carefree for Clarke to understand.

"Hello?" her voice almost made Clarke break for it seemed too real, too uncertain, too familiar for her to understand.

It took Clarke by surprise when she realised she had come to stand from her chair, it took Clarke by surprise when she realised the woman had been shadowed by a great dog whose head was tilted ever so slightly to the side as it began to pad its way towards her, curiosity in its large eyes.

Clarke tried to fight for the words to say, she tried to think of what she could say. But after a decade, after so many nights and days, weeks and months and years, she knew not how to put to words the things she felt. Part of her wanted to turn away, part of her wanted to flee, wanted to escape whatever dream she lived within for she couldn't even begin to accept what her eyes saw.

But Clarke knew it real, through the horror, through the pain, through the loss. Her lips parted once but no sound came. They parted twice, but words were lost to her. Maybe saying a name would be enough to break the silence, perhaps saying the only thing that filled her mind in that very moment was the only thing she could say.

And so.

"Lexa."

It was simple, it was safe, it was the most true thing Clarke had ever let herself say in so very long. But something was wrong, something was broken, something was unkind for the woman — Lexa — whoever she had become flinched, shied away from the name and seemed loathe to accept.

"I—" her voice seemed to choke, it seemed uncertain, so very different to the confidence that had existed so defiantly within green eyes. "I go by Alexandria now."

Alexandria.

Wasn't that what Lexa had called her? Wasn't that what Lexa had told her what she was called? But that memory of Lexa, that memory of the confusion, of the uncertainty, of whatever existed made Clarke more confused than she had ever been before. If only because she had spoken to Lexa and yet Lexa stood in front of her now, in that very moment. And yet it wasn't Lexa. Not like she had known her.

Whatever was to happen next, whatever was to come to exist between them in the future, Clarke found herself embracing the only emotion she could after so long. And it was happiness, it was relief, it was pain and anger and something she couldn't describe. Maybe it was every single emotion she had felt in her life, perhaps it was every single hurt and and loss, hate and love that had filled her heart and ruled her emotions. Clarke blinked and it didn't surprise her to feel a tear run down her cheek. She didn't care though. Not when Lexa stood in front of her, not when Lexa was alive, not when her heart began to beat with a little more life than it had done for years.

"Ok," Clarke said quietly, and she didn't try to stop the smile that spread across her lips. If Lexa wanted to be called Alexandria, if Lexa was Alexandria, if the Lexa she had known didn't exist anymore, Clarke wouldn't complain, wouldn't second guess, wouldn't even dare to challenge. She would accept it with as much strength as she could possess.

Clarke saw confusion in Alexandria's eyes though, she saw uncertainty, she saw the hints of fear and the beginnings of suspicion.

And so it didn't surprise Clarke one single bit to hear Alexandria's next words.

Though it hurt nonetheless.

"Did I know you?"