Athena took in a long and deep breath. The late morning air was warm, the sun's heat beat against her brow and she was so very thankful to be free of the oppressiveness that had become of the homestead's interior.
She needed to get away though, she needed to put distance between herself, Alexandria and Clarke. There were too many things she didn't want to be involved in, there were too many things she so desperately wanted to experience. And yet she knew them not for her to have save for the memories of a long since faded hope.
Eamon came to pause beside her, his hands held behind his back as he seemed to think over whatever had just happened. Brutus in all his oversized obliviousness plopped down next to them under the shade of an overhanging awning.
"Wanheda," Eamon said eventually, his voice quiet, his tone enough that Athena knew he had questions.
"Yes," Athena said and she looked out into the distance and at one of the few servants who helped care for those commanders retired to the homestead. She watched as the servant picked their way through row after row of apple tree.
"You have brought her here to seek refuge from her duties," Eamon said eventually.
"Yes."
Athena took a moment to compose herself. She knew Eamon well enough that he would know there was more to the situation. She knew him well enough that he wouldn't pry openly. And yet, for some reason, she felt like she owed him an explanation, as much as she owed Agamemnon, as much as she owed her. But for now Athena found herself thinking it not so selfish to be a little selfish for as long as she could.
And it was hard to ignore emotions that seemed so real. It was hard to know if what she felt was her own or was the remnants of something not for her to have. Part of her regretted ever saying something to Clarke, part of her regretted not saying something sooner. And part of her simply wished she had never been given the memories of so many who had come to pass.
But that was not her destiny and so she would face it just as every single Commander had faced theirs.
"Clarke will be staying with you," Athena said eventually.
"I see," he paused and Athena knew him trying to gauge how much to question. Perhaps she would make it a little less awkward for him, for her.
"I do not know when she will leave," it was truthful. And it hurt. Or perhaps she only thought it hurt. Maybe her emotions were never real to begin with, were never really hers to have and to own.
Eamon remained silent for a long moment. Athena knew him thinking over everything, she knew him thinking over the unknowns and the knowns and trying to understand the hidden truth behind whatever was driving Clarke's arrival. But she wouldn't say, she wouldn't give more than she had. She thought she deserved what little privacy she could steal.
And so Eamon sighed, he shrugged and he cocked his bald head to the side as a wry smile found itself upon his lips.
"I look forward to getting to know the mighty wanheda," he said gently.
"Give her time," Athena whispered, perhaps to herself, perhaps to her memories, perhaps to Eamon and perhaps to no one in particular.
But she sensed Eamon's eyes on her, she sensed his inquisitive eyes and she knew what he was thinking.
"Give them both time," Athena said, her voice a gentle echo.
Eamon nodded before he looked out into the rows of apple trees.
"I understand," he said eventually.
Athena didn't know if he understood that there was more between Alexandria, Clarke and herself, she didn't know if he he simply knew there were things he wasn't being told. But him understanding was enough, at least for now.
"Come, Brutus," Eamon said and she looked down at the mighty dog to find his head perking up. "Perhaps we should go for a walk."
And so Athena found herself standing alone outside the homestead, her hands clasped behind her back and her gaze following the retreating form of Eamon as he continued to wind his way through the apple trees in the distance as Brutus shadowed his every move.
It started slowly, something not quite noticed, perhaps more sensed, but as the seconds ticked by ever so gently she found the shadow of a figure forming in the corner of her eye. She didn't need to look to know who it would be, she didn't need to hear the voice to know what would be said.
But eventually she turned to face her companion, perhaps to find some comfort in familiarity, perhaps to find something to lean her weary mind against.
A man stood beside her, and though his face was far less lined than that of the Eamon who Athena watched retreat into the rows of apple trees, there was a depth in her companions eyes, a sadness and a knowledge that she knew existed within her very own. How could it not when they had both experienced the pains, losses and loves that had come with the flame?
It was always something not quite a surprise when she would be greeted by a face so much younger than who she spoke to in the living world, and yet she felt more at home amongst the spirits. She thought it because they might have been the only ones able to understand her pain.
"It always surprises me," Eamon said quietly, his voice not so old, his face not so scarred. "That he was able to temper his emotions without the spirits to guide him when it took me so many years to do the same."
Athena smiled sadly for she had his memories, ones she would never share with the Eamon that she now saw throwing a stick into the distance as Brutus chased after it.
"Losing the flame tempers all emotions," she said. "Why are you here?" she asked, not to be rude, not to be insulting.
"I spoke with her," Eamon said, his voice perhaps a little detached from the vision she looked upon. "With both of them," and he sighed, perhaps to find the words to say, perhaps to give himself time to think. "With everyone," he added.
"And they say I am a fool?" Athena asked. "That what I do is blasphemy, is something unheard of?"
"No, Athena," Eamon said. "He all understand. How could we not?"
"Are you here to tell me not to second guess? Not to question my own decisions?" she didn't really know what she thought.
"No, Athena," Eamon said. "I think I am here," and he shrugged, "because if I were in your position, I think I would want someone beside me to help even though I know myself too prideful to ask, too stubborn to believe I needed it. Too brash and full of myself to think I would need anything other than to jump into whatever fire that threatened to consume me."
"I feel alone in this," Athena whispered. How could she not, though?
Had any other Commander existed when the love of a previous had still lived? When another's love had still walked through the forests and threatened to spill into the next Commander's life?
"Perhaps you are alone in that unique experience," Eamon said. "But you are not alone here," and Athena blinked as she found Eamon standing in front of her, his hand gently resting atop her beating heart. "You are not alone here," and he brought his hand up to her forehead slowly, his calloused fingers rough against her forehead. "You will never be alone when you fight your battles, Athena."
And with that Eamon simply disappeared.
Alexandria sat awkwardly in Eamon's vacated chair, her hands clasped in her lap as she looked Clarke in the eyes. Clarke herself sat in the chair she had first occupied, her own gaze just as uncertain as Alexandria assumed hers was.
Silence lingered between them for a moment and Alexandria tried to think of something to say to break the awkwardness that rested upon her shoulders.
"I—"
"How—"
"Sorry," Alexandria winced, if only because she found it even more awkward now than it had been mere seconds ago.
"It's ok," Clarke said with a gentle smile.
Clarke's smile seemed to grow just a fraction as her words settled between them, and again Alexandria knew more had happened between them, she knew more would need to be discovered. And yet she didn't really know what to make of that revelation.
Alexandria wondered how close they had grown, she wondered if they had been enemies first, drawn together by a common foe, or if there had been an instant connection that had so very obviously affected Clarke. And Athena.
"Eamon seems nice," Clarke said after a pause, and Alexandria could tell that hadn't been what she was originally planning to say.
"Yes," Alexandria said. "He is a good friend," it was truthful. "He—" she paused to think, to consider her words and how much to say. "He is a good man."
"Yeah," and Clarke shook her head, the motion rueful and full of understanding.
That motion dislodged a small strand of hair from one of Clarke's many raids and Alexandria found herself taking in the way the sunlight caught its golden hue and made it seem aglow with life. But her eyes snapped back to Clarke's once she realised she had been staring.
It lasted only a moment, but Alexandria saw an emotion in Clarke's eyes that gave her a little more than she had before. But it was enough for her to pause, to not look away from her eyes for just long enough that she could admire the depths of blue that seemed to hold equal amounts of pain as they did warmth and understanding. And it was odd. It was so very odd. She didn't quite know what to say knowing what she assumed to be true. She didn't quite seem to know how to act knowing the things that were so very true given how Clarke continued to hold her gaze with her own.
Alexandria watched as Clarke reached for a small cup of drink, she watched as she brought it up to her lips to take a sip, perhaps in an attempt to fill the awkwardness that sat around them.
Alexandria had been hidden from her past for so long that she didn't really want it to be hidden anymore. But that wasn't quite right. That wasn't quite what she felt and thought.
But she needed to speak, needed to fill the silence with something else lest she fall prey to emotions better left locked behind a door so very heavy that it would remain closed no matter how hard she try.
"Have you met Agamemnon?" she asked simply because it was safe.
"Ah," Clarke paused, looked around as if in search of the man. "No, I guess not."
Alexandria nodded to herself as she gestured to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "Perhaps he is still sleeping."
Clarke nodded an understanding at that.
"Is he also a past Commander?" it was a little brazen, Alexandria thought, but perhaps she could forgive the question because Clarke was Wanheda, and because the situation was so very unusual.
"Yes," she said, her head cocked to the side as she continued to hold Clarke's gaze, and she didn't miss the fact Clarke's gaze darted down to exactly where her scar was.
Alexandria found herself letting the silence linger then. In part it was because she didn't really know what to say, but in part because she found herself intrigued, mortified, horrified and so very uncertain of how she should react. Perhaps she wanted to know Clarke more, perhaps she wanted to know more of her past than she did. But she knew that could open old wounds, she knew that could cause tensions to flare between herself and Eamon and Agamemnon, between herself and Athen—
And she paused, if only because she realised Athena would know everything. Was that why Athena had let Clarke visit? To show the woman how broken she had become? She prove to her that the woman Clarke had known was truly dead, and in her place merely a husk of a spirit? Hadn't Athena even told her she didn't have the strength to do the right thing? And yet Alexandria didn't really know what that right thing was. How could she? She didn't have the spirit of every past Commander to guide her anymore. She didn't even remember what that felt like.
But in that time that she remained quiet she realised Clarke's gaze had drifted to the weapons on the wall, each one a former Commander's, each one littered with battle scars as old as time itself.
Alexandria watched as Clarke's gaze drifted from mighty axe to spear, dagger to sword and knife to bow and arrow until it landed on the most recent of additions. And she knew it to be hers.
There was so much emotion in Clarke's eyes as she took in the two swords and the single knife that were hung upon the wall, so much emotion that Alexandria didn't know what to think.
"You were holding that," Clarke said quietly and Alexandria watched as she gestured to the knife. "When we first met."
Perhaps that answered a question, just one of them at least.
"We were adversaries," it was as much question as statement as guess.
But Clarke's lips lifted at the corner as she turned her attention back to her.
"Yeah," there was a quiet laugh that followed that single word. "I guess you could say that," Clarke looked away in thought for just a moment. "When we first met Indra threatened me, probably asked for permission to take my head, I didn't understand your language then."
Alexandria nodded, if only because she didn't really know what else to do.
"Do you remember Indra?
That startled Alexandria. If only because she found that she hadn't really considered the fact that others would not know how much she remembered and how much she didn't.
"Yes," it was a half truth, if only because she only knew Indra from the brief memories she had of her before she had been taken to Polis, before she had been trained, before she had fought in the conclave, before her memories were sealed behind a door she no longer had the keys to. "Yes," Alexandria repeated carefully. "I know of her."
There was a sad smile that found its way on Clarke's lips at that and Alexandria knew Clarke must have understood.
"You saved my life with that knife," Clarke continued quietly. "A warrior," she paused as if to remember. "Quint," and her lip turned up into the hints of a disgusted snarl that Alexandria thought. "He wanted me dead for a reason I haven't bothered to remember after so long," Clarke said. "He was going to kill me but you threw that knife and stopped him from killing me."
Alexandria nodded, in part because she was intrigued that she would have killed one of her own warriors to save someone who had started as a foe, as an adversary.
But the laugh that broke past Clarke's lips startled her.
"But that was really just the beginning," and Clarke shook her head as if to rid the memory, or perhaps to clear her mind. "This pauna," and she spread her arms out wide as if to communicate how big it was. "It attacked, we ran, we were almost eaten, but we escaped. Just."
Alexandria swallowed, if only because she knew there had to be more to the story — the memory — than what Clarke had said. But she didn't know if she wanted to know more, she didn't know if she needed to know more.
She looked away in an attempt to pause the raging questions that threatened to slip past her lips. But there was a burning question she couldn't shake, not when Clarke continued to look at her, not when she knew the answer already.
And so Alexandria took in a steadying breath as if to build up whatever walls were beginning to crumble around her before she spoke.
"We were lovers, weren't we."
